Six Years Later

“Is this to your liking, my lady?”

Bridget glanced over at the tray of baked treats Mary was showing her and nodded absently. “Lovely, Mary. You may set them down right there.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

Bridget vaguely took note of Mary moving around her to set the tray onto the table sitting in the middle of the drawing room. The smell of the sweet cakes hit her nose a moment later and her stomach growled in response, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten much during breakfast this morning.

“Although, my lady,” Mary began again, hovering in Bridget’s peripheral vision with her hands clasped. “It would be prudent to actually look at what was being shown to ensure that you are fine with it.”

“I did look,” Bridget protested, but she didn’t glance up. Her fingers moved rapidly, faster than she’d ever been able to do before. With the deadline looming over her head, she couldn’t afford to waste any time.

“If you say so, my lady,” Mary hummed in a mirthful tone that told Bridget she most certainly did not believe her.

“It is fine, Mary,” Bridget went on, narrowly missing her needle pricking her finger. “I trust your judgment. I know you would not serve anything that neither I nor James would like.”

“Your confidence in me is heartwarming, my lady,” Mary said happily. “Is there anything else you may need from me?”

“No, nothing at all. You may go. I’m sure you are busy enough as it is to be tending to me.”

“There is nothing I enjoy more than tending to you, Lady Sandford. But you are right. There are a number of things I need to get done, so if you will excuse me.”

Bridget waved a hand absentmindedly. A second later, she heard the door of the drawing room open and close. Only then did she allow herself a moment’s rest. She’d been at her embroidery for days now and, since this morning was the last chance she would get to finish it, she was out of time. She’d gone to bed late last night after staying up to work on it and was out of bed by daybreak this morning. It was almost complete. All she needed to do was embroider the finishing touches.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Mary said as she reentered the room. “But there is something I forgot to say.”

Bridget looked wearily up at her. She wanted to resume her task but her fingers were already beginning to cramp. She shouldn’t have stopped at all, she realized.

“Yes, Mary? What is it?”

Bridget didn’t miss the look of pity Mary gave her but she was grateful that she didn’t say anything. Instead, she said, “You have received a number of correspondences this morning. I have left them all on your desk in your writing room. It seems there are a number of ladies hoping to have your presence at their upcoming events.”

“Oh, goodness, there seems to be no end to them, is there?”

“I’m afraid that is a burden you must bear when you are well-liked by the ton. I do not think there is a single lady in London who would not want you at their balls.”

“You exaggerate, Mary,” Bridget sighed.

“I do not, my lady,” Mary insisted. “Since you became the Viscountess of Sandford,  you have not only charmed the hearts of your new family but of the ton as well. This drawing room would be flooded with ladies seeking your friendship if they thought they would be admitted. But as popular as you have become, my lady, many are aware that you enjoy your alone time. Which is why they have resigned themselves to invitations to season events instead.”

“Resigned themselves?” Bridget laughed. “Goodness, you are quite fond of embellishments.”

“Ah, you are so modest, my lady. It is one of my favourite traits about you.”

“And you, Mary, are so loyal.” Bridget shifted to face her fully, grateful for the reprieve this conversation afforded her. “To think you came with me to Sandford House to remain my maid. I had half a mind to be selfish and keep you from being promoted to the housekeeper.”

“You were the one who gave me that promotion, my lady,” Mary pointed out with a laugh.

“Only because you did so well, despite how new you were to the household. And you have only proved me right.”

“Your praises are appreciated, my lady.” Mary smiled, tilting her head to the side. “Are you excited for the viscount’s return?”

Just the mention of James brought a blush to Bridget’s cheeks. Four weeks. She’d gone four weeks without the company of her husband, without him warming her bed, and she was close to losing her mind. The only thing that kept her sane was working on this embroidery piece, a custom they had developed over the years.

That and, of course—

Suddenly, the door burst open and a small child came racing in, laughing deliriously. Right on his heels was a matronly lady who seemed incapable of catching the slippery child no matter how many times she reached for him. And behind her was a smaller toddler with legs barely capable of keeping up with his running, clearly happy to be a part of the hubbub.

“Mrs. Jones!” Mary gasped.

Mrs. Jones didn’t pay Mary any mind. Or least, she couldn’t considering the fact that she was chasing a child around the drawing room and seemed no closer to catching him.

“He is quite fast, is he not?” Bridget noted in humor. She watched as the child—her darling first born son whose favorite hobby was to test the limits of every adult he encountered—make a beeline in her direction. Jonathan held his arms out, his brown curls bobbing around his ears as he prepared to launch himself into Bridget’s arms. Bridget quickly set aside her embroidery hoop and needle to catch him.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Mrs. Jones, their governess, panted. “He slipped out of my grasp. I was about to set him down for a nap in anticipation of Lord Sandford’s arrival but—”

“You needn’t worry, Mrs. Jones,” Bridget assured. “I’m sure he will be just as excited to see his father as I am to have my husband home.”

“Mama!”

The toddler finally caught up. She was round all over—chubby cheeks, chunky legs, big eyes. May reached up on the tip of her toes, trying to climb onto Bridget’s legs. Not only was she nearly identical to her brother, even though he was four and she two, she liked to copy everything he did as well. And they were both the spitting images of their father.

With one hand, she scooped May up to sit on her other knee. She glanced at the embroidery needle to make sure it was a decent distance away. Mrs. Jones noticed the direction of her eyes and quickly picked them up. So much for finishing her project before James reached home.

“You may go, Mrs. Jones,” Bridget told her. “I will be fine.”

“Are you sure, my lady?” Mrs. Jones asked, sounding uncertain.

Bridget didn’t blame her. But oddly enough, Jonathan and May were always on their best behavior when she was around. With James, however, they were always ready to play.

“I’m sure,” she assured her. “We shall wait together of James to return. Isn’t that right, Jonathan?”

“Yes, Mama!” Jonathan responded exuberantly.

“Yes, Mama!” May repeated to the best of her abilities.

“Well, you will not have to wait very long.”

Her heart stopped. Bridget would have shot to her feet and whirled to face the door if she didn’t have a four year old and two year old sitting on her lap. The only thing she could manage to do was twist her head around.

There he stood. His beard was a little thicker than when he’d left but he looked nearly exactly the same otherwise. Just as handsome with that beautiful sparkle of happiness in his eyes.

“Papa!” the children screamed in unison, crawling off her lap in haste.

James dropped to his knees just in time to catch them in his arms. With very little effort, he scooped them up, one in each arm, and gave them kisses.

Bridget stood, heart fluttering with such excitement that she didn’t know what to do with herself. She stood there and watched the lovely reunion between James and the children for a moment before she approached.

“Welcome back,” she greeted, reaching up to kiss him.

James deepened it. Her toes curled in her shoes, heat warming her chest. As she pulled away, she wished that they were alone.

Mary must have sensed the direction of her thoughts because she said, “Mrs. Jones.” and then the two of them came to collect the children, welcoming James back in the process.

Within a minute, they were alone. The moment the door closed behind them, James wrapped his arms around Bridget, picking her off her feet as she squealed happily.

“Did you miss me?” she asked.

“More than words can express,” he whispered. He held her as if he never wanted to let her go, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said softly.

James pulled slightly away to look at her. “Your embroidery?” he guessed.

Bridget blushed, nodding. “Am I so obvious?”

“In the most adorable way ever. Where is it?”

Feeling shy all of a sudden, she pulled away but took his hand, guiding him over to the sofa she had been sitting in. She picked up the embroidery hoop and handed it to him, watching him closely for his reaction.

At first, it was blank. And then realization dawned, his eyes widening as he looked at her.

“Is this real?” he whispered.

Bridget bit her lip, nodding. She glanced down at the image she’d depicted in her embroidery. It was a mostly finished portrait of her, James, Jonathan, and May. And she had a baby in her arms.

Slowly, he set the hoop aside and put his hand on her stomach, feeling the slight, barely noticeable bump underneath.

“God, I love you,” he murmured. “I love you. I love our growing family. I love what our lives have become.”

Bridget reached up on her toes to kiss him. “I love you too. Are you ready for Nancy?”

“Nancy?”

“Don’t you like it? How about Persephone?”

“How do you know it will be a girl?”

“I just know,” she said with a smile.

James mimicked her grin. “Then I trust your judgment. Nancy, Persephone, Elizabeth. Whatever name you wish, I will be happy with.”

“Do not be so quick to say so,” she warned him and he laughed. The sound was like the first ray of sun on her face after weeks of snow and rain. She rested her head on his chest again and they lapsed into comfortable silence. Later they could talk about his trip and all that transpired. Later she could tell him about all the different events they will be attending, events he will dread but will do with a smile on his face if she asked him. Later, when they were curled up in bed together, they could debate about what to name their third—and hopefully not their last—child.

For now, they simply held each other. For now, that was enough.

The End