Amy Lake (32 page)

“Hmm.”  Pam’s attention continued to wander as her friend chatted. The Earl of Ketrick and his family were in town for a short stay, she had heard, the first such visit since the birth of his son. She had longed to pay a call at Tremayne House and see the boy, but it would be more  comfortable, perhaps, to meet them in less formal circumstances. She knew both Edward and Claire favored the meadows of Green Park.

“How is Robert’s oldest?” asked Amanda. “Lady Andrews’s nephew was just sent down from Oxford, you know–something about a bull in the quadrangle–”  She abruptly stopped talking, watched Pam for a few moments, and shook her head in despair. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” she told Lady Pamela.

“Hmm?”

“Oh, a pox on the blasted Earl of Ketrick and his absurd infant,” said Amanda. “You’ve been a perfect bore since the day the family set foot in London. Pottering about in the park at all hours of the afternoon, as if you had nothing better to do.  Really, Pamela–”

Pam sputtered. “Lord Tremayne?  What has he to do with–”

“Oh, posh. You don’t fool me. Babies!  Why anyone can be so besotted with the smelly little creatures is a complete mystery to me, they just squall and make one revolting mess after another–”

“I am merely interested in–”

“Well, there they are, anyway.”  Amanda abruptly nodded in the direction of the duck pond.

“Who–?”  A moment’s confusion, then Pam turned to see Jodrel de Lancie crouched at the edge of the water, apparently in earnest conversation with a tiny, dark-haired child.

The earl’s son. Pam’s mouth twitched in amusement as the toddler shook his head vigorously. A high-pitched “No, no, no,” followed by a burst of giggles, wafted across the grass. Jody was pointing at something over the child’s shoulder.

“No, no, no!”       

There was a movement in the corner of her eye, and Lady Pamela spotted Edward and Claire walking arm in arm through the flower-strewn meadow. The earl’s head was inclined towards his wife, the rich brown of his hair a perfect counterpoint to the raven black of hers. Pam saw Edward gesture wide with one arm and heard Claire’s soft laughter.

True love
, thought Lady Pamela.
It does exist.
She smiled.

Amanda watched her with raised eyebrows. “Oh, come now, stop looking like a moonstruck calfling.  You were never really in love with him.”

“I know,” said Pam. “But isn’t it marvelous that she is?”

* * * *

Claire felt the brawn of her husband’s arm securely at her side as they walked through the afternoon warmth. She hadn’t returned to Green Park since the day she was shot–less than two years ago, now, but it seemed like an eternity. Claire sighed in contentment.

“My love?”

“Hmm. I was just thinking about the day Harry shot me. I never properly thanked him.”

“Thanked him?  I don’t think I want to hear this.”

“It was the start of everything.”

“The start of everything?  You heartless minx!  I’d already asked you to marry me!”

“Pooh. You didn’t mean it.”

“Much you know.”  The earl took his wife in his arms and, ignoring her protests, kissed her soundly in full view of the rest of Green Park.

“Papa!” 

They broke apart, smiling,  and Edward knelt as, under Jody’s careful supervision, Peter toddled towards them. Their son was not yet completely secure on his feet, and twice he tumbled back onto his bottom into the grass. Finally, with a small cry of triumph, he reached his father–

* * * *

“Papa!”  Lady Pamela heard the child’s delighted giggle as the Earl swung him high overhead. “Papa!”

She heard Edward’s laughter then, deep and rich. Father and son. Pam’s breath caught in her throat at the sight, and her eyes threatened to fill with tears.

“Oh, heavens,” said Lady Detweiler. “Enough of this fussing.  Let’s say hello.”

Copyright © 2001 by Amy Lake

Originally published by Five Star

Electronically published in 2005 by Belgrave House/Regency Romance

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.