The Bridgertons Happily Ever After (27 page)

She nodded, and so he put a bit on her tongue.

“What happened?” she asked.

He stared at her in shock. “You don’t know?”

She blinked a few times. “Was I bleeding?”

“Quite a lot,” he choked out. He couldn’t possibly have elaborated. He didn’t want to describe the rush of blood he had witnessed. He didn’t want her to know, and to be honest, he wanted to forget.

Her brow wrinkled, and her head tipped to the side. After a few moments Gregory realized she was trying to look toward the foot of the bed.

“We cleaned it up,” he said, his lips finding a tiny smile. That was so like Lucy, making certain that all was in order.

She gave a little nod. Then she said, “I’m tired.”

“Dr. Jarvis said you will be weak for several months. I would imagine you will be confined to bed for some time.”

She let out a groan, but even this was a feeble sound. “I hate bed rest.”

He smiled. Lucy was a doer; she always had been. She liked to fix things, to make things, to make everyone happy. Inactivity just about killed her.

A bad metaphor. But still.

He leaned toward her with a stern expression. “You will stay in bed if I have to tie you down.”

“You’re not the sort,” she said, moving her chin ever so slightly. He thought she was trying for an insouciant expression, but it took energy to be cheeky, apparently. She closed her eyes again, letting out a soft sigh.

“I did once,” he said.

She made a funny sound that he thought might actually be a laugh. “You did, didn’t you?”

He leaned down and kissed her very gently on the lips. “I saved the day.”

“You always save the day.”

“No.” He swallowed. “That’s you.”

Their eyes met, the gaze between them deep and strong. Gregory felt something wrenching within him, and for a moment he was sure he was going to sob again. But then, just as he felt himself begin to come apart, she gave a little shrug and said, “I couldn’t move now, anyway.”

His equilibrium somewhat restored, he got up to scavenge a leftover biscuit from the tea tray. “Remember that in a week.” He had no doubt that she would be trying to get out of bed long before it was recommended.

“Where are the babies?”

Gregory paused, then turned around. “I don’t know,” he replied slowly. Good heavens, he’d completely forgotten. “In the nursery, I imagine. They are both perfect. Pink and loud and everything they are supposed to be.”

Lucy smiled weakly and let out another tired sound. “May I see them?”

“Of course. I’ll have someone fetch them immediately.”

“Not the others, though,” Lucy said, her eyes clouding. “I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“I think you look beautiful,” he said. He came over and perched on the side of the bed. “I think you might be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

“Stop,” she said, since Lucy never had been terribly good at receiving compliments. But he saw her lips wobble a bit, hovering between a smile and a sob.

“Katharine was here yesterday,” he told her.

Her eyes flew open.

“No, no, don’t worry,” he said quickly. “I told her you were merely sleeping. Which is what you were doing. She isn’t concerned.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “She called you La la la Lucy.”

Lucy smiled. “She is marvelous.”

“She is just like you.”

“That’s not why she is marv—”

“It is exactly why,” he interrupted with a grin. “And I almost forgot to tell you. She named the babies.”

“I thought you named the babies.”

“I did. Here have some more water.” He paused for a moment to get some more liquid into her. Distraction was going to be the key, he decided. A little bit here and a little bit there, and they’d get through a full glass of water. “Katharine thought of their second names. Francesca Hyacinth and Eloise Lucy.”

“Eloise . . . ?”

“Lucy,” he finished for her. “Eloise Lucy. Isn’t it lovely?”

To his surprise, she didn’t protest. She just nodded, the motion barely perceptible, her eyes filling with tears.

“She said it was because you are the best mother in the world,” he added softly.

She did cry then, big silent tears rolling from her eyes.

“Would you like me to bring you the babies now?” he asked.

She nodded. “Please. And . . .” She paused, and Gregory saw her throat work. “And bring the rest, too.”

“Are you certain?”

She nodded again. “If you can help me to sit up a little straighter, I think I can manage hugs and kisses.”

His tears, the ones he had been trying so hard to suppress, slid from his eyes. “I can’t think of anything that might help you to get better more quickly.” He walked to the door, then turned around when his hand was on the knob. “I love you, La la la Lucy.”

“I love you, too.”

Gregory must have told the children to behave with extra decorum, Lucy decided, because when they filed into her room (rather adorably from oldest to youngest, the tops of their heads making a charming little staircase) they did so very quietly, finding their places against the wall, their hands clasped sweetly in front of their bodies.

Lucy had no idea who
these
children were.
Her
children had never stood so still.

“It’s lonely over here,” she said, and there would have been a mass tumble onto the bed except that Gregory leapt into the riot with a forceful “Gently!”

Although in retrospect, it was not so much his verbal order that held the chaos at bay as his arms, which prevented at least three children from cannonballing onto the mattress.

“Mimsy won’t let me see the babies,” four-year-old Ben muttered.

“It’s because you haven’t taken a bath in a month,” retorted Anthony, two years his elder, almost to the day.

“How is that possible?” Gregory wondered aloud.

“He’s very sneaky,” Daphne informed him. She was trying to worm her way closer to Lucy, though, so her words were muffled.

“How sneaky can one be with a stench like that?” Hermione asked.

“I roll in flowers every single day,” Ben said archly.

Lucy paused for a moment, then decided it might be best not to reflect too carefully on what her son had just said. “Er, which flowers are those?”

“Well, not the rosebush,” he told her, sounding as if he could not believe she’d even asked.

Daphne leaned toward him and gave a delicate sniff. “Peonies,” she announced.

“You can’t tell that by sniffing him,” Hermione said indignantly. The two girls were separated by only a year and a half, and when they weren’t whispering secrets they were bickering like . . .

Well, bickering like Bridgertons, really.

“I have a very good nose,” Daphne said. She looked up, waiting for someone to confirm this.

“The scent of peonies is very distinctive,” Katharine confirmed. She was sitting down by the foot of the bed with Richard. Lucy wondered when the two of them had decided they were too old for piling together at the pillows. They were getting so big, all of them. Even little Colin didn’t look like a baby any longer.

“Mama?” he said mournfully.

“Come here, sweetling,” she murmured, reaching out for him. He was a little butterball, all chubby cheeks and wobbly knees, and she’d really thought he was going to be her last. But now she had two more, swaddled up in their cradles, getting ready to grow into their names.

Eloise Lucy and Francesca Hyacinth. They had quite the namesakes.

“I love you, Mama,” Colin said, his warm little face finding the curve of her neck.

“I love you, too,” Lucy choked out. “I love all of you.”

“When will you get out of bed?” Ben asked.

“I’m not sure yet. I’m still terribly tired. It might be a few weeks.”

“A few
weeks
?” he echoed, clearly aghast.

“We’ll see,” she murmured. Then she smiled. “I’m feeling so much better already.”

And she was. She was still tired, more so than she could ever remember. Her arms were heavy, and her legs felt like logs, but her heart was light and full of song.

“I love everybody,” she suddenly announced. “You,” she said to Katharine, “and you and you and you and you and you and you. And the two babies in the nursery, too.”

“You don’t even know them yet,” Hermione pointed out.

“I know that I love them.” She looked over at Gregory. He was standing by the door, back where none of the children would see him. Tears were streaming down his face. “And I know that I love you,” she said softly.

He nodded, then wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Your mother needs her rest,” he said, and Lucy wondered if the children heard the choke in his voice.

But if they did, they didn’t say anything. They grumbled a bit, but they filed out with almost as much decorum as they’d shown filing in. Gregory was last, poking his head back into the room before shutting the door. “I’ll be back soon,” he said.

She nodded her response, then sank back down into bed. “I love everybody,” she said again, liking the way the words made her smile. “I love everybody.”

And it was true. She did.

23 June 1840

Cutbank Manor

Nr Winkfield, Berks.

Dear Gareth—

I am delayed in Berkshire. The twins’ arrival was quite dramatic, and Lucy must remain in bed for at least a month. My brother says that he can manage without me, but this is so untrue as to be laughable. Lucy herself begged me to remain—out of his earshot, to be sure; one must always take into account the tender sensibilities of the men of our species. (I know you will indulge me in this sentiment; even you must confess that women are far more useful in a sickroom.)

It is a very good thing that I was here. I am not certain she would have survived the birth without me. She lost a great deal of blood, and there were moments when we were not sure she would regain wakefulness. I took it upon myself to give her a few private, stern words. I do not recall the precise phrasing, but I might have threatened to maim her. I also might have given emphasis to the threat by adding, “You know I will do it.”

I was, of course, speaking on the assumption that she would be too weak to locate the essential contradiction in such a statement—if she did not wake up, it would be of very little use to maim her.

You are laughing at me right now, I am sure. But she did cast a wary look in my direction when she awakened. And she did whisper a most heartfelt “Thank you.”

So here I will be for a bit more time. I do miss you dreadfully. It is times like these that remind one of what it is truly important. Lucy recently announced that she loves everybody. I believe we both know that I will never possess the patience for that, but I certainly love you. And I love her. And Isabella and George. And Gregory. And really, quite a lot of people.

I am a lucky woman, indeed.

Your loving wife,

Hyacinth

Violet in Bloom

Romance novels, by definition, wrap up neatly. The hero and heroine have pledged their love, and it is clear that this happy ending will be forever. This means, however, that an author can’t write a true sequel; if I brought back the same hero and heroine from a previous book, I’d have to put the previous happy ending in jeopardy before assuring them of another.

So romance series are instead collections of spin-offs, with secondary characters returning to star in their own novels, and previous protagonists popping by occasionally when needed. Rarely does an author get the chance to take a character and watch her grow over many books.

This was what made Violet Bridgerton so special. When she first appeared in
The Duke and I
, she was a fairly two-dimensional, standard Regency mama. But over the course of eight books, she became so much more. With each Bridgerton novel, something new was revealed, and by the time I finished
On the Way to the Wedding
, she had become my favorite character in the series. Readers clamored for me to write a happy ending for Violet, but I couldn’t. Truly, I couldn’t—I really don’t think I could write a hero good enough for her. But I, too, wanted to learn more about Violet, and it was a labor of love to write “Violet in Bloom.” I hope you enjoy it.