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part of your request?"
'That, I'm afraid involves a certain commitment of time on your part."
Her eyes narrowed, but she was still smiling. "What sort of commitment of time?"
In one stunningly swift move, he pinned her to the mattress. "About nine months."
Her lips softened with surprise. "Are you sure?"
"That it takes nine months?" He grinned. "That's what I've always been told."
But the levity had left her eyes. "You know that's not what I mean," she said softly.
"I know," he replied, meeting her serious gaze with one of his own. "But yes, I'm sure. And I'm
scared to death. And thrilled to the marrow. And a hundred other emotions I never let myself feel
before you came along."
Tears pricked her eyes. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."
"It's the truth," he vowed. "Before I met you I was only half-alive."
"And now?" she whispered.
"And now?" he echoed. " 'Now' suddenly means happiness, and joy, and a wife I adore. But do
you know what?"
She shook her head, too overcome to speak.
He leaned down and kissed her. "'Now' doesn't even compare to tomorrow. And tomorrow
couldn't possibly compete with the next day. As perfect as I feel this very moment, tomorrow is
going to be even better. Ah, Daff," he murmured, moving his. lips to hers, "every day I'm going
to love you more. I promise you that. Every day ..."
Epilogue
It's
a boy for the Duke and Duchess of Hastings!
After three girls, society's most besotted couple has finally produced an heir. This Author can only
imagine the level of relief in the Hastings household; after all, it is a truth universally acknowledged
that a married man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of an heir .
The name of the new babe has yet to be made public, although This Author feels herself uniquely
qualified to speculate. After all, with sisters named Amelia, Belinda, and Caroline, could the new
Earl Clyvedon be called anything but David?
Lady Whistledown's Society Papers, 15 December 1817
Simon threw up his arms in amazement, the single-sheet newspaper flying across the room.
"How does she know this?" he demanded. "We've told no one of our decision to name him
David."
Daphne tried not to smile as she watched her husband sputter and storm about the room. "It's
just a lucky guess, I'm sure," she said, turning her attention back to the newborn in her arms. It
was far too early to know if his eyes would remain blue or turn brown like his older sisters', but
already he looked so like his father; Daphne couldn't imagine that his eyes would spoil the effect
by darkening.
"She must have a spy in our household," he said, planting his hands on his hips. "She must."
"I'm sure she doesn't have a spy in our household," Daphne said without looking up at him. She
was too interested in the way David's tiny hand was gripping her finger.
"But—"
Daphne finally lifted her head. "Simon, you're being ridiculous. It's just a gossip column."
"Whistledown—ha!" he grumbled. "I've never heard of any Whistledowns. I'd like to know who
this blasted woman is."
"You and the rest of London," Daphne said under her breath.
"Someone should put her out of business once and for all."
"If you wish to put her out of business," Daphne could not resist pointing out, "you shouldn't
support her by buying her newspaper."
"And don't even try to say that you buy
Whistledown
for me."
"You read it," Simon muttered.
"And so do you." Daphne dropped a kiss on the top of David's head. "Usually well before I can
get my hands on it. Besides, I'm rather fond of Lady Whistledown these days."
Simon looked suspicious."Why?"
"Did you read what she wrote about us? She called us London's most besotted couple." Daphne
smiled wickedly. "I rather like that."
Simon groaned. "That's only because Philipa Featherington—"
"She's Philipa Berbrooke now," Daphne reminded him.
"Well, whatever her name, she has the bloodiest big mouth in London, and ever since she heard
me calling you 'Dear Heart' at the theater last month, I have not been able to show my faceat my
clubs."
"Is it so very unfashionable to love one's wife, then?"Daphne teased.
Simon pulled a face, looking rather like a disgruntled young boy.
"Never mind," Daphne said. "I don't want to hear your answer."
Simon's smile was an endearing cross between sheepish and sly.
"Here," she said, holding David up."Do you want to hold him?"
"Of course." Simon crossed the room and took the baby into his arms. He cuddled him for
several moments, then glanced over at Daphne and grinned. "I think he looks like me."
"I know he does."
Simon kissed him on the nose, and whispered, "Don't you worry, my little man. I shall love you
always. I'll teach you your letters and your numbers, and how to sit on a horse. And I shall
protect you from all the awful people in this world, especially that Whistledown woman..."
* * *
And in a small, elegantly furnished chamber, not so very far from Hastings House, a young
woman sat at her desk with quill and a pot of ink and pulled out a piece of paper.
With a smile on her face, she set her quill to paper and wrote:
Lady Whistledown's Society Papers
19 December 1817
Ah Gentle Reader, This Author is pleased to report...
JULIA QUINN learned to read before she learned to talk, and her family is still trying to figure
out if that explains A) why she reads so fast B) why she talks so much or C) both. In addition to
writing romances, she practices yoga, grows terrifyingly huge zucchinis, and tries to think up
really good reasons why housework is dangerous to her health.
The author of eight novels for Avon Books, she is a graduate of Harvard and Radcliffe Colleges
and lives in Colorado with her husband Paul and two pet rabbits.
Document Outline - And for Martha of The Romance Journal electronic bulletin board, for suggesting I call it Daphne's Bad Heir Day .
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