And they were happy. Deeply, powerfully content.
Caro set down her cup, reached for another scone, and asked Honoria who else was in town; Honoria had confirmed that Michael had explained the real reason for their presence in the capital. “In order to learn whatever we can, we must make an effort to be seen.”
Honoria raised her brows. “In that case, Therese Osbaldestone came up two days ago. A select gathering has been summoned to attend her tomorrow for morning tea.” She grinned. “You should come with me.”
Caro met Honoria’s eyes. “You know perfectly well she’ll pounce on me and lecture me. You’re just trying to divert her attention.”
Honoria opened her eyes wide, spread her hands. “Of course. What are friends for, after all?”
Caro laughed.
Devil and Michael rose; she and Honoria turned to view them inquiringly.
Devil grinned. “I’ll return your late husband’s will. While my people couldn’t find anything significant in it, there are a number of matters I need to clarify with Michael, so if you’ll excuse us, we’ll retire to my study.”
Caro found herself smiling and inclining her head—even while her mind retreaded his words and found no request for permission in them. But by then, the door was closing. Looking at Honoria, she raised a quizzical brow. “Tell me—were those ‘matters’ to be clarified to do with the will, or something else entirely?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Devil and Michael share other interests; however, I, too, suspect those matters are most likely questions about Camden’s will.” Honoria shrugged. “No matter. I’ll get it out of Devil later, and you can drag the information from Michael.
Rising, she waved Caro up. “Come—I want to show you the other half of my life.”
Caro rose. The doors to the terrace were open; she could hear the shrill laughter of children playing on the lawns beyond. Linking her arm in Honoria’s, she strolled with her outside. “How many?”
“Three.”
The satisfaction and deep happiness that rang in Honoria’s voice slipped under Caro’s guard, and touched her. She glanced at Honoria, but she was looking ahead. Love and pride glowed in her face.
Caro followed her gaze to where three children romped on the lush lawn. Two brown-haired young boys held wooden swords; under the watchful gaze of two nursemaids, they were staging a fight. One of the nursemaids juggled a toddler, a dark-haired poppet, on her knee.
Honoria steered her down the steps. “Sebastian—sometimes known as Earith—is nearly five, Michael is three, and Louisa is one.”
Caro smiled. “You have been busy.”
“No, Devil’s been busy—I’ve been occupied.” Not even her laughter could disguise Honoria’s joy.
The dark-haired poppet saw them and waved chubby arms. “Mama!”
The demand was imperious. They walked that way, then Honoria lifted her daughter into her arms. The child cooed—literally—wrapped her arms about her mother’s neck, and snuggled her curly head onto Honoria’s shoulder. Her wide, pale green eyes, impossibly long- and lushlylashed, remained fixed—openly inquisitive—on Caro.
“Contrary to all appearances”—Honoria squinted down at her daughter—“this is the dangerous one. She’s already got her father wrapped about her little finger, and when her brothers aren’t busy fighting each other, they’re her knights to command.”
Caro grinned. “A very sensible young lady.”
Honoria chuckled, gently jigging Louisa. “She’ll do.”
At that moment, a wail rent the air. “Oowww! You did that on purpose!”
All eyes deflected to the would-be swordsmen; they’d progressed further down the lawn. Michael was rolling on the grass holding his knee.
Sebastian stood over him, a scowl on his face. “I didn’t hit you there—that would be a foul blow. It was your own silly sword—you stuck yourself with the hilt!”
“Didn’t!”
The nursemaids hovered, unsure whether to intervene, given that their charges had not yet come to blows.
Honoria took one look at her eldest son’s face—and untangled Louisa and thrust her into Caro’s arms. “Here—hold her. Any minute now a deadly insult is going to be uttered—and then it’ll have to be avenged!”
Left with no option, Caro hefted Louisa, a warm, resilient bundle, into her arms.