Page 59 of Earl for the Summer
Their infant son, cradled in his mother’s arms, knew his name well enough to giggle at his sister’s call.
When Daphne reached them, Cassian stroked a hand down her back and kissed her. He couldn’t seem to look at her withoutneeding to touch her, kiss her, whisper in her ear of his love for her. That love had saved him, and now it deepened between them day by day, year by year.
He no longer questioned whether he deserved her or whether she deserved a better man. Hewasa better man because of her, and because of her, he’d become a man who deserved her, a family, and love.
Heveston was no longer just a rambling country house for summer visits, it was their home, and they’d filled it with books, children’s laughter, and plants. So many plants. The first they’d bought together to bring some greenery inside was a palm, and somehow Daphne had teased him about that day at Kew Gardens, their first trip to the Palm House, and his eagerness to tell her the truth—though he’d never found the moment or the words. They’d visited Kew since, when Portia was a babe, and had been able to appreciate it anew and explore it more thoroughly. She didn’t bring up his past deception, and her capacity for forgiveness still astounded him.
“Shall we head back?” Daphne asked.
“Yes, because I have a surprise for you.”
She pushed at his chest playfully. “My birthday is two weeks away. You must wait.”
“Surprises are allowed any day of the year. Besides, why can I not give my wife a bit of pleasure whenever I like?”
Daphne’s eyes sparkled. “Indeed, Husband.”
“Can I have a surprise too?” Portia asked. Their daughter rarely missed a thing.
“See what you’ve done,” Daphne whispered and then chuckled. “Yes, love, you’ll have so many presents very soon because your birthday is just three days after Mama’s.”
Portia bounced on her toes and beamed at the prospect, then clasped her mother’s hand. Cassian reached out and Daphnesettled their son in his arms, and then they wound along the path back to their home.
As they neared Heveston, Isla trotted toward them. The old Scottish deerhound he’d found near the hunting lodge had adapted well to the change from Highland forests to Kentish fields, and she was particularly smitten with Portia.
Their daughter rushed forward to greet her with a hug.
Narrowing one eye at him, Daphne asked, “So where’s this gift?”
“It’s a special sort of gift because you’ve seen it many times, but this time it will surprise you.”
A lovely pink blushed washed over her cheeks. “Are you trying to seduce me?” she whispered.
Cassian laughed. “That comes later tonight. Now come and see the surprise.”
“Give me a hint.”
“My impatient wife,” he teased.
Once they reached the house, Cassian tipped his head toward the back gardens. “This way.”
They had a small staff, but he’d needed the help of all of them to keep this secret for the past few months. On his part, it had required patience, diligence, and hope for years longer—somehow, he seemed to have all of those qualities in abundance now, at least where a surprise that would please Daphne was concerned.
Digory, their footman, stood outside the entryway of the conservatory they’d commissioned a local builder to create in the months after their marriage and their move to Kent. Once it was complete, Cassian had taken Daphne to Scotland, and they’d returned a few weeks later via coach rather than train, in order to transport his botanical specimens and Isla too.
On that trip back to England, in that carriage, she’d told him she was carrying his child. And for one terrifying moment,the memories of his own father had nearly overwhelmed all the joy. Daphne had been patient—despite her claim she wasn’t and how much he loved teasing her—and he’d reminded himself that he was not his father. He remembered that he’d had paternal affection from Bartlett and his mother’s love and care. Those were the examples he’d let guide him as a father.
“All’s ready, Captain,” the footman said as they reached the conservatory.
“Thank you, Digory.”
Elise, the children’s nanny, took Leo in her arms and led Portia to one of the white-painted, wrought-iron benches inside the soaring glass structure.
When Cassian nodded at their housekeeper, Mrs. Moore, she bustled off to a corner of the conservatory, where they’d constructed an inner wall to create a hothouse for the specimens that needed sultry conditions.
Cassian took Daphne’s hands in his and turned her so that her back was to the corner.
“Is it the new rose variety I told you about?”
