Page 133 of Enter the Duke
Journey’s End, A Few Years Later
Rhys knew he would find his wife in the garden.
The Duchess of Ranelagh and Somerville had gained a reputation for her flower gardens, visitors coming to their flourishing estate in Northumberland and here in Dorset to see her exquisite designs. One society paper had even raved that her mingling of native wildflowers with cultivated roses was “a wildly original ode to the marriage of nature and man.”
He and Maggie had shared a chuckle over that. Just as they had when the wags had given Rhys a new moniker after a well-received speech he’d given in the House of Lords against the Opium War. Now thetoncalled him Ransom the Rhetorician—which was patently ridiculous, but he supposed they’d needed to give him another sobriquet after his former one had fallen out of use.
His devotion to his duchess had become something of a legend.
Rhys strode with purpose through the lush maze, Lucky following faithfully at his heels. He found Maggie at the center with their children. Even after the years of marriage, the sight of her never failed to stir him. She wore a stylish white taffeta gown and had left off her bonnet, the sunshine picking out the ruby glints in her casual yet elegant coiffure. She was pointing out a flower to their three-year-old son, Horatio, while Glory read to their newborn, Theo, on a nearby blanket.
Everyone turned at Rhys’s approach.
“Papa!” Horatio was the first to run over.
Rhys hoisted the dark-haired child onto his shoulders. “How’s my boy?”
“Hun-gwy,” Horatio confirmed.
He was always hungry.
“We’re ready to have luncheon,” Rhys said.
“Have Hypatia and Arthur arrived?” Maggie came up to him.
Rhys brushed his lips against her temple, relishing her sweet fragrance and sensual shiver. “Yes and your brothers as well. We’d better get back before all the food is gone.”
“And the silver,” she muttered.
Smiling because her assessment wasn’t wholly inaccurate, he went over to Glory. “What are you reading, poppet?”
“I’m teaching Theo Chinese,” she said seriously.
Since learning about her heritage, Glory had developed a love affair with all things Chinese. Rhys had hired a tutor for her, and she’d soaked everything up like a sponge, showing a natural aptitude for the language. Even Ming had looked impressed when Glory had carried on a conversation with him in his native tongue.
“I don’t think he’s old enough to understand, dear,” Maggie said.
“He smiles when I count to him. Watch.” Glory turned to her baby brother. “Yi, er, san—see?”
Sure enough, Theo was smiling and blinking his wide hazel eyes.
Maggie looked doubtful. “Are you sure he’s not just passing wind?”
Rhys didn’t know if it was the Chinese or his sister’s love that the baby was responding to, but what did it matter?
“Well done, poppet,” he said. “Now it’s time for lunch.”
“I’m hun-gwy,” Horatio reminded them all.
Glory got up, and Maggie took Theo.
Rhys put his arms around his wife and daughter, and they all headed in together.
