Page 139 of The Duke's Secret Baby
He rested his forehead against hers. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Frances said softly. “Do you think Mary Grace will mind?”
“Mind what?”
“Not being the only child.”
Andrew glanced toward the door, as though he might see through the walls to the nursery above. “I think she will be outraged at first.”
“Very likely.”
“Then curious.”
“Then tyrannical.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Frances laughed. “She will be an excellent older sister.”
His throat tightened at the words.
Older sister.
He thought of the baby sister he had lost, nameless and fragile, and for the first time the memory did not end only in silence. It moved onward, somehow, into Mary Grace, into Frances, into the child not yet born. Life did not repair death, but it answered it.
Andrew pressed a kiss to Frances’s brow.
“We shall name this child together, too,” he told her.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“And you will tell me when I am being unbearable.”
“Often.”
“And I will endeavor to improve.”
“Occasionally.”
He smiled. “That seems fair.”
From the corridor came Lilian’s voice, bright and urgent. “Aunt Frances? Uncle Andrew? Papa says the cake cannot be cut until everyone is present, and I think that is unreasonable!”
Frances closed her eyes briefly. “Duty calls.”
“Cake calls,” Andrew corrected.
“A more powerful summons.”
He offered his arm. She took it.
Before they left the conservatory, Frances paused and looked up at him with that soft, secret smile which had become his favorite sight in all the world.
“Andrew?”
“Yes?”
“I am very glad this is our ending.”
He covered her hand with his. “My love, I have every intention of making it only the beginning.”
The End?
