Page 39 of It's a British Christmas

“I don’t need to recuperate. I feel fine.”

“Yes, I know dear, and when I had my sons I felt fine as well, but to keep my husband happy I stayed in bed for weeks. Longer than three, it seems to me.” She tapped her lips with her index finger. “Or maybe it just seemed so much longer.”

“Miss Merry we decided to stay with you instead of skating.” Lady Clare skipped into the room.

Lord Brandon followed. “Can I tell you, dear sister, how happy I am to be forced to stay in the nice warm house instead of freezing my—“

“Brandon!” the dowager duchess warned.

“Sorry, Mother. But I wouldn’t have said what you think.” He winked and took the seat across from Merry. “Feeling lonely, were you?”

“A bit,” she sighed.

“Perhaps we can have a game of charades later. Watching Penrose make a fool of himself will certainly entertain you.”

“Well, look who we have here.” Penrose strolled through the doorway with a small bundle wrapped in a soft white blanket. “I found this tyke lying around up in the nursery. Thought I would put him to good use.”

Merry held her arms out, her fingers flexing to hold her child.

Penrose placed the baby gently in her arms. “Here you are, Your Grace. Just as you requested. William Thomas, the Marquis of Burlington.” Penrose settled alongside his family. His large finger traced the softness of the newborn’s skin. “Merry Christmas, my son.”

“This is such a wonderful Christmas,” Merry choked. Then the tears fell as she hugged her baby close.

The End