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Happier than Layton had ever imagined he could be, his heart swelled with love. How he cherished her and their children.

She swept her mouth upward in an adoring smile before shifting her doting attention to their second child: Xander Caspius Magnus Westbrook.

The reverend passed the sleeping infant back to one of his godfathers.

Fletcher, cradled his godson, crooning softly to the child.

Siobhan, his wife and one of the babe’s godmothers, smoothed a hand across her swollen belly. Soon, another Westbrook would join the ever-growing family.

The other godparents, Charles and his wife Charlene—the former Miss McKenzie—exchanged a meaningful glance. Their child would arrive in the spring.

Charles had finally convinced Charlene that he didn’t care if she was older than him. Love does not keep an account of age, he vowed.

They had married last year, much to Lilly’s delight.

“Let us bow our heads in prayer.” The Rector closed his eyes, and those standing around the baptismal font as well as the Westbrooks sitting in the pews obliged.

“May the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord: and the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be amongst you, and remain with you always. Amen.”

“Amen,” Layton murmured as the “Amens,” of the others filled the quaint chapel, he and Lilly had exchanged vows in almost four years ago.

“Thank you, Reverend Tyndale. I hope you and Mrs. Tyndale can join us at the great house for refreshments.” Layton extended his hand, which the man of God clasped at once.

“It would be my pleasure, Captain Westbrook.” Smiling, the vicar glanced around the noisy sanctuary. “I believe your little fellow brings the total of Westbrook babe baptisms I have performed in the last few years to eighteen.”

The Westbrooks had always been a fertile family.

Layton’s adopted father, the Duke of Latham, had five brothers, and between them, they boasted two and thirty children, not counting Father’s eight. Father had nine and thirty first cousins. When one included their spouses and offspring, they numbered in the hundreds.

Eyes twinkling, the reverend nodded toward the extended family milling about the pews. “It appears I shall have the pleasure a few more times soon.”

“Indeed,” Layton replied dryly before the reverend turned to greet the Duke of Latham.

Not only was Siobhan expecting, so were four of Layton’s sisters-in-law and his sister, Althelia, as well.

Surrounded by grandchildren, Mother was in her element.

“Mama.” Mattie fussed in her grandmother’s arms, and the duchess bounced the almost twenty-month-old, trying to soothe her. “Mama.”

Lilly swept to her daughter. “Mama is here, darling.”

Mattie, named after Matilda Davenport, laid her head on her mother’s chest and calmed at once, toying with the triple strand of pearls around Lilly’s neck.

Pearls were the only jewels that Lilly wore.

She claimed other gemstones were too flamboyant for her simple country tastes.

Layton had known Lilly would make a magnificent mother. That was why she loved the orphans so much. She was a natural nurturer.

Fletcher appeared at his side, still holding Xander.

Lilly and Layton had not discussed another name for their son, though they did change the spelling. It seemed the perfect name and would always remind them of how they met.

“This little chap is the first Westbrook to sleep through his baptism.” Fletcher traced a finger over the baby’s soft cheek. “I think he may be a taciturn fellow like his father,” he teased, good-naturedly.

“Stow it, brother. Xander is a cheerful, contented babe.” The truth was, that until Lilly came into his life, Layton had been an aloof bore.

“Here.” Fletcher gently set Xander in Layton’s arms. “My wife needs a hand with our energetic offspring.”