Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)(99)

“Trust me,” Bram told Colin. “When it’s over—once you see she’s well, and the midwife places your red, shriveled female offspring in your arms—all this worry will be forgotten.”

Griff hoped that would be the case for his old friend. It certainly hadn’t worked that way for him. He hadn’t slept for a fortnight after his son’s birth. He’d hovered over the cradle, walked the halls with him swaddled in his arms.

Finally, Pauline had found him in the library one early morning.

He’d nodded off in a chair, little Jonathan tucked into the crook of his elbow. When he awoke, it was to the vision of his lovely wife, her hair unbound and haloed by new sunlight. So beautiful, she could have been an angel.

She didn’t say a word—just took their child from his arms, kissed the cheek Griff hadn’t shaved in days, and smiled.

In that moment a sense of peace had descended on him. For the first time since they’d learned Pauline was with child, he stopped worrying about everything that could go wrong and began looking forward to everything that would go right.

Almost four years now, and he hadn’t looked back.

He was sure his peers would look at his life here and find it highly confusing. The duchess kept a circulating library and remained best of friends with the dry goods shopkeeper. Their children frequently wore lumpy, ill-knitted jackets, and they played with children of farmers and fishermen. To balance his charitable work for the local school and St. Ursula’s parish, Griff hosted a weekly card game that was legendary.

It was an unconventional life for a duke, perhaps. But an unquestionably happy one.

“Well, if it isn’t young Lord Westmore.” Fosbury’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “And her grace and little Lady Rose with him.”

“No sweets, please, Mr. Fosbury.” Pauline’s voice. “Their grandmother spoils them enough. No, Rose. You mustn’t touch.”

Griff smiled to himself. So many years since she’d worked in this tavern, and his wife—his duchess—still entered the establishment through the rear door.

And even with frazzled hair and two small children in tow, she still took his breath away. Every time.

Colin shot to his feet. “How is she?”

“Which ‘she’?” Pauline led Jonathan by one hand and had little Rose propped on the opposite hip. “Do you mean your wife or your daughter?”

Bram thumped the table, triumphant. “Told you it would be a girl.”

“They’re both well,” Pauline hurried to add. “In excellent health and enjoying some hard-earned rest.”

“I . . . That’s . . .” Colin paled and dropped to the chair again as his knees gave out. “Oh, God.”

Pauline came to Griff’s side and nodded at Colin’s dazed state. “Is that from the drink or the shock of fatherhood?”

“Both, I suspect. Give him a moment, he’ll recover.”

She released Jonathan’s hand and shifted Rose from one arm to the other. “Will you watch them while I pop over to see Sally? I’m expecting a new parcel of books for the library.”

“Of course. But I expect a reward for my trouble.”

She kissed his cheek and whispered a husky, “Later.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He caught Rose and lifted her into his arms, tweaking the snub of her tiny nose. “Look at you, darling. You’re all spangled with sugar.”