Extended Epilogue

Ten Years Later

"My dear, I can't believe you would say that!" Theodore shouted from the window. He shook his head in abject disappointment.

"You don't need to shout, my love!" Christine countered, showing herself. "I am in the same room as you, so if you would like to make a counterpoint to my argument, then you should tell it to me instead of shouting it at the window as if you are talking to the sheep on the hill in the distance."

"And if I were, they would be in agreement with me," the Duke announced.

"Then you should go out there and ask them." Christine smirked at her reply. "The fresh air might help you to think more clearly."

"Oh, I have never thought with more clarity." The Duke turned from the window to face her.

Blast his rugged features! Is this how you think you will win another argument? By being unbearable attractive?

Christine did her best not to show any emotion toward her husband, so he would not know he had gained the upper hand against him. She considered pulling her dress down to show him a little cleavage. It would drive him wild with desire, but there were children in the house.

"You have never thought with less clarity," the Duke claimed. "Let me lay this out for you one more time. Your argument is that you are the better whist player because you have a wistful—your words—style of play where you use your intuition to play excitingly. That is what you just said, right?"

"Yes, and I stand by it," Christine replied.

"All right," the Duke said, pacing around the room the way he did when he was making a logical point. "While I claim to be the better whist player because I win more games and score more points."

"Oh, you can't base it only on who gets more points," Christine countered.

The Duke threw his hands up in the air. "That is exactly what it should be based on. The better player is the one who wins more games."

"You are such a man, and you can only think like a man," Christine said calmly. "Who wants to play with someone who always wins? People want to play with exciting players who play with more flourish!"

"Who plays more wistfully?"

"Exactly," Christine said with a smile. "I knew you would come around to my way of thinking."

"I have not come around to any way of thinking. This is not about who is the better player; it is about me convincing you that the way to measure the better player is the player who plays better. How about art? Is the better artist the one who paints a family as he sees them or adds flourishes that are not there?"

"Or she," Christine reminded. "Artists can be women, and what about symbolism? An artist often adds things that are not there, and it only enhances the painting."

"Maybe that was not the best example," the Duke said. "How about—"

"Please don't fight," Mary pleaded as she entered the room.

Christine and Theodore both laughed.

"Come here, my dear," Christine said, patting her lap. "Your father and I were only having a discussion though it probably sounded like we were fighting. Your father can't admit that I am the better whist player, but I forgive him for it."

"I am the—" Theodore started.

"My love, we should not argue anymore," Christine interrupted. "Our darling daughter is absolutely right. We must all try to get on with each other, so we can live happily together." She turned to her daughter and kissed her on the cheek. "Isn't that right, my sweet, sweet bon-bon."

Mary giggled. "Yes, let's all be happy!"

Christine snuggled into her daughter and kissed her repeatedly on the cheek and head. She looked over at Theodore as she did and raised her eyebrows.

Theodore shook his head slowly and mouthed, "This is not over."

Christine smiled and gave their daughter more kisses. Mary was nine years old and already taking after her mother. She was intelligent and outspoken but was very protective of her family, especially her three younger brothers. Christine had no idea how Mary remained so calm when dealing with three boys running around the house and often teasing her.

Still, she was extremely clever and had her ways of getting back at her brothers. It was all good-natured, much like the arguing she and Theodore engaged in.

"Mother, I thought you might argue until Aunt Adeline and Uncle Owen got here," Mary said.

"I can see their carriage coming now," Theodore observed from the window.

"See," Christine said to her daughter. "We stopped arguing long before they got here. Now, will you go and get your brothers, so we can greet them at the door?"

"Yes, Mother," Mary said.

Mary got off her mother's lap and skipped toward the door. "Arthur! Dominic! Harold!" she called. "Mother said you are to come with me right now!"

Christine smiled and then stood up to join her husband at the window.

Theodore was chuckling.

"She is a character," Christine noted.

"She has to be to deal with our three boys. I worried she would be outnumbered and overwhelmed, but she manages to keep them in line just like you keep me in line," Theodore said.

"And she has three of them to deal with." Christine reached down and grabbed her husband's rear. "I only have to deal with one of you, and that is hard enough as it is."

Theodore turned a little and looked down at his wife's hand on his buttocks. "Well, it seems that I am the one who has to deal with you and not the other way around. You are a handful, Christine."

Christine laughed and grabbed her husband's rear a little tighter. "No, you are the handful."

Theodore laughed along with her.

"If you are willing to concede defeat in the whist argument, I will give you a kiss before we go downstairs to greet Adeline and Owen," Theodore offered.

"Oh, come on," Christine replied. "That is a dirty trick, and you know it. How am I supposed to resist that?"

"If you are confident you are the better whist player, then you must say so."

"Whist?" Christine murmured. "Were we talking about whist? All I can think about are those firm pink lips before me. I don't care what was claimed previously. I am willing to retract any previous statements for one kiss from you, but I must make one request."

"What is your request?" the Duke asked.

"I wish to keep my hand on your rear while I kiss you."

"Hmm, you drive a hard bargain," the Duke replied. "All right, I shall allow it, and I shall enjoy it. And feel free to kiss me back wistfully."

Christine would have giggled if she had time, but the Duke's lips were upon her, and she melted just as she had melted the first time he had kissed her. They had been married for ten years, and it was as exciting now as it had been from a little after they were married.

It had been a rocky start, but she had fallen in love with Theodore after marrying him, and she was more in love with him now than she ever had been.

"Mmm," she moaned through the kiss.

The Duke wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him slowly until their bodies were against each other. Christine moaned again, gripping her husband's rear a little tighter. She never wanted to let him go.

His tongue danced with hers, strong and supple. She took her other hand and wrapped it around his back, clinging to him. He was the more rational, stronger-willed one, and he would be the one to end the kiss. Not because he wanted to but because they had guests to attend to. If it were up to Christine, she would kiss him all afternoon and then hope they moved on to other things.

"Mmm," Christine groaned when the Duke pulled back a little. "Why do we have to stop?" She drew the words out, and her voice became whiny and high-pitched.

"Do we need to argue about it?" the Duke asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Perhaps we can argue about it later," Christine suggested.

"We are very good about arguing," Theodore said. More urgency entered his voice. "Now, we really need to go. Their coach just came to a halt, and they will be greeted by our four children and the nanny."

Christine giggled and took the Duke's hand. They ran out of the tearoom and down the hallway, clomping downstairs like horses running on a packed path. They made it to the door right as the butler was opening it.

It sounded for a moment like they had been invaded by a flock of angry starlings. Adeline and Owen's three children entered first, and as soon as Mary and her siblings spotted their cousins, they screamed out in joy. That set off the cousins, and seven children of varying ages screamed out in the entrance to the manor.

The four adults were taken aback for a moment, but they could not help but smile when they saw the love between the seven cousins, who were not jumping up and down and engaging in dances that were invented on the spot.

Christine looked at Adeline, and she saw the same glint in her eye that she knew was in hers. They both screamed out at the same time and bounced toward each other, embracing and jumping around on the spot to mimic the children. They stopped bouncing, and both burst into laughter.

"I don't know about you, Owen, but I need a drink already," Theodore said.

"I can't let you drink alone," Owen replied. "I would be glad to join you."

Christine quickly ran to her husband and kissed him on the cheek. "We will be in to join you as soon as we get the kids settled and playing together. Perhaps we can play some whist later."

"Oh, yes!" Adeline exclaimed. "I want to be with Christine. She is a wonderful player."

Christine looked at her husband and raised her eyebrows.

Theodore shook his head and flashed a wry smile. "I believe we can make that happen and perhaps settle an argument once and for all. I have a good bottle of wine I have been saving for a special occasion, and what better occasion that having family around?"

"My goodness, am I late?" the Dowager Duchess asked as she quickly descended the stairs.

"You are just in time, Mother," Theodore said.

"The children have been talking about you all the way here, Mother," Adeline said.

"Oh, there you are!" the Dowager Duchess exclaimed, running to her grandchildren and hugging them all one by one, even the ones who lived in the same house as her and she got to hug all of the time.

It was one of Christine's favorite things in a life full of favorite things. The Duke's mother had moved back in with them seven years ago, and it was wonderful to see her with the children. Christine's mother and father visited often, and it was wonderful to see her own mother with her grandchildren, too. Her mother had spent two years in bed with chronic fatigue, but her body eventually fought back, and a further year of being confined to the house but not her bed had brought her back to life.

In two weeks, Irene and her family would visit, and they would be blessed with more cousins in the house.

"I love to see her like this," Christine said.

"I agree," Adeline replied.

Adeline had fallen in love with Lord St. Vincent shortly after they married, and Christine was incredibly thankful for that, too. She believed that everyone deserved love except for Percival Shelvey. They had not heard from him since he left the country ten years ago, and they didn't think they ever would.

"Come on," Christine said. "Let's check on the children, and then we can show the men how whist is properly played."

"Sounds wonderful," Adeline said.

The End