Grace Burrowes - The Courtship

“Percival, you must stop kidnapping me like this.”

“No, I must not. I must become accomplished at it, so that even when we are knee-deep in little Windhams, I can still steal you away on a moment’s notice.”

Esther stopped walking and tried to glower at him. “Which will only ensure the parade of little Windhams continues without ceasing.”

His smile was blissful. “Precisely. I had a letter from your cousin Michael. He finds life as a colonel in the cavalry very much to his liking.”

“Have I thanked you for that?”

“No, you have not, not as a properly grateful fiancée ought to. I will accept your thanks on our wedding night, along with any other generosities you feel inclined to bestow on me. Tony says Sir Jasper and Lady Lay-About have departed on a wedding journey to Rome. No doubt there will be war on the Continent within the sennight.”

He was incorrigible, also very passionate. Two fine qualities in a man destined to raise up a large brood of children. Esther couldn’t help but smile as they resumed walking. “Sir Jasper claimed he would have offered me marriage.”

“You would not have suffered that buffoon for an instant—would you?”

“Of course not.” Though the hint of belligerence in the question—and uncertainty behind it—was gratifying. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Percival.”

He held back a branch of an encroaching lilac bush for her, reminding her of a spring night in the darkened wood weeks ago.

“I adore your interrogations, Esther.”

He particularly liked it when she interviewed various parts of his male anatomy, an undertaking at which she’d grown increasingly bold.

“My question is this: Have you thought of names?”

“Names? I rather enjoy it when you use the German endearments. I’ve never been anybody’s dearest handsome treasure before.” He’d dropped into a German accent, imitating Esther’s papa, with whom Percival spent many hours arguing politics.

He’d also brought Esther’s hand to his lips, there to kiss and nuzzle at her knuckles, her palm, her wrist…

“Percival, the wedding is still two weeks off, and we must exercise some restraint.”

The Moreland gardens were lovely, giving way to a landscaped park that eventually led to the home wood. For today’s outing, Percival had captured her from the duchess’s company and taken her straight through the French doors and down across the terraces, leaving Her Grace to fume and pace and ring for Lady Arabella’s soothing presence.

“Restraint, indeed. Were I not exercising restraint, Esther Louise, you’d be tossed over my shoulder.”

He could do it, too, and had on more than one occasion.

“I was not referring to endearments such as you might imagine you hear when my wits go begging. I was referring to names you might like for these little Windhams you’re so enthusiastic about.”

He fell silent, which was something Esther also loved about him. He could bluster and tease and even—when he and her papa were enjoying their after-dinner drinks—shout, but he was also capable of contemplative silence.

“What are you trying to tell me, Esther?”

“I am trying to tell you that our frequent and enthusiastic bouts of passion have led to their natural consequence. I will be lucky to fit into my wedding dress.”

He dropped her hand, subjecting Esther to an unwelcome bout of uncertainty.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded, finding the bed of red roses of interest. They had thorns, of course, but they were beautiful and hardy, and their scent was incomparable.

“When, Esther?”

His question was quiet, his expression unreadable.

“The first time, I think. I haven’t had my… I haven’t bled since that first time.”

He stepped closer and enfolded her in a gentle embrace. For a long moment he said nothing. Her bellowing, blustering, teasing, beloved fiancé said not one word.

And then, very softly, his lips at her ear. “Bartholomew, I think. Uncle Bart is Her Grace’s favorite brother, though she’d never say so. He put me on my first pony and supported my decision to buy my colors.”

“It’s a good name.” Though on a daughter, it might be a trifle awkward.

The moment didn’t call for pragmatism, though. Percival remained silent, holding her, until Esther realized—budding wifely instinct, perhaps—that he was moved beyond words. In her arms, he felt particularly warm, and there was a huskiness to his voice suggesting strong emotion.

She remained in his embrace a long while, the scent of the roses rising around them, the soft summer air stirring a lock of Percival’s unbound hair against her cheek.

“Are you all right, Esther? Carrying a child can be hard on some women.”

“I have never felt a greater sense of well-being than I have since accepting your proposal, Percival Windham.”

In the sigh that went out of him, Esther realized he’d needed to hear her say that. He would probably need to hear her say that many times in the ensuing months, years, and—God willing—decades. Fortunately, it was the simple truth.

He kissed her ear and nuzzled her temple. “I will take such good care of you, my dear, that short of the benevolent intercession of the Almighty Himself, nobody could take better care of you.”

“I know. I’ll take care of you too.”

“And of our children.”

Another sweet moment passed, and then Esther took her Percival by the hand—he seemed to have lost some of his customary boldness—and led him into the home wood. When they emerged in time for tea some hours later, not even Her Grace remarked the grass stains Percival had acquired on the knees of his breeches.

This story is my first published novella, and as always when an author takes a new direction, there are thanks due. Deb Werksman, my editor, first suggested I try a shorter format. Dominique Raccah, my publisher, gave the OK to acquire the work and has been enthusiastic about its positioning. The usual suspects at Sourcebooks—Skye, Susie, Cat, and Danielle—deserve much thanks for putting up with a dynamic schedule. My thanks also go to my dear readers, who have come to hold Percival and Esther in almost as much affection as I do. Their Graces didn’t encounter entirely smooth sailing once married, but that’s another story…

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Grace Burrowes hit the bestseller lists with both her debut, The Heir, and her second book in The Duke’s Obsession trilogy, The Soldier. Both books received extensive praise and starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Booklist. The Heir was also named a Publishers Weekly Best Book of the Year, and The Soldier was named a Publishers Weekly Best Spring Romance. Her first story in the Windham’s sisters’ series—Lady Sophie’s Christmas Wish—received the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice award for historical romance and was nominated for a RITA in the Regency category. She is hard at work on more stories for the Windham sisters and has started a trilogy of Scottish Victorian romances, the first of which, The Bridegroom Wore Plaid, will soon be on the shelves.

Grace lives in rural Maryland and is a practicing attorney. She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached through her website at graceburrowes.com.