“How are you feeling, wife?”
Edward bent down to kiss the back of her neck, and she shivered.
They had returned to the London town house after getting married in the village—the same village where Olivia had felt so humbled—and Mr. Beechcroft had joined them, although he was always alert to making excuses so he could leave them alone.
“I am fine, husband.” Olivia patted her stomach, which was just beginning to get round. The child would be born in another six months or so, and Edward was already fussing over her all the time, even though she told him she felt fine, if prone to taking more naps.
Her sister Eleanor had had a child a few months ago, and Olivia was looking forward to their children growing up with one another.
Everything was settled, and wonderful, and she was finding she got remarkable results when she asked people what they wanted, not just telling them what they should want.
In the evenings she and Edward spent as much time as possible in bed—much to Scamp’s delight—while arguing about names for the child.
“I love you,” she said suddenly. She never got tired of telling him, and she never got tired of hearing it back from him.
“I love you too,” he said, drawing her up into his arms and kissing her until her knees wobbled and she forgot about everything but him.