"Well, as to that, I am not able to say. I do not think so. At least not at the moment. But I imagine I soon will be, don't you? Bound to happen sooner or later at the rate we are going." Emily turned pink but she was still smiling.

Araminta sputtered and coughed on a swallow of tea. "I beg your pardon," she said weakly, gasping for air.

Simon paid no attention to his aunt. All he could think about at the moment was the possibility of Emily growing round with his babe. It struck him that until that moment he had not really thought much about the future. All his schemes and plans and thoughts had been focused on the past. Now here was Emily talking about having babies. His babies.

"Hell and damnation," he muttered.

"Yes, I know what you mean, my lord. It is something of a shock to think in such terms, is it not? But we must, of course. And I confess it was the thought of how much we shall love and cherish our own children that made me realize you would not wish to hurt Lord Canonbury's granddaughter or Peppington's grandson. It is not your nature to be cruel, my lord. You are a noble and generous man at heart, as I well know."

Simon just sat there staring at Emily. He knew he ought to be lecturing her on the subject of staying out of his business affairs but he seemed to be unable to tear himself away from the image of his son in her arms.

"Do you think our son will have your eyes?" Emily asked thoughtfully, as if she had just peeked into his mind.

"I can just imagine him running about the place. Full of energy and mischief. You can teach him those fighting techniques you are teaching to my brothers. Boys love that sort of thing."

"I believe I really must be on my way," Araminta said softly as she rose to her feet. "If you will excuse me?"

Simon was barely aware of his aunt taking her leave. When the door closed softly behind her, he realized he was still staring at Emily, picturing her with a dark-haired, golden-eyed babe at her breast. Or perhaps a green-eyed, redheaded little girl.

"Simon?" Emily blinked inquiringly at him.

"If you will pardon me, I believe there are one or two items that require my attention in the library," Simon said absently, getting to his feet.

He had clung to his past for twenty-three years, Simon thought. It had given him strength and will and fortitude. But now it finally struck him that the day he had married Emily he had acquired a toehold in the future, whether he wanted it or not.

Simon was still struggling with the idea of Emily surrounded by his children, still feeling bemused and oddly uncertain of his own intentions, when he walked into one of his clubs that evening.

As fate would have it, the first two men he saw were Canonbury and Peppington.

An image of Canonbury's silly granddaughter fainting in a ballroom and Peppington's serious young grandson studying land management came into his mind. With a deep sigh, he crossed the room toward his two old enemies.

Simon made the offer to sell the canal to Canonbury and Peppington before he could give himself any further chance to think about it. The stunned shock on the faces of both elderly men was extremely satisfying.

Canonbury got to his feet with painful slowness. "I am very grateful to you, sir. I am well aware you had other intentions a short while ago. Intentions that would have ruined both Peppington and myself. May I ask what changed your mind?"

"This is not some sort of new trick, is it, Blade?" Peppington asked suspiciously. "You have kept us hovering on the brink of disaster for the past six months. Why should you set us free now?"

"My wife tells me I have a noble and generous nature," Simon said with a cold smile.

Canonbury sat down abruptly and reached for his port. "I see."

Peppington recovered sufficiently from his astonishment to give Simon an assessing look. "Wives are extremely odd creatures, are they not, sir?"

"They certainly do tend to complicate a man's life," Simon agreed.

Peppington nodded, looking thoughtful. "Thank you for your generosity, sir. Canonbury and I are well aware that we do not deserve it. What happened twenty-three years ago was… not well done of either of us."

"We are in your debt, Blade," Canonbury murmured.

"No," said Simon. "You are in my wife's debt. See that you do not forget it." He turned on his heel and walked away from the two old men he had hated for twenty-three years.

As he went out into the night he realized vaguely that something inside him felt freer, looser, less confined. It was as though he had just unfastened an old, rusty chain and released a part of himself that had been locked up for a very long time.

The frantic message from Broderick Faringdon arrived a day later. Emily was in the midst of consulting with Simon's cook. The consultation had turned into a rather loud discussion.

"I do not mind having some of your wonderful, exotic specialties from the East Indies on the buffet table," Emily said firmly to the strange little man who wore a gold earring in one ear. "But we must remember that most of the guests will be unfamiliar with such foreign delicacies. The English are not terribly adventurous in their eating habits."

Smoke drew himself up proudly. "His lordship has never complained about my cooking."

"Well, of course he has never complained," Emily said soothingly. "Your cooking is marvelous, Smoke. But I fear his lordship's palate is considerably more cultivated and refined than those of many of the people you will be serving at the soiree. We are talking about the sort of people who do not consider a meal complete unless they have plenty of boiled potatoes and a large joint of beef."

"Madam is quite right, Smoke," the housekeeper chimed in. "We must serve some turbot in aspic, perhaps. And sausages and maybe a bit of tongue."

"Sausages! Tongue!" Smoke was outraged. "I will not allow any greasy sausages or tongue to be served in this house."

"Well, then, some cold ham would do nicely," Emily said hopefully.

A loud, urgent knocking on the kitchen door interrupted the argument. Harry, the footman, went to the door and after a short consultation with whoever stood outside, he approached his mistress.

"Beggin' yer pardon, madam. I am told there is a message for you."

Emily turned away from the squabble with a sense of relief. "For me? Where?"

"A young lad at the door, ma'am. Says he can only deliver the message to you." Harry raised his hooked arm. "Shall I tell him to be off?"

"No, no, I shall speak to him."

Emily went through the kitchens to the door and saw the grubby little boy waiting for her. "Well, lad, what is it?"

The boy stared at Emily's bright red hair and spectacles and then nodded to himself, as if satisfied he had the right person. "I'm to tell yer that yer pa's got to see yer right away, ma'am. He give me this note to give to yer." A small slip of paper, rather badly stained from a dirty little fist, was dutifully handed over.

"Very well." Emily dropped a coin into the boy's palm, a strong sense of foreboding washing over her as she looked at the paper. "Thank you."

The boy examined the coin closely, tested it with his teeth, and then grinned widely. "Yer welcome, ma'am."

Harry stepped forward to close the kitchen door. The boy gazed in admiration and wonder at the hook and then took off running.

"We shall have to finish planning the buffet menu later," Emily said to Smoke and the housekeeper as she hurried out of the kitchen.

She dashed upstairs, the note burning her hand. She feared the worst. When she reached the privacy of her bedchamber she closed and locked the door.

Trembling with dread she sat down to read the note from her father.