EPILOGUE
London, England
September, 1826
OCTAVIAN PACED ALONGthe elegantly carpeted floor in the library of his and Syd’s new townhouse. They had only moved onto the elegant square of houses three months ago. Octavian’s heart had been in a roil even back then because Syd was already big as a house, and yet still scampering up and down stairs, bending down, sweeping, dusting, and doing all manner of chores he had hired an army of staff to attend to so that all she had to do was sit on her pert derriere and point.
But this was not in Syd’s nature.
Not only had she refused to sit quietly and spend her days working on her needlepoint– something for which she had utterly no talent– or reading, but she was also running to the Huntsford Academy to help Gory in the forensic laboratory. Finally, the head curator, Mr. Smythe-Owen, one of the gentlest men Octavian had ever met, laid down the law and banned her. “You are alarming the entire staff. You shall not deliver a baby amid our dragon exhibits, or dear heaven, atop one of our forensic slabs.”
So, she had been confined to their home and woke up this morning complaining of an upset stomach. Moments later, her water broke and completely soaked their elegant carpet. Octavian had never once lost his poise when facing enemy warships, or dodging bayonets and gunshots. But he was beside himself because this was a child about to come into the world.
Hischild.
Andhiswife was doing all the labor.
He had never felt so helpless in his life.
Or scared.
For this reason, he was not soothed by the presence of his brothers and Marigold’s husband, Leo, who was here becauseeveryoneelse was here. Those also present included the two dowagers, Lady Withnall and Lady Dayne. Of course, Marigold, Adela, Gory, and Sophie were here, too. Those were just the women. Along with his brothers and Leo were also Harcourt and Parkhurst.
They were all seated in the parlor, for no one dared approach him as he paced alone in his library and growled at anyone who attempted to draw near.
He was unapproachable, they knew.
He felt frustrated, and as restless as a lion in a cage.
Finally, Octavian’s ears picked up the sound of a tiny wail.
Had he imagined it?
There.
He heard the tiny wail again.
Ambrose came running in. “Come on, you arse. That is the sound of your son…well, it could be your daughter. It’s an awfully deep voice, though. I think it’s a boy.”
Octavian’s heart shot into his throat. “How is Syd? Has the midwife come down?”
“Midwife’s still upstairs. Syd must be exhausted, I’m sure. Go up and see for yourself.”
Octavian tore up the stairs.
George Farthingale, the only doctor Octavian trusted to tend to his family, stood beside the midwife as she cleaned off a small bundle. George smiled at him. “You are just in time, Captain Thorne. Come meet your son.”
Octavian was certain his heart would burst with happiness. “And Syd? Is she all right?”
George motioned toward the bed and nodded.
Since the midwife was still fussing with their son, Octavian spared only a moment to kiss the boy on his forehead, and went straight over to Syd. “Love, how are you doing? Can I get you anything? Are you in pain?”
“I feel like I just pushed an elephant out of me,” she said, wincing as she laughed. “He sounds lusty.”
Octavian nodded as he caressed her cheek. “Good set of lungs on the little fellow. He’s all red and wrinkled.”
“He did not have an easy time coming out of me, either. But he’ll soon grow to be as big and handsome as his father.”
