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He wanted her to have what she desired And selfishly, he wanted to be the ive it to her

But lately, he’d felt the pangs himself They would visit one of her many brothers or sisters and be i They would tug on his leg, shriek, “Uncle Michael!” and hoith laughter when he would toss the for one more minute, one more twirl, one more secret peppermint candy

The Bridgertons were marvelously fertile They all see they desired And then perhaps one ood measure

Except Francesca

Five hundred and eighty-four days after her thirty-third e and breathed the fresh, clean air of the Kent countryside Spring ell under way, and the sun arm on her cheeks, but when the wind blew, it carried with it the last hints of winter Francesca didn’t le of a cold wind on her skin It drove Michaelthat he’d never quite readjusted to life in a cold climate after so many years in India

She was sorry he had not been able to acco ride down frohter Isabella He would be there, of course; she and Michael neverof any of their nieces and nephews But affairs in Edinburgh had delayed his arrival Francesca could have delayed her trip as well, but it had been many months since she had seen her family, and she missed them

It was funny When she was younger, she’d always been so eager to get away, to set up her own household, her own identity But now, as she watched her nieces and nephews grow, she’d found herself visiting more often She didn’t want towhen Colin’s daughter Agatha had taken her first steps It had been breathtaking And although she had wept quietly in her bed that night, the tears in her eyes as she’d watched Aggie lurch forward and laugh had been ones of pure joy

If she wasn’t going to be a mother, then by God, at least she would have those moments She couldn’t bear to think of life without them

Francesca smiled as she handed her cloak to a footman and walked down the familiar corridors of Aubrey Hall She’d spent erton House in London Anthony and his wife had es, but much was still just as it had always been The walls were still painted the same creaonard her father had bought herover the table just outside the door to the rose salon

“Francesca!”

She turned It was herfrom her seat in the salon

“How long have you been standing out there?” Violet asked, coreet her

Francesca e”

Violet stood beside her and together they regarded the Fragonard “It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” sheher face

“I love it,” Francesca said “I always have It makes me think of Father”

Violet turned to her in surprise “It does?”

Francesca could understand her reaction The painting was of a young wo a bouquet of floith a note attached Not a veryover her shoulder, and her expression was a little bit ht laugh Francesca could not remember much of her parents’ relationship; she had been but six at the tihter The sound of her

father’s deep, rich chuckle—it lived within her

“I think yourto the painting

Violet took a half step back and cocked her head to the side “I think you’re right,” she said, looking rather delighted by the realization “I never thought of it quite that way”

“You should take the painting back with you to London,” Francesca said “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

Violet blushed, and for a brief irl sheout fros here This here he gave it to me And this”—sheit together”

“You were very happy,” Francesca said It wasn’t a question, just an observation

“As are you”