The sunshine sparkled on the river, the sound of its rushing water pure and clear and refreshing in the summer heat. Penelope leaned back against the tree trunk behind her, dappled shadows dancing on her eyelids as she closed her eyes in blissful sleepiness. Her green-and-white muslin gown was spread out around her on the picnic rug, its skirts cool and light. Made of white muslin decorated with a pattern of green sprigs, it was a beautiful dress; one of her favourites. The novelty of having any fabric she chose for her gowns had not worn off in five years of being a countess.

The sound of laughter and giggles drifted across the lawn to her and she opened her eyes, her lips lifting in a smile. 

Charlie and Amelia, her son and daughter, were playing on the lawn. At three, their son was a little faster and steadier on his feet than two-year-old Amelia, but that did not mean that Amelia was not capable of cornering him occasionally if they played catch. Both toddled with real determination and Penelope smiled as Amelia caught up with her brother, both of them tumbling into the fresh green lawn.

“I don’t think either of them is hurt,” Penelope said gently, as Peter, sitting beside her, tensed as if he would get up and go over to them. He was always attentive and protective and she smiled to herself, seeing the frown on his face as he glanced over at the tussling children. 

Amelia stood up first, saw her father watching and toddled over towards him where he sat with Penelope on the picnic blanket. Her face shone with a big smile as she gazed over at him.

“Papa! Papa!” she said excitedly. At two, she had a good stock of words and she used them to good effect. Her little legs raced as fast as they could across the lawn, Charlie hurrying behind. Penelope’s heart ached with love as she watched them toddling over. 

Charlie’s hair was the thick, dark brown of Peter’s, and he had inherited Penelope’s green eyes, which made a striking combination. His little face still had the softness of a child’s face, but Penelope guessed that his father’s fine bone structure underlay it and that he would have the same slim, gaunt beauty when he grew up. Her gaze flickered to Peter, her heart filling with the love she felt for him.

In the five years since she had met him, his dark brown hair showed strands of white here and there, and the wrinkles around his eyes had deepened slightly. He looked contented and happy, a father watching his children with a loving gaze as they ran over to him.

“Papa! Papa!” Amelia yelled. “Look!” She gestured to the grass-stains on her white skirt. “Fell.”

“Are you hurt?” Peter asked gently as she promptly sat down next to him, her big hazel eyes gazing up at him. She had inherited the hazel eyes that Penelope’s papa and Emily both had, and from somewhere—Penelope thought perhaps from her own mother—she had a head of blonde curls. 

“No hurt,” Amelia told him, grinning. “Dirty.”

Penelope had to laugh. Peter chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed. While some nobles would certainly have had a nursemaid to care for the children continuously, they loved the fact that they had chosen to spend almost every waking moment with their daughter and son. 

“No harm done, young lady,” he said warmly. “Are you thirsty?”

“Uh-uh,” she said, shaking her head adamantly. Penelope grinned.

“I ran fast!” Charlie informed his father, his thick dark hair falling over one eye. 

“That’s grand. You did. I saw you,” Peter said with a smile. “You’re a very fast boy.”

Charlie grinned proudly at the praise. Then he flopped down on the rug on Peter’s other side. He gazed with mesmerised eyes at the picnic hamper.

“Cake?” he asked.

Penelope giggled. “There is a blackcurrant tart, young man,” she agreed. “Do you need some lemonade? Are you thirsty?”

“Thirsty!” Charlie’s eyes lit up, as if he had only just realised that he was thirsty. “Lemonade.”

Penelope chuckled. Thomas was usually quite eloquent for his age, possessing a surprisingly large vocabulary that he often put to use. Yet when he set his mind on something, he became singularly focused, his responses reduced to short, determined replies.

Peter often jested that he sympathised with the boy, being a man of few words himself—an observation that never failed to amuse Penelope. Like Charlie, however, Peter was eloquent when he chose to be.

“Penelope? Do you have some mineral water?” Anna asked, appearing at the picnic rug. Penelope nodded.

“There is still some in this bottle,” she replied, reaching over and lifting it. Papa was quite fond of mineral water, having read about its health properties, and they had included the bottle in the picnic-hamper mainly for him. 

“Thank you!” Anna replied with appreciation. She lifted the bottle. “Little Henry is thirsty and I am disinclined to give him lemonade.” She grinned.

“Of course,” Penelope replied. Henry, Anna’s youngest son, was just a little younger than two, and as a former nursemaid, Penelope had to agree that she would be disinclined to give so small a child much of Mrs Gracechurch’s fine lemonade. It was full of sugar and the likelihood of it upsetting the delicate stomach of a small child was quite high.

“Thank you,” Anna said again and, grinning, hurried across the small space of lawn to where she and George reclined on a picnic rug in the sunshine. Little Henry was resting on the rug beside her in the dappled shade. Penelope watched fondly as Anna poured the water into a little cup and held it for the child to drink.

She smiled to herself as their eldest child, a daughter named Portia, ran over to join them. A beautiful girl with thick pale brown curls and George’s dark brown eyes, she was four years old and graceful like her mother. She would be tall and slender, Penelope guessed, like Anna was. Their middle son, a three-year-old named Mark, was playing on the lawn close to where Emily and her husband Luke sat. 

Penelope’s heart lifted as she gazed over at them. Emily had met Luke at a ball that she and Peter had attended with her at a nearby manor. Luke had been smitten with Emily almost immediately. His father was a viscount and he lived at an estate just six miles from Peter’s own. They could visit Emily, Luke and their young son Gerald whenever they chose. Papa still chose to continue his ministry and live at their family’s cottage, but he spent increasingly more time staying either with Emily or Penelope, a fact that they both appreciated.

Penelope’s gaze moved sideways to her father, her heart flooding with love and tenderness. He was so much stronger than he had been, though the illness had left him with a prematurely-white head of hair and more wrinkles than he might otherwise have had. He looked older than his age, but with a grace and dignity that melted her heart. His gaunt face was peaceful as he gazed out across the lawn, watching Gerald crawling across the picnic rug.

“Mama! Mama!”

A voice behind her made Penelope turn sharply, and then she laughed aloud as Thomas, five years old and tall for his age, cannoned into her. His squarish face was lit with a smile, and his hazel eyes—usually solemn—were bright with joy as Patches—their dog—raced after him. A white wire-haired terrier with black spots, Patches was a bundle of enthusiasm, determination and thick wire-haired fur. Penelope laughed in delight as Thomas ran after the dog, then tumbled in the grass, the little creature leaping onto his chest and covering his face with enthusiastic licks.

“Easy, Patches,” Peter called the dog, who turned and bounded towards Peter instead, then flopped onto the rug and lay in the shade, panting. Thomas ran over to join him, lying down on the picnic rug with much the same attitude. Penelope had to laugh. It was wonderful to see Thomas so confident, so happy. 

Peter had agreed with her—in fact, she could not remember who had said it initially. They had formally adopted Thomas within a month and, though he had been told of his true parents, and the portrait of them hung in the gallery, he regarded Peter and Penelope as Mama and Papa. His own parents occupied the realm of heavenly guardians, watching over him, and Peter and Penelope agreed with his assertion that they were so. Peter sometimes talked of Charles and Eliza, but more often with fondness and love than with sorrow, and Penelope was glad to hear him doing so.

“Would you care for some jam tart?” Peter asked Penelope, reaching towards the picnic hamper. They had eaten a leisurely afternoon luncheon, beginning with cold meat pie and sandwiches and moving on to cheeses, pickled vegetables and fresh fruit. The jam tart reclined in the bottom of the hamper wrapped in a checkered cloth. Penelope grinned as Thomas and Charlie gazed at their father.

“Jam tart,” Charlie echoed.

Penelope laughed. Charlie never stopped eating, though his physique was very much modelled on that of herself and his father—tall and slim. The pudginess of childhood blurred the long, slim bone structure in a way appropriate for a three-year-old. 

“Amelia?” Penelope called to her daughter, who was sitting with Mark on the lawn, playing with pebbles. “Would you care for some jam tart?”

“Jam tart!”

Amelia, curls bouncing as she ran, raced over as fast as her little legs ran. Penelope chuckled as the little girl sat down with a thump on the picnic rug beside her, eyes focused on the food as Peter cut some slices for them all.

Mark was toddling over behind Amelia, and Anna called to him, chuckling.

“Mark, dear! We have some tart too. But you can sit with Auntie Penelope too if you want.” She grinned at Penelope, who made room for the little dark-haired boy, who flopped onto the rug beside Amelia and gazed hungrily at the slice of tart that Peter was cutting for him.

“Papa?” Penelope called to her father, who was sitting peacefully on the low stool the butler had brought down for him, watching the river. “Would you care for some tart too?”

“A small slice, perhaps,” her father agreed. “Thank you,” he added, smiling at Penelope and Peter warmly.

Penelope grinned back. “Of course, Papa,” she said fondly. She thanked Peter as he passed her a slice. Blackcurrant was her favourite and she smiled gratefully at Peter, whose eyes sparkled as he handed it to her. He turned to the children, laughing as they set about eating heartily. Both Charlie and Amelia were able to eat by themselves, though Amelia occasionally needed help, and Penelope noticed gratefully that Peter had cut her piece of tart into little cubes that she could spear easily with a small, blunt cake-fork. She did so with dexterity, chewing contentedly, her mouth stained with blackcurrant jam.

Emily was resting with Gerald in her arms, leaning against a tree while Luke chatted happily with them both. Penelope smiled fondly at Emily, who looked deeply contented and restful where she lay back in the shade, a smile of bliss on her face. She wore a blue muslin gown, her blonde curls soft around her lovely face. 

Thomas and Charlie had already eaten their pie, and Penelope watched lovingly as Peter carefully wiped around both of their mouths with a handkerchief, cleaning away the purplish stains from the blackcurrant jam.

“Should we make a boat?” he asked the boys. Charlie’s eyes lit up.

“Yes! Yes, Papa! Make a big one!” Charlie asked enthusiastically. Patches, seeing the delight on Thomas and Charlie’s faces, leapt up and started barking excitedly. Peter chuckled.

“We need some wood for that,” he reminded the boys fondly. “Will one of you fetch a branch? Let’s see if we can find a good one. Amelia, dear? Do you want to come too?” he asked Amelia, who had almost eaten her fill and had joined Mark in pulling out handfuls of grass, scattering them on the edge of the rug. It must have been part of some sort of game that they both understood.

“Going where?” Amelia inquired. 

“We’re going to make a boat,” Peter explained. “Do you and Mark want to play too?”

“Boat!” Amelia said joyfully. “Yes. Come on!” she added, authoritatively, to Mark. He got to his feet and toddled playfully after her as she ran over to where Charles and Thomas were already searching, with Patches, for sticks to carve into a boat.

Penelope leaned back against the tree trunk, enjoying the afternoon warmth. The sunshine already seemed more golden, the day lengthening towards late afternoon. She guessed it to be around three o’clock, though she had not heard—or not noticed—the church bells chiming the hour. Butterflies flitted lazily over the flowers, and somewhere, a grasshopper chirped in the long grass. The garden was peaceful, filled with the sound of children’s laughter and the low murmur of chatting adults.

“Should you not go in soon?” Papa asked, bringing Penelope’s attention to the moment. “Are you not expecting other guests?”

“Yes.” Penelope nodded. “I think it must be three o’clock, Papa… or thereabouts. We have another hour,” she added, looking up at where the sunshine shone goldenly on the trees.

“It is exactly three o’clock,” her father commented, taking out his pocket watch and opening it. Penelope chuckled. A few seconds later, the church bells rang.

“You are quite right, as usual,” she said with a grin.

Her father smiled warmly. “And, I must say, the church bells are also very prompt,” he added, grinning. “I should commend the vicar.”

Penelope laughed. “I will tell him when I next see him,” she promised.

Her father just smiled. They sat quietly and listened to the happy sound of the children, whooping and shouting happily as Peter carved a little boat to send down the fast-flowing waters of the river.

Emily, Luke and Gerald came and joined them on the mat. Penelope smiled, watching Gerald crawl about and listening to Emily relate a funny story about Gerald managing to escape their watchful eyes in the drawing room and hide under the chaise-longue. 

“We could not fathom where he had gone! I was horrified,” Emily said with a laugh, recalling her terror. “I was convinced he had crawled out of the door and fallen down the stairs. Luke spotted him. How we laughed!” She grinned.

“He crawls remarkably fast,” Luke added, gazing in admiration at his small son. “I would never have expected him to reach the chaise-longue in the few seconds our attention was on the fireplace.”

“He is very quick,” Penelope agreed, watching the little boy crawling with appreciable speed towards the edge of the mat. He was eight months old, and a sturdy fellow, big for his age, with Emily’s golden curls.

Anna and George stood and came over to join them. Anna had Henry in her arms, while Portia, who looked sleepy, clung to George. They all sat down on the rug and George wrapped his arm around Portia, who lay down beside him and fell almost instantly asleep.

“Poor dear. She’s quite worn out,” Emily commented to Anna. Anna smiled.

“I think it was the long coach ride, combined with all the excitement of the afternoon,” she replied, gazing fondly at the little girl, whose pale brown curls tumbled around her face. At four, her long hair was down to her shoulders already, the strands fine and thin, like silk.

“What a lovely neckline that dress has,” Emily commented to Anna, who wore a dark red dress, the sweetheart neckline embellished with ochre binding.

“Thank you. I did the decorating myself,” Anna replied, flushing with obvious pleasure at Emily’s comment.

“I love to sew! I made a white-on-white embroidery for a collar for my new gown,” Emily told her proudly. Penelope smiled to herself.

Anna and Emily, having both been lady’s maids at one time, shared a love of hairstyles and fashion that she herself had never really embraced, though she had to admit that she enjoyed being able to have more choices when it came to clothing. Even after five years, the sheer delight of choosing any fabric she desired for a gown had not entirely faded. The novelty of such freedom still lingered, and each visit from the seamstress to the manor brought with it a genuine thrill of anticipation.

“…and the new fashion for ribbons as hair adornments is quite pretty,” Emily was commenting as Penelope’s thoughts returned to the present. 

“I rather fancy it, too,” Anna agreed. “Though I prefer pearl pins.”

“And flowers!” Emily chimed in. “I love the fashion for flowers in the hair.”

Penelope smiled. Anna and Emily could discuss dresses and hairstyles for hours, but, then, they could discuss almost any topic for hours. They both liked the pianoforte, though neither of them claimed any form of expertise, and Anna admitted that there was a time she had not enjoyed it. Poetry, reading, painting, even riding—they had an interest in all sorts of fields and pastimes. Penelope loved poetry and reading, and the library at Brentdale had been a source of delight for her from the moment she went in through the doors. Peter had loved showing her the collection, and they still spent long evenings curled up in the library together, reading books.

The church clock chimed again, the chimes indicating half an hour past three. Penelope blinked in surprise. 

“Should we not start gathering the little ones?” Papa asked carefully. Penelope smiled.

“It does usually take half an hour to round them up,” she agreed. She glanced at Portia and Henry, both of whom were fast asleep. “Shall we try to find our errant sons and daughter?” she asked Anna, who chuckled.

“A capital idea,” she agreed. “George, dear…?” she asked, lifting the sleeping Henry who was lying in her lap, his head cradled to her shoulder. She passed him to George. The baby stirred but soon fell asleep again in George’s caring hug.

Penelope stood, and she and Anna went across the lawn towards the excited yells. Peter, surrounded by children, was standing around the corner, where the river curved around in a graceful arc. The children were shouting excitedly, pointing into the water. A little boat sailed there, about the length of an adult’s forearm, carved out of an oak branch. 

“Look! Look, Mama!” Thomas yelled. “It’s still floating.”

“It is, indeed.” She smiled fondly at Peter, who grinned back. The children watched the boat, yelling excitedly about its progress. Even Mark and Amelia, who were the youngest children there, seemed highly excited about it.

“Look, Mama!” Amelia called, pointing.

“It’s beautiful,” Penelope agreed softly.

She glanced over at Peter, who must have understood why she and Anna had come to join them, because he clapped his hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he addressed the children, making them all laugh. “I am afraid we must go indoors soon. We will watch the boat until it reaches the trees there,” he added.

“Hurrah!” Thomas yelled, already sprinting towards the trees. Patches hurried after him, Charlie racing behind them. Mark and Amelia toddled along as speedily as they could, Peter walking next to them to stop them from accidentally falling into the river.

Penelope and Anna fell into step behind the small group. Penelope smoothed her hand down her patterned day-dress, the skirts a little creased from sitting on the rug for so long. She had decorated her dark brown hair with a green ribbon tied around the simple bun she always wore. 

The children protested as Peter gestured towards the house.

“Come on! I’ll catch you!” he yelled. The children whooped in delight, scattering in delight and excitement. Peter ran behind them as slowly as he could, giving some advantage to the little legs of Amelia and Mark, who shrieked in delight as he caught up with them.

Anna smiled. “I should help George,” she replied. “He cannot carry both Henry and Portia.”

“No. Of course,” Penelope replied. “I will see you at the house.”

“We will retire for a rest, I think,” Anna replied, stifling a yawn. 

“Of course,” Penelope agreed. Anna and George did not live altogether too far away, but the ride was much further than that for Emily and Luke. Anna and George were staying at the manor for a few days, as was Papa. A suite was set aside for them in the west wing.

Penelope turned to check on them as she walked back towards the manor. Papa was walking with Emily and Luke. Emily had Gerald in her arms and Luke walked protectively beside them. Anna and George were with them. Anna carried Henry and George had Portia in his arms, her tousled head on his shoulder as she slept.

In the hallway, the children ran about in noisy delight. Peter was instructing them to go upstairs, and Mrs Aldham came down as Penelope walked in.

“Master Charlie! Miss Amelia!” she called. “You should have a rest now.”

“No!” Charlie protested. He was hand-in-hand with Thomas, and Patches danced around them both. 

“You can join us in the drawing room later,” Peter promised the two little children. “And Thomas and Patches will come and play with you awhile,” he added, glancing at Thomas, who, although he was five years old, still looked rather sleepy.

“Do you promise we can?” Charlie asked, stifling a yawn.

“Yes. I promise,” Peter agreed. “And we’ll read stories from the big green book,” he added with a grin at Charlie and Amelia, who whooped with delight.

“Come now, boys and girls,” Mrs Aldham said cheerfully, leading the three little children upstairs. “Will all the children be taking a rest, my lady?” she asked Penelope. She seemed to take delight in using the title, which made Penelope grin.

“No. Thank you, Mrs Aldham. Lord and Lady Chelmsford are going upstairs with their children for a rest. Emily?” she asked her sister. “Will Gerald join his cousins in the nursery?”

“Thank you, Mrs Aldham. I think he would like that,” Emily replied, gently passing the sleeping Gerald to the nanny, who beamed.

“I’ll take the best possible care of them,” she promised Emily and Penelope, cradling Gerald tenderly.

“I know you will. Thank you, Mrs Aldham,” Penelope told her fondly. She appreciated the older woman’s care and devotion to the children a great deal.

She waited with the others while the children made slow but steady progress up the stairs. Mark remained behind with his parents, clinging sleepily to his father’s leg. Peter lifted him.

“Thank you,” George replied warmly.

“No trouble,” Peter replied. “You will use the Peach Suite. There is a room for you and Anna, and a room for the three children, and a small parlour.”

“Thank you. That sounds grand,” Anna replied warmly. She smiled at Penelope, who smiled back. They walked upstairs together, Emily, Luke and Papa behind them. Penelope squeezed Anna’s hand fondly as she went up the hallway towards her chamber. Anna smiled back.

Penelope joined the other guests in the drawing room to wait for their teatime visitors.

A light tea had been set out—a few sandwiches, slices of raisin loaf and buns waited on the table along with the teapot and cups. Penelope gestured to Emily, Luke and Papa to be seated and she poured the tea for them, knowing that Peter would prefer it if she did not wait. He came in to join them just as she stirred her tea. He smiled fondly at her.

“A fine day, eh?” he said with a smile. “The little ones are exhausted.”

“Even Thomas,” Penelope agreed with a chuckle.

“Even him,” Peter agreed, smiling warmly.

They chatted with their guests and before they had even drunk their tea, the butler came in.

“Lady Sterling, Lord and Lady Aldham, and Lord and Lady Pinehurst.”

“Please show them upstairs, Mr Harris,” Peter replied instantly.

Penelope’s heart thudded. She felt a little tense about meeting some of the guests, though she knew that she had no reason to. Peter had assured her that all would be well, and she believed him, but she still could not help a little apprehension at the thought.

Lady Sterling walked in first, resplendent in a blue gown, her lovely white hair styled elegantly. She curtseyed to everyone. The men had all stood up as she came in and Penelope stood to return her curtsey, smiling warmly at her.

“Welcome, Aunt Marcia,” Peter said warmly. “Please, do be seated.”

Penelope gestured Lady Sterling—or Aunt Marcia, as she insisted on being called—to a chair. Sophia was next, with her husband Johnathan, Lord Pinehurst. He was a wealthy baron who lived not far from Sterling House and Sophia had blossomed since she met him. Her big smile was as big as ever, her very presence seeming to radiate quiet contentment.

“Peter!” she greeted her cousin, smiling warmly at him. “Grand to see you. Penelope!” She hugged Penelope fondly. “Where are those wonderful second cousins of mine?” she demanded.

Penelope smiled. “Resting, I am sorry to say. You will see them shortly, however. Thomas, at least, will be bounding out of bed at any moment.”

“Grand! Grand,” Sophia replied, turning her bright grin on Penelope.

Penelope smiled and gestured for Sophia and Johnathan to join them at the table. Johnathan had middle-brown hair and a thin, serious face. He gazed at Sophia with adoration and Penelope had to smile whenever she saw them.

The next guests made her tense a little. Millicent, Peter’s sister, came in, followed by Stewart, Lord Aldham. He was tall, with dark hair and a lined face; a few years older than Millicent and seemingly very serious. However, the tenderness in his gaze when he looked at Millicent was impossible to ignore, and her quiet joy radiated through the room. Edmund had passed away in the colonies of a fever, and Millicent and Stewart had married a year later. Their son was just six months old, just old enough to travel.

“Where is little Alfred?” Peter asked Millicent, who smiled.

“On his way. The nursemaid has him. He’s fast asleep. May we take him to the nursery?” she added, glancing at Penelope.

“Of course,” Penelope replied at once. “Welcome,” she added. Millicent smiled, dropping a curtsey to Penelope and to the other guests.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

Penelope smiled warmly at Millicent. Though she had been terribly unsure of having her in the house, she had hosted Millicent for the first time a year ago, after her wedding, and she had been amazed by how pleasant it had been. Millicent was no longer so tense and obsessed with etiquette. She seemed lighter and happier, and her care for Peter shone through whenever Penelope saw them together. She could not be angry with her, not even for her dismissive treatment all those years ago.

“I trust you had a pleasant journey?” she asked Millicent, who settled herself in a seat next to Papa.

“Very pleasant, thank you,” Millicent replied. “Alfred slept most of the way.”

“I imagine,” Penelope said fondly. 

She poured tea for the new guests and everyone sat and chatted happily. Thomas and Patches sneaked in and Sophia let out a small yell of delight. Thomas saw her and ran to her, climbing onto her knee. 

“Auntie Sophia!” he greeted her with a big smile. “You’re here.”

“Yes, I am,” Sophia replied warmly. “You must tell me all about what you have been doing.”

She went to sit with Thomas by the fire, Patches falling asleep on her lap as they talked. Penelope gazed fondly at them both. Sophia and Johnathan often visited at Brentdale, and Sophia’s interest in gardens was almost as intense as Peter’s own. The greenhouse was a constant source of delight, and Peter always let Sophia take seeds or clippings for her own burgeoning greenhouse at Pinehurst Manor.

Penelope glanced across at her father, who was chatting happily with Lady Sterling. He looked tired, and she looked over at the clock. All of their guests would be staying for the night, with Lady Sterling, Sophia and Johnathan, Millicent and Stewart, departing the next day. Millicent and her family intended to stay with Lady Sterling for another week before returning to their home further north.

“Would anyone care to retire to dress for dinner?” Penelope murmured to Peter, who repeated her question so that everyone could hear.

“Yes. Yes, we would like to,” Millicent said at once. Penelope smiled to herself. Millicent was still more aware of manners and etiquette than any of their other guests. Emily stifled a yawn.

“I think we will retire to rest,” she told Penelope. Penelope smiled fondly.

“Of course, Emily. Dinner is at seven o’clock,” she reminded the guests, all of whom were pushing back their chairs and standing, ready to retire for a rest before dinner.

When the rest of the guests had departed, Peter gently lifted a sleeping Thomas from the floor and rested him on the chaise-longue. Patches woke up and jumped on beside the child, then curled up and fell asleep. Penelope smiled to herself.

“Shall we sit outdoors?” Peter asked.

Penelope nodded. “That would be lovely,” she agreed.

The drawing room balcony was wide and overlooked the lawn, the treetops seeming close from the height of the second floor. Penelope sat down on the bench and smiled as Peter settled down beside her. The day had lengthened towards early evening, the sky a cool turquoise-blue, the sunshine painting long golden rays on the lawn and the shadows long, dark bars like spilled ink on the grass.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Penelope murmured, leaning against Peter. She smiled sleepily, feeling contented.

“It is. A very beautiful day.” He wrapped his arm around her fondly. “Thank you for having organised such a grand picnic.”

Penelope smiled at him fondly. “Mrs Hallden did help,” she reminded him gently.

“And my clever darling did most of it,” he replied, leaning in and kissing her hair. Penelope smiled, resting her head on his shoulder, her heart filling with love as she sat beside him. She wrapped her arm around him, holding him close.

“It was a lovely afternoon,” Penelope agreed, feeling tired. “You were so grand with the children.” She smiled up at him.

“It was most enjoyable,” Peter replied warmly.

Penelope hugged him tight. “You are a remarkable man,” she told him gently. “So caring and loving and just wonderful.” She giggled.

“Thank you. And you are a remarkable woman,” he said, leaning close and kissing her cheek in a way that sent shivers through her body. “Loving and wise and just generally wondrous as well.”

Penelope chuckled. “Thank you, dearest.”

He laughed and hugged her tight, and they sat silently for a moment, watching the sunlight on the grass, the breeze ruffling the grass blades as the day lengthened towards night.

“I love you, Penelope,” he murmured, holding her close. She turned and stared into his eyes. His grey gaze, so serious and so beautiful, was full of care and tenderness that made her heart ache.

“I love you, too, Peter,” she murmured.

She hugged him tight and knew that she had never been so happy.