Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

Theo looked at his watch. “She fell asleep before she saw her babes. She’ll be awake in not more than a minute from now.”

“No, impossible. She’s worked so hard, Theo, nine hours, she’s exhausted, you’re wrong about this just as you were about twins—”

“Jason, I want to see our babes.”

Jason shouted with laughter. He looked over at his own twin. James was holding one of the babies in his big hands, Corrie holding the other one. He didn’t deserve to be this happy or this lucky, but God had made it so. He prayed the twins would be all right, that they would grow up to have their own twins. He was blessed. Both he and James were blessed.

He cleared his throat. “Give me my babes. I want to show them to their mother.”

When Jason cradled both babes in his arms, he felt his brother’s hand on his shoulder. As had happened so many times in their lives, they shared the same thought: Life was sweet. They were the luckiest men in the world.

Theo said, rubbing his hands together, “I have done remarkably well. Everyone is healthy. So what if I was off by one babe?”

Douglas Sherbrooke’s hand was raised to rap on the bedchamber door when he heard his sons’ laughter.

He lowered his hand. His sons. He heard a tiny yell, and smiled. He prayed that life would continue doling out more laughter than tears. Then he heard a chorus of yells.

The yells continued, two distinct yells. Bedamned, another set of twins. The door opened. Jason whooped when he saw his father, and grabbed him close. “Hallie gave me a girl and a boy. I am surely the luckiest man alive.”

“I rather thought I was,” Douglas said, looking over to see James grinning at him. He nodded at his elder son and called out over his shoulder, “Alexandra, come listen to this lovely duet of yells from your new grandbabies.”

EPILOGUE

Three Months Later

No rain today, thank God, Jason thought, unlike the previous three days that had the twins yelling their heads off because they liked to lie on a nice thick blanket in the middle of the green lawn at Lyon’s Gate, kicking their legs, flailing their arms and breathing the freshly scythed grass.

It was a beautiful day. Jason watched his wife, a babe under each arm, walk to the blankets he’d spread on the side lawn at Northcliffe Hall. The noon sun was bright overhead, and James’s brindle racing cat was tearing across the lawn to run around Hallie three times before dashing back to James, who gave him a fresh slice of sea bass, told him what an elegant fast boy he was, and scratched the spot right in front of his tail. Alfred the Great purred like there was no tomorrow.

Douglas and Everett, now four years old, something Jason couldn’t quite get his brain around, were sitting as quietly as they ever sat, watching their father train the year-old golden-eyed Alfred the Great.

Jason watched Hallie arrange the twins amid piles of pillows, then lean back on her elbows and raise her face to the blue sky. He felt his throat close as he watched her, such love swamped him. He was a lucky bastard, as his twin had told him just that morning, and he agreed. He was thirty years old, he had Hallie as his wife, and he was a father of two healthy children. Amazing. Even more amazing, or perhaps not, both babies looked like him, which meant they also looked like their cousins and their uncle James, which led back to Aunt Melissande, who’d smiled her incredibly beautiful smile when she’d seen them, while her husband, Uncle Tony, was heard to say, “Yet another generation of nauseatingly beautiful children in my wife’s image. It fair to makes my teeth ache. Thank the good Lord that our three boys look like me. It adds balance to the world.”

“Thank God you still have all your teeth,” Aunt Melissande had said, and poked her husband in the ribs. He then kissed her hard on her mouth and the younger generation turned red to their eyebrows.

Jason heard a horse whinny, fancied it was his father’s huge bay thoroughbred stallion, Caliper, who was going to be bred with Miss Matilda out of Charles Grandison’s stud in two days. Lyon’s Gate flourished. They’d won races, their reputation as a stud was growing. As for Lord Grimsby, he’d asked Jason to take Lamplighter, to train him, run him, and breed him, and all the winnings would be his. Lamplighter had won the Beckshire race a month before.

Jason closed his eyes, content for the moment to breathe in the scent of fresh grass along with his twins and his wife when he looked up to see his father and mother, Uncle Ryder and Aunt Sophie come out of the Hall. Soon the grounds would be overrun with Sherbrookes, even Aunt Sinjun and Uncle Colin from Scotland and Meggie and Thomas from Ireland, Meggie bringing three racing cats for the big cat race next week at the McCaulty racetrack, and their three boys, who helped train the cats.

Hallie said, “Jason, I need you as a father. Alec is hungry, again,” she added quite unnecessarily.

Jason set up an umbrella to give his wife privacy, then picked up his daughter, grinned like a fool when she blew bubbles up at him, and watched Hallie feed Alec. She looked totally absorbed, crooning to the babe as he suckled frantically. Nesta rooted around Jason’s chest to find a breast, and he laughed. “You’ll have to wait, sweetheart, your mama’s busy with your brother now.”

Nesta wailed.

“Uncle Jason!”

“Uncle Jason!”

Douglas and Everett raced across the lawn toward him, dirty, rumpled, grins splitting their beloved little faces. No waltzing for them anymore; they were too old for that. Since Uncle Jason was holding Nesta, they didn’t leap on him, but he could tell they wanted to, badly.

“We went fishing in the pond,” Everett said.

“What did you catch?”

“Just a toad and a load of dirt,” Douglas said. “Don’t tell Mama, she’ll tan us.”

“She told us to stay clean for at least an hour. What time is it, Uncle Jason?”