“What a beautiful day.” Simon sighed, leaning back on his elbows as he squinted up into the sunshine of the garden. The two of them were taking advantage of the good weather with a little outdoor picnic. They had taken a blanket and Mrs Bolton had happily made them a small basket, including, at Marion’s secret request, a bottle of Champagne.

Marion had a surprise for her husband, and she couldn’t wait to spring it on him. She had waited until they had found a glorious spot overlooking the lake, under the gentle shade of the willow tree. Simon was stretched out, his long legs in front of him and his leather boots crossed at the ankle. Since the attack a few months before, Simon and Marion had barely spent any time apart. Neither of them took much joy in visiting London any more, and preferred to visit Eleanor and Nathan when they were at their estate, or even better, have the couple and their sons visit them at Reading Estate.

Mrs Bolton enjoyed having the two babies around, and Loretta made a tremendous fuss of them. It felt as if the whole household was preparing for a similar future for Marion and Simon, even Simon himself. Marion had caught him the last time Eleanor and Nathan had visited with one of the twins in his arms, singing to him softly in the music room.

She had overheard his sweet words.

“This is where your Aunt Marion plays music, and plays so beautifully. When you have a little cousin to play with, then she will teach you all to be fine musicians.”

Marion’s heart had clenched with both love and joy at his words. She had offered prayers and whispered wishes to both her dead mother and father and all the saints that soon, their family’s joy would be complete. Today, after weeks of anxiously waiting and secret conversations with Loretta and Doctor Fuchs, was finally the day she could talk about her secret with Simon. Her heart was racing but she folded her hands in the lap of her gown, a new crimson one that was Simon’s latest favourite.

“It is a beautiful day,” Marion said playfully. “I wonder if there could be anything that might make it more perfect.”

“Hmmm.” Simon tilted his head, gazing at her lovingly. “I don’t think there is anything. What could be more perfect than the two of us, together?”

“Well, I can think of something,” Marion said tartly.

“Oh?” Simon raised his eyebrows. “And what might that be?”

“Well…” Marion looked up to the sky, pretending to think carefully, unable to stop a slight smile playing around her lips. “What about…the three of us, together?”

“The three of us?” Simon sat up sharply, no longer languid and relaxed. He was staring at Marion with eyes wide, mouth slightly slack. He stared at her abdomen as if expecting an embossed announcement to suddenly appear.

“Are you—? What are—? Do you—?”

Marion laughed at him, covering her mouth with her hand. Simon was, in so many ways, the mature one of their relationship, but at that moment he looked so much like a young bridegroom, amazed and baffled by the news that he was suddenly to become a father. She found it absolutely adorable that her usually eloquent husband was so completely at a loss for words.

“Marion!” Simon exclaimed, desperately looking at her with raised eyebrows, waiting tensely for her to speak. “Tell me! Are you—?”

“Yes,” Marion said, smiling at him. “Yes, Simon. I am with child.”

In a breathless moment, her husband had launched forward, kissing her all over her face, her eyes, her lips, the small scar on her forehead, until he pulled away, gasping. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Are you well? Is there anything you need?”

“Yes, I am quite well, and no, don’t worry! Doctor Fuchs has it all in hand.”  Marion laughed, brushing Simon’s hair back from his face where it had become dishevelled. His grey eyes were alight in a way that she had never seen—bright as silver, or fast clouds moving across the sky. Filled with hope.

 “I only hope that it is a son, and we will finally have the heir you have long desired.”

“Oh, my dearest love.” Simon cupped her face tenderly and kissed her sweetly on the lips, his hands unconsciously coming to rest on her softly rounded belly. “I already have everything I ever desired. A child will only add to my happiness.”

“And start our family,” Marion said, smiling up at him eagerly. “The first of many.”

“Oh, my Countess—I see you have plans!” Simon laughed, pulling Marion into his arms and lying down with her, allowing her to nestle against his side and fit her chin against his collarbone in her favourite place to rest. She sighed deeply.

“I plan to give you many sons,” she whispered softly, in her mind’s eye imagining a family portrait populated with happy, strong children. “And a daughter whom I shall call Eleanor.”

“Well, in this I concede to you, my dear wife,” Simon murmured, pressing a kiss against her hair. Marion felt her husband brush his nose against her head and knew he was inhaling the scent of her hair, as he was wont to do. Marion smiled to herself. This was exquisite joy, this familiarity; knowing one’s love and being known by him in turn.

“There is one aspect of this on which I shall not be moved, however,” Simon said with quiet resolve.

“Oh?” Marion lazily stroked patterns against her husband’s waistcoat, feeling dozy with the new burden of the child inside her and the warm afternoon sun. “What is that?”

“If the child you carry is a boy, I do not want to call him Simon.”

Marion stopped her stroking and lifted her head, staring at her husband. He had the strangest smile on his face, as if he was seeing something far away.

“But it is tradition for the Earl of Reading to be named for his father!” Marion exclaimed, thinking of how the Dowager Countess would rage if she found out they had bucked tradition in this way. “You are Simon, named for your father, named for his father—”

“I know, love,” Simon laughed softly, tugging Marion back down and kissing her head again. “But I would like to name our son for a different father—for yours.”

Marion’s breath caught in her throat. Simon’s hand moved protectively to her belly and Marion’s hand joined his, their fingers entwining together.

“I should like to call him Edward,” Simon said softly. “Might it be suitable?”

Marion swallowed hard, blinking back tears at her husband’s exceptional generosity and sweetness. He was the perfect combination of traditional and surprising, and she loved him for it.

“I think it might be,” she whispered. “I think it might be eminently suitable, my love.”

They lay together in silence in the sunshine, no need for words, just their warm bodies and the soft sunlight, and the secret sounds of their three heartbeats. One still too quiet to be heard, but felt, gently, by Marion in the deepest part of herself. Marion sighed, relaxing completely into the love of her husband.

“It is a perfect day,” she sighed.

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