#why charles keeps going to that man and begging for him to be sensible and morally good

[pennyserenade]

i love erik lehnsherr’s energy. it’s so ridiculous the way he gives his pacifist boyfriend puppy dog eyes before he proceeds to commit several different war crimes. like sorry babe, i have to commit murder upon these people </3

[papuhater]

I request that the reader likes to read novels for Aki Hayakawa.Hope u have a great day.

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

ೃ⁀➷ a/n: hello querido/a! thank you for requesting i hope u too have a great day! (＞u＜）, i will gladly do it! but the request was sadly not very specific so i will be doing an scenario, with gn!reader and for my event, if you don't mind, if you do, send another ask and i'll do it again!

↳ ❝ [ P4Z'S V3R3D1CT] ¡! ❞

ೃ⁀➷ pairing: aki hayakawa x novel lover!reader

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ word of the fanfic: bookworm

¡! ❞ warnings: not that i know of! swearing? ¡! ❞

˗ˏˋformat: scenarioˊˎ˗ ->

as a person with a lover, valentine's day should be a day of pampering, except for you, yesterdat was a shitty one. why? aki forgot yesterday was valentines day.

you woke up early, like really early to prepare aki a nice-homey-breakfast. after burning some pancakes, you finally made it, when you placed everything in the platter, aki ran out of your shared room putting his coat on, muttering that there was an emergency in his work, before you could have a say, he left kissing you on the cheek. that he left before acknowledging your effort pissed you off a bit, but you understood, his work wasn't simple like an office.

so you just slipped onto the couch and read a classical romantic novel, sense and sensibility, yes there were newer books, but this one scratched a spot in your brain, how one sister was sentiment; passionate, loving, and unrestrained. while the other one, was sense; cold, calculative and reserved, what mattered is that both got a happy ending with a man they loved. you quickly finished what was left, and passed onto the other, "The phantom of the opera".

while reading your brain started to wonder 'would aki be willing to go down to the dungeons and fight the phantom of the opera for my sake?' you pondered for a moment, even though he forgot valentine's day, you knew he loved you 'yes he probably would.' you lost the track of time reading (you kinda had track of it but didn't care), and in a blink of an eye, it was ten o'clock, and aki came back. he looked so drained, you decided not to bother him and just let him sleep. later, you went to your shared room to find your boyfriend sleeping like a log, you chuckled to yourself, and changed to your night atire 'in the morning i'll confront him' you assured.

'mmMmfmfm pancfakesfsf' you opened your eyes like plates, the smell of freshly made pancakes filled your nose and lingered from the door. you followed your insctincts into the kitchen, only to find aki on your apron. he was placing the pancakes onto the plates and pouring maple syrup, his eyes darted to yours the second you walked in, they were filled with regret. he shuffled into an awkward position and spoke;

"i'm sorry."

"why?"

"i was to busy for valentine's day, and i missed your breakfast."

you were listening intensly, and basically trying to keep your glaring. saldy, aki was your weakness. your eyes softened but you kept quiet.

"i prepared breakfast, i begged to have the whole day free. we can do whatever you want." his hand lounged to a cabinet and pulled out a book " i know you love reading so, i bought you a book, here."

you took the book and started inspecting it, it was "great expectations" by charles dickens, it's cover had an oval with classical art in it, filled with green, it's ends were sparkled with golden paint.

"you told me you really liked the movie so, i got you a really nice copy of the book, you always say that books are more detailed than the movies."

it was a lovely detail, not only that it was a book, it meant he listened, everytime you spoke that the aesthetic of the book cover was important, he bought a nice cover, he cared what you thought.

"well, let me eat this pancakes first, then i'll see if i forgive you."

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

©baekingdoeswriting

[pub-lius]

Learn the Alphabet with Alexander Hamilton

heyo so uh i just finished all the notes for my George Washington post, so in the meantime, have this <3 (not all these quotes were actually said by him, and i think its obvious which ones those are lol. if you can find something he said that starts with x ill kiss you /j)

A: “A garden, you know, is a very usual refuge of a disappointed politician.” -Letter to Charles Cotesworth Pinckney, December 29, 1802

B: “...Burr has never appeared solicitous for fame, and that great Ambition unchecked by principle, or the love of Glory, is an unruly Tyrant which never can keep long in a course which good men will approve.” -Letter to James Bayard, January 16, 1801

C: “Common interest may always be reckoned upon as the surest bond of sympathy.” -Federalist No. 35, January 5, 1788

D: “...destruction of life and property incident to war,... will compel nations the most attached to liberty to resort for repose and security to institutions which have a tendency to destroy their civil and political rights.” -Federalist No. 8, November 20, 1787

E: “Experience is the oracle of truth; and where its responses are unequivocal, they ought to be conclusive and sacred.” -Federalist No. 20, December 12, 1787

F: “Folly makes me ashamed and beg youll conceal it, yet Neddy we have seen such Schemes successful when the Projector is Constant. I shall Conclude saying I wish there was a War.” -Letter to Edward Stevens, November 11, 1769

G: “Give therefore to the first class [rich and well born] a distinct, permanent share in the government. They will check the unsteadiness of the second, and as they cannot receive any advantage by a change, they therefore will ever maintain good government.” -Farrand’s Records of the Federal Convention of 1787, June 19, 1787

H: “Heresies in either [religion or politics] can rarely be cured by persecution.” -Federalist No.1, October 27, 1787

I: “I lose all taste for the pursuits of ambition, I sigh for nothing but the company of my wife and my baby. The ties of duty alone or imagined duty keep me from renouncing public life altogether.” -Letter to Richard Kidder Meade, March 1782

J: “Justice is the end of government. It is the end of civil society. It ever has been, and ever will be, pursued, until it be obtained, or until liberty be lost in the pursuit.” -Federalist No. 51, February 6, 1788

K: “[Know that] if a meme is dank, a man is not only right to steal it, he is obligated to do so.” -Statement on the impending duel with Aaron Burr, written June 28-July 10, 1804

L: “Lastly, I shall hazard much, and can possibly gain nothing by the issue of the interview. But it was, as I conceive, impossible for me to avoid it. There were intrinsick difficulties in the thing, and artificial embarrassments, from the manner of proceeding on the part of Col Burr.” -Actual statement on the impending duel, June 28-July 10, 1804

M: “Man is very much a creature of habit. A thing that rarely strikes his senses will generally have but little influence upon his mind.” Federalist No. 27, December 25, 1787

N: “Nothing has given me so much chagrin as the Intelligence that the Federal party were thinking seriously of supporting Mr. Burr for president. I should consider the execution of the plan as devoting the country and signing their own death warrant.” -Letter to James McHenry, January 4, 1801

O: “One great error is that we suppose mankind more honest than they are.” -Constitution Convention, June 22, 1787

P: “...power over a man’s subsistence amounts to a power over his will.” -Federalist No. 79, May 28, 1788

Q: “Ququququqquuuquququuqu” -the sound he made when he got shot probably

R: “...Russians would make the best troops in the world, if they were under other officers than their own.” -Letter to John Jay, March 14, 1779

S: “Sometime last fall when I spoke to your Excellency about going to the Southward, I explained to you candidly my feelings with respect to military reputation, and how much it was my object to act a conspicuous part in some enterprise that might perhaps raise my character as a solider above mediocrity...” -Letter to George Washington, November 22, 1780

T: “The weak side of a republican government is the danger of foreign influence.” -Debate at the Constitutional Convention, June 18, 1787

U: “Under every form of government, rulers are only trustees for the happiness and interest of their nation, and cannot, consistently with their trust, follow the suggestions of kindness or humanity towards others, to the prejudice of their constituents.” -Notation in the margin of Gazette of the United States, July 10, 1793

V: “Vigor of government is essential to the security of liberty...” -Federalist No. 1, October 27, 1787

W: “Why has government been instituated at all? Because the passions of men will not conform to the dictates of reason and justice, without constraint.” -Federalist No. 15, December 1, 1787

X: “xoxo gossip girl” -Signature at the end of the Federalist Papers

Y: “You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affection without my consent.” -Letter to John Laurens, April 1779

Z: “Zzzzzzzzz” -him snoring in Maria Reynolds’ bed

[mahixa]

so @maxricciardo messaged me earlier today and maybe possibly probably inspired me to write this cute, fluffy lestappen fic. Listen, she’s great and she deserves to read something nice and comforting about Max after today’s race. And for any of you searching for something sweet and a short fic about the boys being happy together - I hope you will enjoy it as well.

You can read it on ao3 [HERE]

ship: lestappen

word count: 1734

fluff. It’s fluff. Boys kissing. Fluffity fluff. Let there be fluff. Max realises his feelings for Charles and thinks Charles is pretty. We all agree with Max.

The interviewer is someone Max has never seen before during their press conferences. He looks like he could live and survive on drama alone. Beastliness shines dangerously in his eyes and the way he tilts his head before he asks Max the question indicates deviousness.

Max doesn’t like this at all.

“So, Max,” his voice is obnoxious already. “We all know how painfully honest you can be. Let me ask you about Charles Leclerc.”

Something stings Max’s chest. It has been difficult couple of days for Charles, with his bad last racing weekend and a lot of family burden going on right now. The Monegasque, if asked about it, would kindly state that everything is fine and there is nothing to worry about.

But Max knows Charles and he is aware when things become too much for him. And it’s obvious that Charles has his ups and downs. Should anyone be surprised by that? No one. And yet the media keep doing what they do best – they wait for the smallest mistake, the tiniest inconvenience, and they dig deep into the topic. They remind Max of vultures, always ready to find a person during their weak moments and portray such person as the biggest victim possible. A loser. Rend their vulnerable skin and make them bleed for the sake of the headline. Pain them black and white.

For the media everything is zero to one. You either win, or you lose. You drive or you crash. There’s no in between.

And Charles is sitting right next to Max during this press conference, and Max can feel him switching his position uncomfortably as they both hear the begging of question.

“Charles seems to like creating controversy,” the man states the biggest lie Max has heard in a while and dares to continue speaking. “And recently he has been loosing his nerves in the most crucial moments. He is, let’s say, not good under pressure these days. Does it even make him a good driver then?”

Something boils inside Max.

“Does any of it have something to do with the upcoming date of Charles’ father’s death? Should Charles continue to drive during this weekend, or is he a threat to others? Clearly he might be, with his mental condition.”

The conference room goes completely silent.

Max doesn’t take his eyes off of the interviewer. He doesn’t even blink. His gaze must look dangerous enough for everyone to make them to look at him and the man multiple times, anticipating the answer. Max lifts his chin defiantly and squints, and it sends unspoken fulmination all across the room. Someone clears his throat nervously.

“You know,” Max starts, joining his hands together. “I think it takes some fucking audacity to come to this room and say such things about one of the greatest driver of this generation.” Someone gasps in the room and everyone lifts their cameras up. “So you come here, and you have your confidence, and well. You have to be confident, for sure, to ask such dumb questions and state such idiotic statements, clearly not understanding what does it mean to be a normal human in this sport, having better and worse days. So no. Charles is more than the questions about his father, he is more than your silly cheap mind games and neither him, or me, will waste our time on you. And he will drive with us on Sunday. He’s the best person out there when it comes to mental strenght and he doesn’t deserve such crap from the media. So shut up. Next question,” he finishes and points at another man.

His heart is beating incredibly fast and he can hardly hear another question. His mouth is dry, palms sweaty and his legs bouncing nervously.

He does his best to ignore Charles’ stunned look on his face and Lewis’ dropped jaw.

When Max comes back to his hotel room he is exhausted and doesn’t really know why. He has dealt with stupid interviewers on more than one occasion by now, and he thinks he should be able to handle this situation better. Not that he regrets saying what he said.

He just doesn’t know why it caused such him such an emotional response.

Before he can think about it more, there’s a soft knock on the door and there’s only one person who knocks like that.

“Come in, Charles.”

Charles’ smile is small and almost timid, as he enters the room and then looks around. Max smiles to himself, observing a very awkward Charles. As if he wasn’t here yesterday to see the room. And the day before.

“I, eh,” he starts, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I wanted to say thank you, Max.”

Max doesn’t know how to react to his cheeks which turn bright red.

Charles has always been like that. Like that? So like what? Max thinks, forcing himself to finally understand what he has been feeling for so long, searching in his head for the best word to describe the other man.

Lovely. Charles has always been quite lovely, he admits to himself.

That describes Charles pretty well, actually. And now Max thinks about all those moments they shared together, from the early karting days too. Their fights and arguments when they were children, and Charles coming to check on Max after their races. Bringing him his home-made cookies or lemonade, and thanking Max. Or saying he is sorry. And these confessions were always a bit clumsy, always a bit awkward, but the words were always there. Charles might not always look the most confident during moments like this, but he always is there. Ready to speak and be tender when other people hide themselves and run away from confrontation. Charles is ready to say the things Max is often unable to.

Today’s press conference was different, though. It was the first time Max said so many things about Charles. In a room full of people, on top of that – people who were paying attention to his every word. Wasn’t that rather stupid, to go off like that? But that question has to be one of the dumbest and most arrogant he has heard in a long while. And it was about Charles.

No one should ever talk about Charles like that.

Not about Charles. How dare they? Have they ever seen the way he drives? The way he trains? How he can stay under pressure? The way he achieves his goals and keeps his cool even in the most stressful moments?

Have they seen the way Charles smiles? The way he rolls his eyes when he sees something silly or the way he wrinkles his nose when he laughs, but truly, truly laughs? Have they seen the way Charles can’t cook or dance, but he likes to do these things and it makes it even more enjoyable to observe him?

And what about the way Charles sleeps, with his lips slightly parted and his strong chest moving up and down? Or the way he gets excited over the stupidest TV programs Max doesn’t understand, but doesn’t mind when Charles asks him to watch them together, already too fascinated by the way Charles comments on things? And the way he plays the piano. The way he chooses songs and hums to himself when he plays.

The way he sneezes and then apologizes for it. The way Charles can assemble furniture from IKEA, and refuse to use any instruction, but somehow his chaotic energy helps him manage? And Max knows how it looks like.

Because Charles helped him with his furnitures.

Charles has always been there. When Max was sick and didn’t want to take any pills, Charles was there. Brining him his mum’s soup and talking how much he likes the fact that they both live in Monaco now. And when Max got completely wasted in one of those bars they like to go to, it was Charles who helped him get clean from all the unpleasant post-party aspects of the night. And he didn’t complain. He didn’t make a sound. He took off Max’s clothes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, and helped him shower. He made sure Max made it to bed and he placed a glass of water on his bedside table.

Charles was there when Max won his most important races and he was there to celebrate it with him. He was there when Max argued with his father and when it all looked like a lost cause. He was there to rub soothing circles on Max’s back with his gentle hand and embrace him with his soft voice.

And he always says “thank you” and “I’m sorry” when other people could never do it, for different reasons. Charles has always been brave and able to rise above others. Be a bigger person.

Charles is kind and lovely.

And so damn handsome.

It all makes Max’s head dizzy. The realisation of his feelings washes over him and he has to grab the chair not to stumble. What now?

Charles looks beautiful in his blue hoodie, messy hair and his confused smile. He looks way too soft to remain reasonable or sensible about this.

“Those things you said during the press conference, did you mean them?” he asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

Max nods, coming closer to Charles who doesn’t move away. His eyes are focused on Max’s and he licks his lips.

“I meant every word,” Max says, his voice becoming almost a whisper, as he moves even closer and cups Charles’ face with his hand. “Jesus, Charles.”

Charles closes his eyes at the contact and breathes in through his nose. He looks stunning and Max is mesmerised.

“Kiss me,” Charles whispers, not opening his eyes. “Please.”

Max feels like melting. He slowly cups Charles’ face with both his hands.

“Look at me,” Max whispers back, and when Charles opens his eyes slightly, Max places a kiss on Charles’ forehead.

Then on his cheek. And then the other.

And then they kiss. They kiss and kiss and kiss, Charles’ arms around Max’s shoulders and Max’s hands on Charles’ waist. It’s the softest thing to kiss Charles, his lips eager and opened and lovely, lovely, so, so lovely, and warm.

Max moves them around the room so Charles can fall on the bed, and as soon as he does, Max climbs on top of him. The way Charles’ reaches out for him, the way he holds him closer, kissing him harder and deeper – that definitely goes on top of “the different ways of Charles Leclerc” list Max has made.

And Charles is beautiful under his touch, and he glows like a golden, Autumn sun, and he sounds like the softest, warm melody.

“I meant every word,” Max says between kisses and touches, between moans and sighs. “Every word.”

[letterfromtrenwith]

A New Day

A George/Elizabeth fic with some background Drake/Morwenna.

This (and likely all of my fics from now on) ignores series 3 for what are probably obvious reasons.

This is basically just a lot of fluff because I want my favourite characters to be happy and this is the only way to make that happen! :D

“Oh, little one, will you not rest a while longer?” A repeat of the kick which had awoken her was all the answer she needed, and Elizabeth sighed as her eyelids fluttered open against the bright morning light. She could see from the sun’s height that she had in fact slept quite late, although it felt as though she had barely closed her eyes. George was not beside her, unsurprisingly; it was far past the hour when even she could persuade him to remain abed with her. Settling one hand on her rounded stomach, she sat up rather awkwardly, setting off another flutter of movement.

“Is there nothing mama does to which you do not object?” Despite her gentle admonishment, Elizabeth smiled widely at the firm push against her palm. Finally finding a comfortable position, she sat quietly for a few moments, feeling her child shift inside her, until there came a gentle tap upon the door.

“Mistress? I have your breakfast.”

“Come in.” The maid bustled in and, efficient as ever, helped Elizabeth to sit up properly, propping the pillows behind her, before arranging the tray comfortably within her reach. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything else, ma’am?”

“No, thank you, Dot…” and then she realised that it had been very quiet since she awoke – unusually quiet. “Where is Valentine?”

“Master took ‘im downstairs, ma’ am. ‘Ee were ‘igh-spirited this morning, and Mr Warleggan said you were not to be disturbed.” Elizabeth smiled, touched by her husband’s consideration for her, and amused by the thought of what Dot might be modestly describing as “high-spirited”.  A little over two years old, Valentine was an energetic, mischievous boy who ran the servants ragged, and sometimes his parents, although he was just a touch more inclined to behave properly for his mother and father.

“I see. Well, that will be all, thank you.”

“I’ll be back for t’tray, ma’am, and t’help dress you if you please.” With a bob, Dot departed and Elizabeth turned to her breakfast, thinking again how delighted she was that the usual nausea had passed. At her first bite of bread and butter, a little hand or foot poked her in the stomach.

~

“Now, you must keep still or Papa will drop all of his papers…which you would no doubt find highly amusing.”

“Yes!”

“Yes? Well, at least you admit you are a holy terror.” The obvious amusement and affection George’s voice undercut the words, and Valentine was clearly not at all chastened, judging by his delighted giggling.

“Now, what trouble are you making for your Papa?”

“He is most intent on interrupting me at my work, as usual.” George turned to smile up at her tenderly, eyes lingering as they always did on her stomach as he looked her over. Valentine sat on his lap, little hands attempting to grasp at the sheaf of paper in his right hand. In his other hand, George held a pencil, and on the table next to him were an empty teacup and saucer. Elizabeth rather wished she had been there to see him attempt to balance all of them together. Steadying herself on the back of the chair, she bent to press a kiss to Valentine’s soft, dark curls, and another to the fine arch of his father’s cheekbone. George’s eyes widened slightly at this gesture and she wondered that after so long he could still be surprised by her affections.

“Mama!” Valentine greeted her happily, but seemed content to remain with his father and did not demand to be lifted up, which admittedly was somewhat awkward to do in her condition.

“Good morning, my love.” She lowered herself into her chair, George’s eyes following her with concern. His careful attentions to her were often unnecessary but touched her all the same.

“Did you manage to sleep, my dear?”

“Some. You should not have let me lie abed so late.”

“You need your rest, and you had very little during the night.”

“As did you.” She knew her restless shifting had disturbed him also. Before George could reply – doubtless to try to put her off any concern for his wellbeing, as usual – Valentine made a sudden snatch for the pencil in his hand and a brief tugging match ensued.

“No. You may not have it.”

“Want.”

“No.”

“…Please?” Valentine had recently learned the power of this word, especially when combined with a pleading look. Elizabeth, somewhat to her frustration, was near helpless in the face of it, and rather envied George’s ability to stand firm.

“No. Come, see what you have here.” Putting aside his paperwork, George lifted the boy onto the floor, where Elizabeth now noticed his favoured wooden blocks were scattered across the rug. The two of them had apparently been up and about for quite a while without her. Remembering his toys, Valentine instantly forgot all about the pencil and seized them happily. They watched him in companionable silence for a while, until Elizabeth started a little at another kick.

“My dear?”

“Oh, it is nothing. Our daughter is restless, it seems.” George smiled at her affectionately.

“You are quite insistent that it is a girl.”

“I cannot explain it, but I feel so sure.” From the moment Elizabeth had realised she was with child again, she had been convinced that she was to have a daughter. Perhaps it was simply an unconscious desire on her own part after two sons, but she believed it was more than that. “But if I am wrong, you are welcome to say ‘I told you so’.”

“I may hold you to that.” Elizabeth laughed, but she knew he would never say any such thing, no matter how little she would mind it. He reached out a hand to reclaim his papers from the table, but she seized it first, bringing it to rest over her stomach. Nothing happened for a moment. “It appears – oh.”

“There she is.” The baby kicked again against George’s hand and Elizabeth watched the play of emotions across his face – tenderness, awe, joy. They mirrored her own. This child meant a great deal to both of them for many reasons.

George’s discovery of Valentine’s questionable parentage had almost torn them asunder and broken both their hearts forever. The awful period afterwards, when George had returned to Cardew and refused to see her, had been the most miserable and wretched of Elizabeth’s life. Desperate and overwrought, she had written him a tear-stained letter, begging him to allow her to explain and declaring her love for him in far balder terms than she had ever used before. She had half-expected that he would burn it unopened and she would never see him again, but he had returned, and promised that he would hear whatever she had to say. After it had all poured out of her, he had sat silently for quite some time, before asking her a question she could never have expected:

“Do you remember the night that we met?” Despite her surprise, she had a ready answer.

“Of course. It was here, at one of Charles’ parties. Francis had brought you home from school. We danced together.” He had looked a little surprised at her recollection, but nodded.

“Ruth Teague asked you why you would dance with a boy in such a shabby coat, and you told her that you had not noticed.”

“I did not realised you had overheard that.” Although she had not thought about it in years, she remembered it well. She had barely glanced at his coat, far more intrigued by the slightly shy boy behind the stiff bearing and overt politeness. Over the years, his coats had become finer, and his manner more distant, but the boy she had danced with that night had remained. Seen only by her.  

“I did.” He had turned to her then, taking her hand, the first touch they had shared in weeks.  “Money. Power. Position. I have let them occupy me for years but…but there has only ever been one thing which has truly mattered. All that this time away from you has shown me – even before I read your letter – is that nothing can diminish my love for you.”

He had paused again for a long moment. Although her heart had leapt at his words, she could not speak, could hardly breathe.

“We cannot change the past, Elizabeth, but the future belongs to us alone. We will not suffer for another man’s crime….and nor will our son.”

“Oh, George.” Overcome, she had thrown her arms around him, clinging to him as if she would never let go, hot tears soaking into his coat. His own hold on her had been just as tight.

A few months later, Elizabeth had discovered that they were to have another child, and their happiness had been indescribable. It seemed to them both as if it were a sign of the new beginning of their lives together.

“Oh!” George’s exclamation broke her out of her reverie. “I had almost forgotten, my dear. There are two letters for you.”

She broke the seal on the first, recognising her eldest son’s handwriting. Geoffrey Charles had gone away to school a few months previously and, as much as she knew it was all to the good that he receive a proper education, she still missed him terribly. His letters were a great source of comfort and amusement – he had inherited his father’s sense of humour, and acquired his stepfather’s talent for observation; his caricatures of his teachers and recounting of his fellow pupils’ antics were most entertaining. George looked over at her as she chuckled at one particular anecdote.

“The sheep in the master’s study? I received the same story in my letter…as well as what I am sure he thought was a very artfully disguised hint that he requires more money. Quite what a boy his age does with it I cannot imagine.”

“I hope he is not picking up bad habits. I recall some of Francis’ stories about his schooldays…”

“Geoffrey Charles is a sensible boy, my dear, do not worry.”

“He is most eager for news of his new sibling…It is a shame he will not be here to greet her.”

“Something for him to look forward to.”

“Yes.” She moved onto the second letter, a shorter missive from her sister-in-law. “Oh, Verity is insistent that she will come for my lying in. I told her there was no need – Morwenna is coming – but she will not have it. Her own time will be approaching by then. She should not exert herself so. She says she is bringing Esther as well. So you are to have a house full of females.”

“I am sure I will bear it somehow.” Likely by retreating into his study and staying there for the duration, for which she frankly could not fault him. Elizabeth loved both Verity and Morwenna dearly, and knew she would welcome their support when the time came, but she also knew their fussing would be unbearable, especially as Verity was herself again expectant. It would likely be only a matter of time for Morwenna, too. In fact, Elizabeth was quite surprised it had not yet happened. It was almost a year since her young cousin had eloped with Drake Carne to escape the marriage her mother had arranged for her.

At first, Elizabeth had been rather disappointed in her, and George angry, especially considering certain members of her new husband’s family, and the scurrilous gossip the marriage had engendered. However, eventually George had calmed down and Elizabeth had been unable to deny her sympathy for Morwenna’s situation. Geoffrey Charles’ love for his former governess had also persuaded his parents to accept her back into their home and family. She was now a regular visitor to Trenwith, and had eagerly volunteered to accompany Elizabeth for her confinement.

“Mama! Papa! Look!” Valentine sat proudly in front of an impressively neat pyramid of blocks.

“Oh, what is this? What a fine creation! Is my boy to be a great architect, hmm?” Valentine beamed at his father’s praise, despite having no idea what an architect was, nor likely a creation. The visible pride on George’s face touched Elizabeth deeply. He had accepted Valentine as his own, but she had sometimes worried that their relationship had been undermined. However, George’s love for his son was as palpable as his love for her, and it only increased her own for him. As she watched them together, the baby kicked her again and she rubbed a hand over her stomach.

Soon, my darling. I cannot wait for you to join us.