The next morning, Lucas was still fuming at the stunt Edwina pulled the day before. The audacity of the lady to call him away from his work just because–Lucas paused–well, just because she wanted to reassure herself that he was on the mend, that he hadn't succumbed to an infection or a fever.

Lucas frowned, not sure what to make of her concern.

"Do not get too comfortable," Lucas said more harshly than he meant to Spencer as the boy filled up his plate from the excessive amount of food served at the sideboard for only two people. It was a waste, but Lucas supposed the servants helped themselves to the leftovers and whatever else that they could not finish was packed up and distributed to the poor. "I expect to be back in my old room before the end of the month. It'll be back to Mrs. Bagwell's pasties and coffee."

"I don't mind Mrs. Bagwell's food," Spencer said diplomatically even though his eyes were wide at the selection before him. Lucas often forgot that at the age of twenty, Spencer was still growing. He was currently all long limbs, skin and bones, and a good meal would help him grow into his body. Spencer fought amongst eight other siblings for food in his mother's household.

Lucas made a mental note to tell the kitchen to pack up a basket for Spencer's family as well.

"What will we be doing today, sir?" Spencer asked as he dug into a mountain of fried eggs and kippers before him. He drank deeply from a cup of coffee and choked on the bitter taste. Spencer had yet to adapt to any flavors stronger than watered down tea, but he was determined to emulate Lucas in every way. He had even begun to dye his own clothes black, much to his mother's consternation.

Lucas smiled into his napkin. "Rounds in Covent Garden. Mrs. Patterson's daughter sprained her ankle last week and we will see if the swelling has reduced. Mr. Cartwright injured his back two evenings ago, we will need to measure him for a brace." Lucas continued down the list in his mind's eye. Eight patients in total, sparse for the day. He will be back at Greymoor House by mid-afternoon, time enough to review the paper Dorset wrote on the health benefits of turmeric powder. Dorset was convinced that the spice reduced inflammation in the body. His arguments were convincing, but Lucas found that the writing itself needed refining before Dorset presented the information before the board in his next lecture.

"Doctor!" a maid exclaimed, running into the breakfast room. Both Lucas and Spencer turned.

"Maggie, what is it?"

"It's time," Maggie gasped out.

"Impossible," Spencer replied. "Dr. Blakeley is never wrong and Lady Constance has another three weeks yet."

Lucas pushed back from the table. "As you will soon learn, babes never arrive when expected."

***

Lucas returned to his room as dawn was breaking over the horizon. He lost his jacket and waistcoat hours ago when Constance first began her labor pains. He knew he would need to send a maid to retrieve them from the countess's bedchamber, but frankly, at the moment he was too exhausted to care.

He rubbed his hand against his face and felt the rough shadow of whiskers that needed to be shaved. He stumbled towards the basin of water and splashed his face. He could not rest yet. He had rounds to make in the morning and a lecture to give at noon at the college.

For the life of him, he could not recall what his lecture was about.

Blinking away the water from his eyes, Lucas grabbed a towel and dried off. He stood for a moment, looking at the reflection of a man at his wit's end staring back at him. His eyes were heavily shadowed and redlined, his face stark and pale, and his hair disheveled. His shirt was stained from the birth and he peeled it off and dropped it to the floor. His body sagged with the small effort.

Lucas fell back against the wall and slid to the floor. He felt a bubble of mirth rise inside him. This was it, he thought, the moment he cracked.

A guffaw of laughter erupted from his lips at the thought.

He was wrong. For once in his life, Lucas Blakeley was wrong.

Constance had given birth to a daughter. And, as if the universe was playing a great joke on him, she had given birth to two.

Lucas laughed again. Twin girls.

***

Lucas was the new Earl of Greymoor. Along with the title came a tidal wave of responsibilities that he neither had the time nor patience for, including the albatross that was Leighton Castle, a hundred room monstrosity that sat nearly vacant outside of Hertfordshire, and the country seat of his earldom.

From what he gathered from the report by William's steward, the only residents at Leighton Castle were the three dozen servants staffed to keep the castle in order—a skeleton crew for a manor that large.

Lucas rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead, the headache that began hours ago throbbing painfully against his skull.

He will need to visit the manor soon. According to the steward's report, the upkeep to the manor cost thousands of pounds a year. Money that could be best spent elsewhere. And though the earldom was flushed with money from incoming rents and profits from the yearly harvests, there needed to be many improvements made throughout the different holdings. Cottages that needed new roofs, canals to be dug, and so on.

Lucas clenched his eyes shut. He asked for none of this, but nonetheless the earldom was his now. Better him than…Lucas's lips flattened into a grim line.

Lucas caught sight of Simmons, the butler, hovering at the doorway.

"Did the post arrive yet?" Lucas asked impatiently. He needed that letter from his man in America. Ian McDonald was rarely this late in his updates and with each passing day, Lucas's stomach churned with anxiety as he leafed through the post. It's been over seven months since he last heard from McDonald.

Simmons shook his head in the negative. "Nothing from America," he replied.

"I'll need a runner," Lucas said thinking aloud. He needed someone to send to America to find McDonald or to replace him.

Simmon's eyes widened. Bow Street Runners were disreputable at best and violent bastards at their worst. Runners were rewarded through the cuffing of criminals, which earned them the reputation of being ruthless in the hunt for their bounty. Many men and women died before being brought before a judge.

Ian McDonald was a runner, one of the best money could buy. It did not bode well that McDonald vanished without a trace. The man was relentless in his work, and honest at that. He would not disappear without a word.

Lucas clenched his jaw in frustration.

"My lord, there is a visitor to see you."

"I am not at home," Lucas replied curtly. The desk was covered with opened ledgers, papers, and broken quills. Black ink stained his hands from all the letters he had written that morning to the various solicitors and stewards that consisted of the earldom. Spencer had already come and gone with Lucas's list of patients and a valise full of medicine.

"But, my lord–"

"What about ' I am not at home ' do you not understand?" Lucas snapped and instantly regretted his tone. Simmons looked back at him stone faced and sidestepped to reveal Lady Danbury standing behind him.

Damn.

Lucas rushed to his feet and ran a hand through his hair, but he knew he wasn't presentable to meet with one of the most powerful ladies of the ton .

"I see you have your father's temperament," Lady Danbury said as she entered the room. Simmons closed the door quietly behind her. She must have heard Lucas's declaration that he needed a runner, but she did not pry into his affairs despite the gleam of curiosity in her dark eyes.

"Do not compare me to my father."

Lady Danbury raised an eyebrow. "It certainly was not a compliment, but it isn't the insult you make it out to be."

"Then you did not know my father," Lucas replied curtly. Lucas took in a deep breath before continuing, "Why have you come?"

"You are Greymoor now."

"I see the news has spread quickly. The countess gave birth to her daughters not five hours ago."

"Whistledown has already printed it in today's edition."

"Who?"

" Lady Whistledown. If you are entering the ton , you will need to know about her."

There were too many false statements in that sentence for him to attempt to correct so Lucas said nothing.

"I am here to hand deliver to you an invitation to a ball I am hosting tonight at Danbury House." She held out a cream colored piece of paper. From where he stood, Lucas could see the exquisite calligraphy detailing the event.

"I will not be attending."

"Yes, you will."

Lucas laughed. "And how, pray tell, will you convince me?"

Lady Danbury stood back for a moment and took him in. Her eyes roamed over his stained trousers, worn shirt, and his bare throat where his cravat was noticeably absent. His face heated with embarrassment. He knew he looked a mess and awaited her dressing down.

Then her eyes passed over the desk at the tower of ledgers before returning to his face.

"You look terrible, as if at death's door. You are killing yourself and as the last of the Greymoors, I cannot allow it. You do understand that you do not need to take this all on your own. Hire a secretary, many of them if you need to. You are wealthy enough now to do so."

Lucas frowned, drumming his fingers along the top of the desk in impatience.

"And," Lady Danbury continued, placing the invitation near his hand, her eyes assessing his disheveled state of dress with distaste. "Find a wife to take care of the rest."

***

Lucas knocked at Constance's door. He heard a soft murmur before the door was opened by Maggie, Constance's lady's maid. Maggie looked a little wan from the long night, but a beatific smile widened on her face when she saw Lucas. When Constance successfully delivered her two daughters after nearly twenty hours of labor, Maggie had collapsed in tears of relief and happiness in Lucas's arms.

"Lord Greymoor," she said in a low voice. Lucas winced at the address. "Lady Greymoor was just asking for you." She stepped aside to let Lucas into the room.

The open windows flooded the bedchamber in bright sunlight and a warm breeze. Though this was not the first time he had set foot in Constance's rooms, there was a sudden brightness to the space that made it seem entirely new. Before, whenever he checked on the progress of her confinement, Constance had the drapes drawn shut, casting the entire room in gloom in her attempt to properly mourn William.

As he approached her bed, Lucas found Constance propped up on several pillows with a babe under each arm.

She smiled up at him, her eyes bright despite the long and arduous night. "I could not stand to leave them alone in the nursery," she said sheepishly.

It was unheard of for ladies of the ton to possess much interest in their offspring, many handing off their newborn to a wet nurse the moment they are able. But Constance had one child latched to her breast, while the other cuddled up under her arm asleep. Both babes were fair with wisps of light blond hair like their father and mother.

"You are Greymoor now," Constance said with a bit of laughter in her eyes. They both knew how he detested the possibility that he could become the next earl.

"Yes, apparently,” he sighed with resignation as he sat down at the edge of her bed. Constance looked well, more than she had in the past few months that he had known her. He knew that he was a poor replacement for William, but he was glad that he was present during the delivery of his nieces, that Constance was not alone with a strange doctor but with family.

Constance picked up one of the babes and passed her to Lucas. Lucas stared down in wonderment at how tiny the girl looked in his arms. Though he had delivered multitudes of infants in his career, these two girls were the first attached to him by blood. A warmness filled his heart.

"You will make a great earl. I do not know another man as generous and conscientious as you, outside of William of course. And, you deserve to find your own happiness."

"A wife, you mean? Interestingly, Lady Danbury told me precisely the same only moments ago."

"I always knew she was a wise woman," Constance replied. She peered at Lucas under her eyelashes, watching him gently rock the babe in his arms. "Imagine holding a child of your own, Lucas. A son–the next Greymoor."

Instead of responding, Lucas asked, "Have you decided on names for your daughters?"

Her eyes went soft. "This," she indicated quietly to the babe in her arms, "is Wilhelmina Blakeley, named after her father." Constance's eyes brightened with unshed tears as she looked at the babe in Lucas's arms. "And, that is Lucille Blakeley, named after her uncle and the man who helped me bring the last piece of William into the world."

Constance reached out her free hand and clutched tightly to Lucas's while she wept both tears of grief and joy.