Edmund Bridgerton reveled in the joyful chaos that marked family gatherings at Aubrey Hall. The garden was alive with the laughter of his children, their voices mingling with the melodies of songbirds. He stood on the veranda, watching with a contented smile as the younger Bridgertons played a spirited game of tag among the rose bushes.

His gaze shifted to the center of the garden, where you, Lady Bridgerton, were seated on a blanket, your radiant smile brighter than the sun. You were surrounded by your little ones, who eagerly presented you with handpicked flowers and tales of their adventures.

With a sense of purpose, Edmund descended the steps, his strides confident. He caught the eye of his eldest son, Anthony, who was attempting to corral his younger siblings.

"Need a hand, Anthony?" Edmund's voice was warm, his amusement evident.

Anthony grinned, relief washing over his features. "Father, I believe the more hands, the better."

Edmund joined in the fun, scooping up little Gregory, who giggled and clung to his father's neck. He then turned his attention to you, kneeling beside you and brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "You look enchanting," he murmured.