Category: Posts

Extended Epilogue

1 Year Later

 

Lionel looked out on a field of felled trees. Beyond what had been a wild copse, lay the gutted remains of Penrose. Or at least the foundations of it. Work had begun that spring, and now, a year after the day in which Cecilia had been introduced to the court and Thorpe had fallen into disgrace, the way was clear for the rebuilding to begin.

He heard the sound of his wife approaching, riding on Summer, with Charles, their son, cradled before her in a sling of her own devising. She rode side-saddle, one hand holding the reins, the other cradling her six-month-old. He looked out at the world with wide, blue eyes beneath his cap of reddish curls. Lionel smiled at the sight of his wife and son, feeling the warmth suffuse him that made the summer sun feel like an arctic blast.

He took out the rolled canvas that he carried in an inside pocket of his coat and spread it on the ground before him, weighing it down with rocks. It was a painting, bearing his signature and showing Penrose, as he had imagined it to be in centuries past. As Summer approached at a casual trot, Lionel’s eyes went from the painting to the site before him.

“It can be done,” he murmured as he stood and went to the horse.

He reached up to take Cecilia by the waist and gently lifted her to the ground. Charles cooed and giggled at the sight of his father. Lionel beamed at the boy, a grin that split his face from ear to ear. As he always did when in close proximity to his father, Charles reached for the scar which made a curious shape on his father’s forehead. The hair where the round had grazed the skull was white, a stripe running through the rest of his black hair. Cecilia’s hands followed those of their sun, fingers dancing through that scar of white. He kissed her and then lowered his head to tenderly kiss his son.

“Is it really worth it?” Cecilia asked. “We have Thornhill after all. This seems an awful lot of expense and effort to go to for another house.”

“But this is Penrose. Your home. And Arthur’s,” Lionel insisted gently, “and it can be Charles’ home too one day.”

Cecilia ran a gentle hand over the baby’s head and he looked up at her with wide, adoring eyes. She smiled at him, kissing him on the nose.

“I have learned to accept what I have and be grateful. Pursuing this quest to rebuild Penrose feels a little bit too close to the obsession for revenge. It nearly undid both of us,” Cecilia said.

Lionel nodded somberly. “Surely there are some obsessions that are positive. I can see now how my desire for revenge was consuming me. Eating me like a canker. The moment when I was able to ask for clemency on Thorpe’s behalf came when I saw how twisted he was with his own obsessions. Namely to obtain my title and lands. He was prepared to fight a woman to maintain his position. I cannot conceive how a man can become so warped from everything that is good. It frightened me. I saw myself in him. What I almost became, risking my life and my future on a mad quest for vengeance.”

Cecilia twined her fingers through his, standing beside him and looking over the plot of land that had been her home once.

“I am content with what I have. Let the past be. My aunt and uncle, too, may have stolen my rightful inheritance and forged Arthur’s will once, but greed and temptation only got them so far,” she reaffirmed. “Now, they are left with just as little as they had before I came into their life. Meanwhile, Arthur has left me with far more than wealth and properties. For that, I am grateful.”

“But they still deserve to be brought to justice.” 

“Perhaps. But if it requires me to spend even a moment away from my husband and my son, just to watch my aunt and uncle suffer more than they already are, then it is no longer worth my effort.”

Lionel sighed. “You are right. As always. I suppose then there is only the Regent to contend with,” he put in, looking down at the painting again.

“The Regent?” Cecilia asked.

“Yes, taking this land back from the Sinclairs after Knightley’s property was all declared forfeit was a gift from the Regent to us. A sign of his gratitude for rooting a traitor out of his court. He has been writing to me with his ideas for the design and is most keen to know our progress.”

“Oh,” Cecilia said, frowning.

“Quite,” Lionel agreed.

The Regent was a man of enthusiasm, and once taken with an idea, he could not easily be diverted from it.

“Oh, dear,” Cecilia muttered, “are we to have an eastern pleasure palace standing in place of Penrose then?”

Lionel snorted. “I certainly hope not. The Regent has offered the services of John Nash to rebuild, the man who built the Royal Pavilion at Brighton for him. I have politely declined. But I think we must do something here or the Regent will give us a second Brighton Pavilion.”

“Oh, lord no. Anything but that monstrosity. What are we to do?” Cecilia asked, brows furrowing.

“I have the very idea and have already set the wheels in motion. I have written to a number of Quaker businessmen who are always interested in works of public good. Several have expressed an interest in the building of a public school here at Penrose.”

“A public school?”

“We will employ the finest and most modern educators and will teach any who wish to come. For free,” Lionel said, beaming, “the idea is already being smiled on by Sir Robert Peel and several members of Parliament and the Lords. They are practically lining up to be associated with the idea. Even the Regent could not take over such a plan. Not when there is such public interest in it.”

“A public school.” Cecilia said again, but this time in a tone of speculative interest, “a place where the children of farmers and Dukes can be educated together?”

“Precisely. We will enroll Charles one day. Imagine a whole chain of them across England, Scotland, and Wales. Imagine an entire generation learning to read and write, given prospects beyond mill or mine.”

Cecilia’s eyes were alight at the prospect. Lionel grinned.

“The idea came to me after our last visit to court. There is such opulence and wealth there and such a lack of it beyond the palace doors. And it is hard to make the poor wealthy without simply giving them handouts which must, one day, come to an end. No one has the resources to feed an entire nation.”

“But if the nation can learn to feed itself…” Cecilia began.

“Or at least learn to read and write, then who knows? A beggar who can write can be a clerk. A laborer who can read can be a clergyman. But it all starts with education. Is this an obsession worth having?”

Cecilia laughed and hugged Lionel impulsively. Charles squawked and they both laughed as they rearranged themselves so that their son could participate in the hug rather than be squeezed by it. Lionel had known that his wife would welcome his plan—had been desperate to spill it all for weeks.

But he was waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it.

This had seemed like it, the point at which Cecilia was questioning why they needed another house. Which, of course, they didn’t.

The Sinclairs had been posturing through solicitors about their rights to the estate. The Regent had given their petition short shrift but they had persisted. But once the land was given to a corporation incorporated with the task of building a school… then the Sinclairs would have nothing left. There would be no profit in claiming the land on which a school had been built and they would be despised in the ton and the county set for opposing such a plan.

“You wily old goat! You’ve beaten them all,” Arthur whispered in his mind.

Lionel smiled. His head was full of the sweet scent of his wife. He felt her slender body pressed against his own. Felt the warmth of their son in her arms. The ghost of Arthur had been laid to rest. He was avenged and it had been achieved through an act not of hate, but of mercy. There was true justice in that. None in the ton mentioned how Lionel and Cecilia’s marriage had begun. Lionel suspected the Sinclairs had been responsible for some nasty rumors, but the patronage of the Regent was an impenetrable armor. Every slanderous piece of gossip merely cut at the Sinclairs, not the Grishams.

Lionel’s leg still ached from time to time, still made him limp. But his wife’s skill with massage had replaced his dependence on poppy juice. An engineer from London had further enhanced the brace that helped strengthen his left leg. He barely noticed he was wearing it now.

He looked out over the blank page of the next chapter. From the foundations of Penrose, destroyed by fire to ensure no copy of Arthur’s true will survived, a phoenix would rise that would change their society for the better.

Lionel had a new quest. A new obsession. More than one, in fact. He smiled, his hand resting around the waist of one of his obsessions while he stroked the silky, auburn hair of the other. Smiles were commonplace for him these days.

Whispers had even reached him that some in the village called him the Sunny Duke. That made him chuckle.

The End. 

Extended Epilogue

2 years later

Hester walked carefully down the hill towards the village church of Petworth. She walked carefully because the large bump at the front of her made her feel ungainly and top-heavy. Dorian walked beside her and she hung on his arm.

“We should take the trap. It would be safer,” he said for the tenth time.

“On a day like this? We should be walking! It is better for me and the baby,” Hester assured him with a smile, “it will just take me a little longer is all.”

The sun shone warmly and the ground was dry and hard underfoot. She was not concerned about stumbling but Dorian was a very nervous expectant father. He wanted to protect her against the slightest breath of wind lest it chill her or the unborn baby. She loved him for his doting concern but could not bear another day of… protection. Besides, she had promised Marianne this visit. Had promised it on more than one occasion and been forced to cancel. Now, she was determined to see it through. For the sake of her old friend and the children. Those children were assembled in the churchyard. They were combed and washed, standing in a line with the vicar at one end and their proud schoolmistress at the other. Marianne was that schoolmistress and the young vicar—her husband of two months.

She started forward, stepping through the gate and then hurrying up the hill to meet her old friend. When she reached them, she embraced Hester carefully and kissed her cheek.

“You have more pupils than I would have imagined in a place like this,” Dorian commented after receiving her formal curtsy and informal embrace.

“They come from all the surrounding villages and this is just today’s class. There are four others, each attending school for one day of the week. We take only those whose mothers or fathers are working people. Farmers, laborers, and the like. The children who otherwise wouldn’t get a chance.”

“You don’t have to persuade me. We are both proud to be patrons,” Dorian laughed.

“I can’t move very quickly I’m afraid, but tell the children I can’t wait to meet them if they don’t mind being patient,” Hester giggled.

Marianne took her free arm and showed just as much concern as Dorian as she helped Hester the rest of the way.

“Thank the heavens you made it today. They can’t wait to hear you read from your new children’s book,” Marianne began, “And I don’t think I’d have been able to put up with another day of them bugging me about it. They have been enthralled with your stories since I started reading to them. And who would have thought that my volunteering to read to the little ones would lead me to a husband of my very own,” she added with a smile.

Marianne had volunteered to stay on at Petworth at the DeVere cottage, helping to run the Sunday school there. The old vicar had passed away and his replacement was young and handsome. He had quickly fallen under the spell of his beautiful young assistant. Hester had been sad when Marianne told her she wanted to stay at Petworth but overjoyed at the news that she had found love. For weeks, she had been excited to meet Marianne’s husband, the Reverend John Phillips. Now the day had finally arrived. A day snatched from Dorian’s work in Parliament, an emerging leader of a new liberal group within Westminster, seeking reform for the working men and women of Britain. A day snatched from the demands of her publishers, always seeking new latest works for publication. Whether that be poetry, stories for children, or romantic escapades for adults. The name of Hester Fairchild was being feted in London, Paris, Rome, and even as far away as New York. The Audley heiress had captured the public imagination. An author who refused to deny her femininity as many female authors did. Refused to use a male pseudonym. A woman who spoke out for other women regardless of rank or class and was supported by her doting husband.

The day passed blissfully for Hester and Dorian. The sun shone on them and the children. There were tears between Marianne and Hester when the time came to say goodbye. But both knew it was only a passing circumstance. They would see each other again as soon as they were able. She finally accepted the carriage which Dorian had sent for, exhausted by the day. As it carried them north to Middleton Hall, she sat nestled in her husband’s arms. He placed his hand protectively over her stomach and she put her hand upon his. The familiar countryside of Oxfordshire was soon visible in the gathering twilight. Through the coach’s window, she could see Aston Hill looming before them and knew that Maiden’s Tower was somewhere up there on its summit.

The place where she had finally revealed her true identity to Dorian. The place where their love had truly begun.

“Do you ever hear from your aunt or uncle?” he asked.

“Not directly. Cousin Selina writes to me regularly. She had had her debut and is living at the family’s London residence. She wants to be an author like me.”

“I wager that sticks in her father’s craw,” Dorian smirked.

Hester laughed. “She is a sweet girl and one of great promise. Uncle Timothy is a greedy, venal old man, but his ambitions have been stymied. Between being denied any more of my parent’s money and your rise in Westminster, he has lost any influence he had. I almost feel sorry for him.”

She remembered the blow that had scarred her shoulder and added. “Almost.”

“We will not think of them. I’m sorry I asked,” Dorian apologized, taking her hand delicately in his.

“What of cousin Melcombe? Is that just as miserable a subject?”

“Not a bit of it. Since he left for the colonies… excuse me, for the United States, I think he has found his calling. He wrote to me only last week to say that he has taken citizenship there, giving up his title, and is running for political office. I wished him well and offered him my support. For whatever an English politician’s support is worth to an American. I think he has turned a corner. He actually apologized to me. Begged my forgiveness. He had a miserable childhood, driven by a beastly father to covet Middleton. He is a changed man.”

“A happy ending for him then. I am glad,” Hester murmured, snuggling deeper into her husband’s embrace.

She felt safe and protected.

The girl who had wondered what the world beyond Goddington was like had now seen more of it than she ever dared dream of. She remembered standing beneath a tree, shivering and wet, realizing that Arthur would not be coming to meet her. She had felt betrayed and alone. That seemed a distant memory now. One she did not regret for it had helped to make her who she was. It had been a stepping stone to her life in the arms of the man she loved. A man who now loved her for who she truly was. The man she had been destined to love, though she did not know it at the time. The man who had been destined to love her. They returned to Middleton, leaving the past behind and heading into their future, together.

The End. 

Extended Epilogue

6 years later…

Seth took Charity by the hand as he guided her through the verdant, boundless meadows that stretched miles from their country house in Scotland. It had been an age since they had returned here, and even longer since they carved out a moment for themselves as husband and wife. At least, it sometimes felt that way.

With each step, Charity’s delicate shoes crushed upon the soft earth, and Seth pulled her closer, shielding her from the light breeze. He wrapped his arms around her frame, nestling her head against the crook of his neck, as they promenaded in the early dawn.

“You may have forgotten but you vowed to me you would take the time to describe the landscape,” she giggled to him, clasping his arms tighter around her.  

“Indeed…” he responded, “Yet, I assure you, the vista before us pales in comparison to the spectacle I behold presently—pale blue eyes, a spirited nose, voluptuous lips I could feast upon.”

Charity’s lips curved into a seductive smile, a bloom of warmth cascading through her belly, offsetting the morning chill. Desire stirred within her, and she spun in her husband’s arms, her own encircling his neck to draw him closer still. Yes, it had been a while since they had seized a moment solely for themselves, but such was life, with their young boy ever demanding attention, and the burdens of the dukedom continuously piling up.

However, to say Seth hadn’t gone out of his way many times to… contrive a few moments of intimacy between the couple, would be a falsehood of the tallest order. Stolen glances, subtle touches, teasing whispers… the thrill was ever-present, just as the first night they met. And Charity appreciated it.

As if reading her thoughts, Seth placed his hand on the growing bump of her stomach. “Perhaps we ought to take advantage of this moment while we can,” he paused, feathering a hand down her cheek, “when the second one arrives, we will not have a moment of privacy, I fear.”

“This moment? You promised me four whole nights this week, I hope you haven’t forgotten,” Charity lightly chided, lifting her finger to his lips as he playfully nipped at it.

“I wouldn’t dare. Let’s just call this… an appetizer.” Seth’s lips met Charity’s with a fervor that spoke of raw need and tender affection. Her response was instant, a flame kindled by the touch of his mouth, the press of his body.

“Oh, Seth,” she murmured against his lips, her voice low and teasing.

Seth’s reply was lost in the deepening kiss, only accompanied by a whistling breeze and their muffled moans. There was not another soul for miles, for Seth had made sure of it when he purchased this plot on their honeymoon for them, and ever since, it had become the perfect little refuge from the world when they wished to bask in each other’s company, alone.

Even mere days without his touch would leave Charity wanting, and she knew all too well that desperation was just the same in him as it manifested in his exploring hands. The fabric of her gown bunched under them, the softness of her skin beneath a contrast to the calloused roughness of his fingers.

With care and reverence, Seth glided an arm about her waist, then laid her down upon the lush carpet of dew, their bodies entwined, silhouetted against the dawn’s light. In this secluded realm, where nothing existed but the beating of their hearts, they explored each other with a hunger born of love’s insatiable appetite. His hand reached to her breast and her back arched in response, needing his attention—pleading for it.  

Her own fingers delicately traced the contours of his muscular body, his pectorals, his abdominals, before finding their resting place upon the hardness concealed by his pantaloons. The feel of him sent a thrilling sensation down her spine. He breathed low against her and she knew she had achieved the desired response. He was as desperate as she was. But before their kiss could grow to insatiable heights, Charity’s eyes abruptly widened.

“Oh, the breakfast!” she called out rather breathlessly. “We should not keep our guests waiting, it would be improper.”

“Perhaps we could say that we lost our way?” Seth teased and Charity lightly smacked him on the shoulder in response.

He helped Charity to a stand and after they composed themselves, they decided it was time to head back to the house, where everyone would be waiting. It was easy to get distracted and forgetful when Seth was around.

***

As Charity and Seth neared their Scottish estate, the air grew filled with the sound of laughter and the bays of a hound, Shelby, who greeted them with fervent tail wags even before they reached the front gate.

“Shelby!” Charity chimed.

She bent down to offer a pat, which only heightened Shelby’s excitement, prompting him to nearly leap onto her before Seth swiftly caught him mid-air and gently set him back on the grass.

“Steady there, boy, we must be gentle with the Duchess. And that includes you too, Cherry,” he said with a light-hearted rebuke, his smile betraying his concern for her and the soon-to-arrive addition to their family.

Shelby responded with a soft whimper, while Charity’s expression morphed into a mock frown, on the brink of teasing Seth into an apology aimed at the hound. But before she could utter her playful reproach, another burst of laughter echoed through the air. Turning towards the source of the commotion, they were met with a scene bordering on chaos.

Servants scurried to and fro, their expressions teetering between concern and pure panic, as their son, his hair a cascade of gold—much like Charity’s, weaved through the garden. He was artfully dodging Rufus, whose tail was a blur of happiness. Seth couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, and his wife soon accompanied him after he described it to her. It was the usual bustle of their home, now only amplified by the presence of guests.

“Ah, Your Graces! You have returned!” Bates exclaimed, somewhat breathlessly, as he stumbled into the garden, his eyes widening at the sight of them. He executed one of his impeccable bows, though the lively backdrop of the morning’s disarray made the gesture seem almost comical. “Lord Oliver and Lady Valentina are eagerly awaiting in the dining hall, Lady Edith shall arrive shortly, breakfast is nearly served, and the table has been arranged just as you desired… However, there seems to have been a minor complication with the meal preparations. It appears that Lord Thomas…”

“Ah.” Seth’s response was a smirk, catching on almost immediately.

Charity, too, couldn’t help but let out an amused sigh and roll her eyes at their son’s latest antics. “Oh, heavens, not this again. Well, there is nothing to worry for, Bates, I am certain Oliver arrived for more than just our honeycakes.”

At her words, a visible sigh of relief passed through Bates, his worried expression smoothing over as he bowed again, more deeply this time. “Very well. In that case, all is in readiness. Please, after you,” he replied with a guiding gesture.

“Thomas,” Seth’s voice rang out, a command that halted their son in his tracks and had Rufus pouncing on him, lapping at his face, “come on, it is time for breakfast. Your adventures can wait a little longer.”

“All right, all right, Rufus, stop!” Thomas laughed as he struggled to his feet. He scurried to his mother’s side and took a handful of her gown, trying to hide from the view of Rufus and Shelby. “Oh!” he suddenly seemed to remember, “Will Peter…?”

Charity sighed and allowed Seth to take this one.

“Peter’s father has allowed him to stay over with us for a couple of days, on the condition of your impeccable behavior—” It was too late. Thomas sprang into the air with a whoop before rushing in through the door of their house, his parents’ laughter trailing behind him.  

“Maybe it’s time we consider offering the Montgomerys a parcel of land adjacent to ours, so Peter can move in permanently,” Seth mused with a lighthearted grin.

“Perhaps,” Charity replied in kind.  

As Seth and Charity made their way through the entrance of the dining room, they were immediately enveloped in the warmth of their home, the rich aromas of roasted meats and freshly baked bread wafting through the air. Oliver and Valentina, sat in the seats closest to the hearth, engaged in a lively discussion that ceased the moment Charity and Seth entered.

“Ah, the wanderers return!” Oliver grinned with a heavy clap. “We were half-convinced you had run off together again.”

Valentina, more reserved but equally pleased, came forward to embrace them in a warm welcome. “Oh, speak for yourself, dear. It is good to see you both.” Her eyes lingered for a moment on Charity’s pronounced belly, a silent understanding passing between them. Charity, with a knowing smile, simply nodded. “Oh, that is wonderful news! Congratulations.”

“Another one? Before we have even planned for our first,” Oliver exclaimed in awe. “Ah, well. At least Thomas will have a playmate, isn’t that right, Tommy boy?”

But Thomas was more preoccupied with something on the windowsill. He was on his tiptoes, peering intently, until he stumbled back with a gasp of surprise.

“Mama, papa, look!” He reached with both of his hands and scooped up something before turning around for everyone to see. In his clutches was a tiny black kitten, with bright green eyes and an awfully long and fluffy tail. “Can we keep the kitty? Oh, she is so handsome!”

“Shelby and Rufus might not be too keen on a new friend, Thomas,” Charity cautioned. Oliver was smirking at the sight as if it was the most amusing thing in the world. Seth, on the other hand, cast his eyes elsewhere, not wishing to get involved.

Upon hearing his name, Rufus sauntered into the room and walked up to Charity, nuzzling against her skirts. Shelby came just a moment after, limping a touch from his front leg. His wound had healed fantastically well after getting shot and despite suffering some limitations, he never once lost his energy. Approaching the kitten with a muzzle trembling with intrigue rather than hostility, Shelby’s reaction was unexpectedly gentle. To the surprise of all, he did not display any of the hostility one might expect. Instead, he was the epitome of decorum, a gentle giant who seemed to recognize the fragility of his new charge.

“Seems the hounds approve,” Valentina noted.

Thomas’ eyes lit up with hope. “So, we can keep her? I shall call her… Snow.”

“I suppose,” Seth shrugged, earning him a sharp glare from his wife for how quickly he gave in. “Ah, but who could deny such courage?” he continued, pointing at the kitten who was now walking closer to Charity almost as if trying to win her over. “Though perhaps a better name would be fitting for a cat the color of… emptiness,” Seth replied, his gaze meeting Charity’s, who couldn’t help but hold her own smirks back.

“Mama, do you agree as well?” Thomas pouted, picking up the kitten, Snow, in his hands and approaching her. He placed its paw against her fingertips and looked up at her with an earnest plea.

“If you vow to take up the responsibility of caring for her, then maybe I—”

“Oh, but I promise, I promise!” Thomas quickly said with little hesitation.

Seth drew Charity close, encircling her waist with his arm, as Thomas waited with bated breath for her verdict—the verdict that mattered most to the each of them. Charity pressed her lips in a thin line and with a sigh, Seth already knew she had relented.

“The men in my life. I fear I can never deny them anything,” she responded with a gentle smile.   

Thomas squared and jumped up and down, hugging Charity as well. “Thank you, mama!”

He placed the kitten on the floor and it began purring against Charity’s feet who was now grinning.

“Now, let’s return to the table before our meal turns cold. And I expect to learn that the plate is empty, for a responsible child would finish his meal,” Charity directed to Thomas, her tone warm but firm.

“Of course!”

“You truly do have a way with words, dear,” Seth murmured to her ear before nuzzling against her neck subtly, eliciting from her a cherry blush, as she lightly swatted him away.

Together, they moved back to the dining table, Snow trailing not far behind. As they settled into their seats, amidst the hum of conversation and the gentle clink of utensils, Seth found himself overwhelmed with a sense of profound gratitude.

Surrounded by his family, with every piece of his heart in place, he realized he had everything he could ever wish for. In this moment of perfect contentment, he silently vowed to do whatever it took to preserve this happiness. His hand snaked under the table to grasp Charity’s, noting her cherry blush returning with a vehemence. For the first time in a long time, Seth felt utterly at peace. 

The End. 

Extended Epilogue

6 years later…

The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls of the intimate private dining room of Marlowe House in Brighton. Amelia and Gideon sat across from each other, their eyes locked in a tender gaze, as the golden hues illuminated the feast set out on the table.

“I’ve missed this—our private moments together,” Gideon grinned, his voice low and warm. Clutching the edges of his chair, he shifted himself closer to Amelia, his knee brushing hers beneath the table.

A delicate blush colored Amelia’s cheeks as she smiled coyly. The weight of Gideon’s words felt heavy with longing, and she found her senses overwhelmed by his fragrance of vetiver – mixed with spiced citrus.

Her fingernails traced patterns on the fine linen tablecloth. “I, too, have missed them dearly. It is only unfortunate time feels to be slipping away some days.”

Gideon reached for her hand, his strong fingers enveloping her slender ones in a perfect embrace. The touch sent shivers up Amelia’s spine, igniting a familiar heat within her.

“Then let’s make time,” he replied, his thumb caressing her knuckles. “Why do you think I repurchased the old Marlowe House last month?”

“So our daughter could live the finer life by the sea just as her mama once did?”

Gideon lowered his chin gently on Amelia’s shoulder and shook his head, tickling her neck. “Rather, so that I could have her mama all to myself once more.”

Amelia grinned as she craned her neck to face him, captivated by the intensity of his words. Their faces were mere inches apart now, the air between them charged with anticipation. She bit her lower lip, aching for the sweet taste of his lips, and whispered, “What’s stopping you then?”

Their lips met in a passionate yet tender embrace, the world around them fading into obscurity as they reveled in each other’s tastes. A gentle hand went up to swipe away Amelia’s tresses, loose from her demi-chignon, before finding its resting place on her cheek. For a moment, Amelia felt transported back to that balcony on the first night they met. Blissful and timeless.  

Suddenly, a faint sound echoed from a far corridor in the house, and Amelia pulled away, eyes widening again.  

“Was that a scream?” she asked.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Gideon shrugged.  

“What if it was Lucy? Oh goodness, do you think she is causing Harriet trouble?” Amelia pushed back her chair, making to stand.

Gideon chuckled softly before reaching across to the leg of her chair and tugging it back toward himself. She let out a squeal at the sudden jolt. “And that is precisely why we never have time,” he laughed. “You worry yourself too much, darling. Harriet is more than capable of watching over her, and you know just how well Lucy gets along with William. They’ll be fine.”

He leaned in closer, his hazel eyes alight with mischief. “Besides, I am paying Lewis hourly for his time, so let’s not waste a second of it.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. You would have to pay him hourly to leave this place, he adores it here!” she giggled.

“Then, let’s make the most of the time we have, and put our concerns aside for just a few hours.”

The sincerity in Gideon’s words eased Amelia’s worries, and she allowed herself to be carried away by his infectious smile. “You are right. Maybe it’s best we enjoy it.”

“And enjoy it we shall,” he beamed, reaching for a nearby crystal decanter filled with red wine and filling both of their glasses. “Ah, on the topic of enjoyment, I may have taken the liberty of planning possible destinations for a romantic escape for just the two of us. So far, I have it narrowed down to Spain and France. Or perhaps both would appeal to the tastes of my duchess?”

Amelia felt her heart skip with excitement at the idea of more time alone with Gideon. A thrill of anticipation surged through her as she pondered the prospect.

“Maybe I’ll get to learn some of those exotic Spanish dances,” Amelia teased playfully. “I have it on good authority that the Spanish gentlemen are particularly adept in that art.”

“Is that so?” Gideon whispered, his fingers lightly tracing her shoulder blades before coming to rest on the exposed part of her back, revealed by her crimson dress. “If it is exotic dances you wish to learn, I would be happy to teach you back in our chambers…”

Amelia’s cheeks warmed at his daring response. “Oh, really? And for a moment, I thought you might feel challenged.”

“Pah! Jealousy is not an emotion I feel,” he replied.

“Indeed? Because I very vividly remember that night at the Gendway’s soiree, when you were more than persistent to whisk me away from any gentleman seeking my attentions.”  

This time, it was Gideon who pulled back in embarrassment. “Fine. Perhaps I do not particularly enjoy the prospect of my wife being pestered by Lordlings below her worth,” he conceded drily.

Amelia broke into a laugh. “Ah, so that is what it was? My darling husband was merely waiting to introduce me to a Lord befitting of my station?”

“Strike that, when any Lord approaches her,” he quickly added.

“Just as I when Ladies approach you,” Amelia confessed. “And considering your reputation, I think I have the right.”

“Past reputation,” he corrected, before leaning closer to whisper, “when our son is born, I would rather him not know about that,” he added as he placed a hand on her belly. “We do not need another rogue in this house.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” she giggled.

Their playful banter continued. Amelia, even after years had passed, couldn’t believe that she was here with Gideon. It was still almost hard to believe that she already had a daughter with him, and they were about to have a son too—their own loving family. The past seemed nothing but a distant memory now. As the last note of laughter faded, Gideon’s gaze lingered on Amelia’s flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“Amelia,” he said huskily, his voice rich with warmth.

“Yes, dear?” she replied, her tone equally gentle.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his thumb caressing the back of her hand. “For everything. For helping me realize what I was missing, for giving me an adorable little daughter, for loving me—just everything. “

Amelia frowned, taking his hand in both her own. “You do not need to thank me. Before you, I don’t remember when I last felt happiness and peace. I dread to think how my life might have been.”

In that instant, their connection transcended all spoken language, as if their hearts were entwined by an invisible thread. Driven by a surge of desire, Gideon pushed into Amelia, capturing her lips in a searing kiss this time, a kiss that conveyed more than words ever could.

Amelia’s hand drifted to his cheek, her fingers caressing the stubble that lined his jaw, as he got to his feet and leaned deeper into her body, almost knocking her from her chair. She relished in the feel of him, the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips, the tenderness of his lips against hers, and that bitter and lovely citrus taste of his fragrance. As they broke apart, both breathless and flushed, their eyes locked in a shared understanding – an unspoken agreement to savor this intimate moment for what it was.

“Perhaps we should save some of this excitement for later tonight,” Gideon added with a light-hearted tone, trying to ease the intensity of their emotions.

“Suddenly, I cannot wait for the moon to rise,” Amelia replied quite breathlessly.

“Then let us do away with this meal and see to our guests, so we can be alone once more,” he smirked in response.

“Is that it or are you missing Lucy too?”

“Do I make it so obvious? I have never been a father before,” Gideon confessed with a frown, and Amelia succumbed to laughter once more.

It was not ten minutes later when Amelia and Gideon finished up and made to leave the house to meet their friends at the farthest part of the garden. The moment the veranda door opened, Amelia shivered as the cool gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying with it the sweet scent of budding roses. Their breaths mingled in the chill evening air. The season was growing cold and cloudy already and Amelia hoped it wouldn’t ruin their planned outing tomorrow.

Crossing along a gravel path lined with bushes on either side, they finally reached Lewis, Harriet, and the children. The sight was endearing – little Lucy and her cousin William were engrossed in picking flowers, under the watchful eyes of Harriet on a picnic blanket, with Lewis seated beside her, more engrossed in his wife.

“Mama, look!” Lucy called out, her face lighting up as she dashed towards Amelia, her small hands clutching a bunch of colorful blossoms. “William and I picked these just for you!”

“Oh, for me? Thank you, my sweet. They’re lovely,” Amelia said warmly, accepting the bouquet and holding it close to her heart. “But I think your papa might feel a little left out…” she added in a whisper, giving Gideon a playful glance.

“My happiness lies with my wife’s,” Gideon shrugged, his gaze lingering on the children before meeting Amelia’s.

“Aunt Amelia,” young William chimed in, mustering all the seriousness a five-year-old could possess. “When I grow up, may I marry you, please?”

Amelia couldn’t help but laugh, and she bent down to tousle the boy’s hair. “That’s very sweet, William. But I’m sure you’ll meet plenty of girls your own age that will eventually take your heart.”

“But I don’t want other girls,” he frowned, stomping his feet. “I want to marry you…”

Gideon shared an amused look with Lewis, who had just walked over to join them. “Well, it seems I am to have some competition,” he jested, wrapping an arm about Amelia’s waist.

“You best treat your wife well, Stanhope, lest you lose her,” Lewis chuckled, patting his son’s head.

“She will be treated with no less worth than a princess.”

Amelia leaned her head against Gideon’s shoulder, feeling a swell of contentment envelop her.

Her eyes found themselves ghosting towards the entrance of the garden, a subtle crease forming on her brow. “I do hope Dorothy is alright. She was supposed to have arrived an hour ago, I wonder what is taking her so long,” she murmured, concern lacing her voice.

Harriet sauntered over with the book she was reading tucked under her arm. “Oh dear, I do hope she makes it, I don’t think I can survive a trip to the beach without her fresh and sweet lemonade recipe.”

“And don’t forget those fruit tarts… mmm…” Lewis added in, receiving a stern look from Lucy. “…What?”

“I helped with the fruit tarts too, you know!” she replied, her brows narrowing, causing the group to laugh.

“Knowing Dorothy, she has likely just lost track of time,” Gideon assured Amelia, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze.

Though the weather was growing slightly worse as the minutes passed, and it could have possibly delayed her carriage, Dorothy did have a habit of being late, no less owing to her penchant for traveling as slowly as possible to take in the sights wherever she went. She was a lot more enthralled by the outdoors than Amelia, and had more than once dragged her to picnics in the woods of Stanhope to bask in the nature and wildlife.

“I suppose you are right,” Amelia sighed.

The sound of horse hooves broke the calm, drawing Amelia’s gaze towards the cobblestone street up ahead. A carriage emerged, weaving through the lush greenery and halting at the estate’s entrance, just outside the garden. The door opened and Dorothy stepped out.

Amelia’s eyes slightly widened at the sight of the man accompanying her. He was tall, a smidge below the height of Gideon, with dark curls framing chestnut eyes and a slim nose.

“Amelia! Gideon!” Dorothy called, waving enthusiastically and dragging the poor man with her who looked absolutely terrified at the prospect of being introduced. “Forgive my tardiness, it took quite the coaxing to persuade my companion to join us for the evening.”

The man approached the group, his expression eager but nervous. He extended a hand towards Lewis, mistaking him for Gideon. “Your Grace, it’s an honor to meet you.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the group as Lewis raised an eyebrow, glancing at Gideon with an amused smirk. “And who do I have the pleasure of addressing,” he replied, playing along for the moment.

“Sincerest apologies, Your Grace! Kenneth Wycliff, the sixth Viscount of Hemsley, of the great Wycliff lineage, dating back four centuries to the battle of Aginscourt, where my great, great, great… great grandfather met his wife who was sister-in-law to the Terrell family, and an ally of the Stanhope Duchy! It is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.”

Lewis’ smile faded as he listened to the man. “…You have certainly done quite the research. Though I’m afraid you’ve made a small error, my good man,” he said, clasping Kenneth’s hand nonetheless. “The honor is all mine, but the Duke you seek stands beside me.”

Kenneth flushed a deep shade of crimson, hastily withdrawing his hand and turning to Gideon with an apologetic bow. “My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. I did not mean to offend.”

“Think nothing of it,” Gideon replied, a warm chuckle escaping his lips as he embraced the flustered young man. “Besides, your little history lesson more than made up for it.”

Kenneth offered a polite smile. “Ah, Your Grace,” he replied as he turned to Amelia, “I have heard so much about you from Lady Dorothy, it is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“All good things I hope.” Amelia offered him a smile to reassure him, as she could tell that he was nervous. And really, she was nervous herself. The divorce between Dorothy and Norman had already been finalized—though it took years to happen—and Dorothy had expressed her wishes to remain alone for a while. According to her, it would be better if she didn’t start meeting gentlemen with the intention of marriage, until she could at least learn to live by herself. Lord Kenneth was a new reveal for Amelia, too. But she was glad for her sister’s happiness.

A cool breeze swept through the garden, carrying with it the first droplets of rain. Amelia looked up at the darkening sky, her eyes widening in surprise as the drops grew heavier and more insistent.

“Rain!” Lucy exclaimed. “We must hurry back inside!”

Little William squealed in surprise and started racing inside, while Harriet lifted her skirts and followed swiftly behind him. “Slow down, you might slip!” she shouted after him.

“If I get a cold for tomorrow…” Lewis started, shielding his eyes from the downpour. Harriet heard his complaint and looked back with a giggle.

As the group scurried back indoors, Amelia couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in her chest at the thought of tomorrow. They were going to the beach for a nice little outing, and Amelia and Gideon would have some alone time once again. The pattering of rain against the windows provided a gentle soundtrack to their laughter and chatter, creating an atmosphere of warmth and anticipation.

“Papa, will you teach me how to build a sandcastle when we go to the beach?” Lucy asked Gideon, her eyes shining with eagerness.

“Ah yes, you have come to the architect expert,” Gideon replied, ruffling her hair affectionately. “And your mother can finally teach us to swim.”

Amelia giggled at the thought, recalling her own childhood memories of days spent on the shores of Brighton with her sister Dorothy, under her father’s watchful gaze. “I would be delighted,” she replied, feeling Gideon’s hand brush against hers in affection.

“Oh, good, I think it was merely a short outpour. The clouds seem to be disappearing already!” Dorothy chimed in with a breath of relief. “It took a while to get us all together in Brighton for this outing, the last thing we need are unexpected storms to ruin the weekend.”

Harriet laughed. “Speak for yourself! Getting Lewis away from Brighton is the puzzle I need help solving.”

Lewis shrugged. “What? I enjoy the sea…”

“What say we plan a little escape,” Gideon whispered for Amelia’s ears only, his hazel eyes meeting hers with a mischievousness that set her heart racing. She nodded quietly in reply.  

As they whisked away into the deep corridors of Marlowe House, the rain began to fade again – a reminder of life’s unpredictability. But within these walls, surrounded by love, laughter, and her roguish husband, Amelia could only feel excitement for the future. Her future.

The End. 

Extended Epilogue

1 year later…

Joana watched as the children filed out of the school under the watchful eye of their master. His eyes rose from his charges to meet hers, seeing her for the first time. A look of alarm crept across his face then. Some of the children looked up at her in awe, clearly seeing from her dress that she was a lady of some standing.

“Children, out to play now. Get some fresh air and some sunshine,” their schoolmaster, George Rayfield, admonished them.

He did so in a kindly tone and they resumed their exodus until they were out of the building and could run to their heart’s content.

“Is he…?” George asked.

Joana nodded, turning to the doors. Ewan stood on the other side of the large yard that fronted the school. He had not yet entered the gates but gazed at the building pensively.

“He came, but he is not sure how he will greet you,” Joana said.

She walked along the corridor and embraced George warmly. He seemed taken aback, and then pleased.

“And I judge that you seem to be on the verge of providing my nephew with an heir. And me a grand-nephew I suppose,” he said.

“I am. In just a couple of months now,” Joana said with a smile.

“I can only hope and pray that my nephew will allow me to see the child. I should very much like to,” George replied.

“When you announced that you were giving up your title, your lands, and estates, I think that went a long way to mending the bridge between you,” Joana said, “it showed how you were truly remorseful for what had happened.”

George nodded. “I had to throw that snake Bansfield out of my house. He begged me for hours not to reveal the mess of our finances. His investments I might add. Persuaded me to use Richmond money in his hair-brained gambles because he’d already lost his own. He knew that once I announced that I was renouncing my money, title…everything, the trap would close on him. The markets would look closely at who had been my business partner in all those ventures. Oh dear. I am told he wept when he was hauled away to debtors prison.”

Joana nodded somberly. She would not crow over someone else’s misfortune. Even if they had brought that misfortune upon themselves. Bansfield was in disgrace and would likely never be able to emerge from it. He was bankrupt and jailed. His lands and estates would be seized to pay his creditors. And perhaps it was, in a way, payment for his crime against her. That assault had set Joana on a path that took her to Ewan. That marriage had led them both into conflict with Bansfield and he had lost. Even his attempt to have Ewan frightened off by Thomas Shell on Vauxhall Bridge had only served to elevate Ewan in the public eye.

“Shall we walk, George? You can show me this school of yours.”

“I should be glad to, Your Grace. And it is not exactly my school. It is owned by a charitable institution that employs me. I don’t know why they requested me specifically. I do have a degree from Oxford and have always had a passion for education. But, the Lord works in mysterious ways with his wonders to perform. Come along, let me show you this wonderful school.”

George Rayfield began to proudly show off the school that he had been asked to run. Joana smiled and listened as he talked of it and showed her the children’s work. She did not tell him that his nephew was a silent director of the charity that had built the school. Nor that his influence over the board was significant and it had been him that had ensured that Mr. George Rayfield was chosen to be the master of the school. Finally, they came to the main doors, looking out over the playing children. Ewan stepped around the corner and stopped a few yards away.

“Hello uncle,” he said, simply.

“…Hello, my boy. Welcome,” George replied, a hitch in his throat.

“I thought that giving up your title was…heroic,” Ewan said, “the most selfless and heroic act I have ever seen.”

“I had to make penance. I set in motion the chain of events that saw my brother killed. It was my fault…”

Ewan raised a hand, tears in his eyes. “No, it was the fault of the man who is now dead. He will burn in hell for what he did. You will be forgiven. You are a good man and…one I am proud to call uncle.”

He lurched forward, seeming to lose all coordination, and embraced the old man. For George, there were no words but just tears of happiness. Joana dabbed at her eyes, watching uncle and nephew reconcile and feeling her baby kick within her, giving its own contribution to the moment. 

The End.