Extended Epilogue
Ten Years Later
Strolling into his home late in the morning, Dorian was quick to notice the telltale signs of mayhem. He made for a reading room that David used when home from Eton. As he entered, he heard scuffling and knew he and his brother, Cassius were wrestling—again.
At nine, the eldest was growing like a reed, his head already topping Dorian’s forearm. Miranda supposed it was his royal Dutch blood—and she was not wrong.
“Boys,” he commanded, and they both separated instantly.
At eight, Cassius was ready to go off to Eton, his russet hair lighter than Dorian’s raven black as he had taken more of his mother’s color. Both boys had his blue eyes though.
“Did either of you get any studying done today?” he sighed.
“It is almost Christmas, Papa,” David exclaimed. “It is time to have fun, not study.”
“Not when your school term resume is in a week and a half,” Dorian droned for the fourth time that day. “I know you have your mother’s prodigious memory, so use it before you return. You must know all the kings in the Stuart line by now.”
“I will, by next week,” David promised.
“Do you know their names?” Dorian asked.
David wrinkled his nose, “No, but I know there were nine rulers, and one was Mary Queen of Scots who adopted the name Stuart when she married into the line.”
Ruffling his eldest’s hair, Dorian smiled. “Good enough for now. Now, go and wash up, we have company coming tonight. Your aunt and cousins Jeffery and Jonathan are coming and so is Grandfather Albion. You too, Cassius. And please, this time, do not try to sway your grandfather into a footrace. He is not as young as you are.”
“Can he play chess with me then?” Cassius asked.
“I’m sure he would love that,” Dorian replied. “Now, go on, get cleaned up. They will arrive in under an hour.”
As the boys scurried away, Dorian turned and went off to his chambers. The halls were festooned with Christmas colors, almost every banister was covered in ivy or holly and mistletoe dangled from the most mischievous places. Dorian was wondering if his wife was deliberately setting up others to marry.
Entering their shared chamber quietly, he found her in bed, her hair loose, freshly washed, and tumbling down her shoulders. In her arms, she held the newest addition to their family, little Lady Teresa.
Perching on the edge of the bed, he reached out and touched her hair, the auburn curls curling around her ears. “Was she any trouble?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary of what a five-month-old can put up,” Miranda replied. “Her honorary aunts are coming with a mountain of presents, I can already feel it.”
“Half of those are books she will not be reading until five years’ time,” Dorian laughed, “I know your friends, dear.”
“And by that time, they will have more,” she smiled, gently setting the sleeping child down on the pillow.
She alighted the bed and went to her dresser while shedding her robe. Her chemise was the finest silk, the thin layer exposing her body to his rapacious gaze. Her breasts were full and round, their dusky tips budded against the linen, drawing his arousal—but he steeled himself.
Self-control, man.
“Do you have a gown ready?” he asked while stepping off and stripping his shirt. “I need to bathe.”
“Your water is already there,” she leaned her head to the bathroom chamber. “I knew you would need one.”
Pausing to kiss her cheek, he chuckled. “Thoughtful as ever, dear.”
***
The small Christmas fete only hosted close to twenty-five people—most being a collection of their friends, and their wives and husbands, mingling in the festively decorated ballroom.
She passed by guests nibbling on abundant foods and drink, while the eight-piece orchestra serenaded the room.
“My. Is that Portland?” Miranda asked, smoothing her hand down her bodice.
Looking over the guests’ heads, Dorian laughed, “Well, I’ll be damned. Is that a ring on his finger I see? Will the miracles ever cease?”
“Who is the fortunate lady?” Miranda chimed while he steered her to one of the niches lining the room’s perimeter and heading for the man. “Or should I say, unfortunate?”
As the Marquess spotted them, he held up a hand. “Do not ask,” he mouthed.
“Why not?” Dorian’s left brow lifted. “I thought you were going to be a bachelor until the day you died.”
“Who says I won’t be?” Alexander gave a rakish grin while lifting his glass to his lips. “And that is all I shall say on that matter.”
“I cannot persuade you?”
“Not if you’d found the Fountain of Youth and the City of El Dorado on the same day,” Alexander chuckled.
Laughing, Dorian promised him drinks and a chat later, before Sam approached them and gave him a hearty embrace. Evelyn followed a moment later, her lilac gown glimmering with a soft net over it as did the pearls in her ears.
“Where are my nephews?” she demanded with an arched brow.
“Possibly trying to sway Cook to give them more cake,” Miranda grimaced. “And where are your boys?”
“Possibly with yours,” Evelyn laughed. “I suppose by the end of tonight, we will have to let them in the snow to work off all that excess energy.”
“I second that motion,” Miranda laughed. She went off to greet some friends while Dorian sought his sons.
Thankfully, they were under the watchful eye of their nannies and after checking again, Dorian went to claim Miranda’s hand for a dance. She was talking with her aunt, who gave a small smile to Dorian.
It had come as a shock to all that Miranda’s mother and his mother had been friends years before they were born, hence the mirroring recipes in the journal.
But what was more of a shock was that Lady Laura had admitted that back then, she had resented Dorian’s mother, Charlotte Greaves, for taking Miranda’s mother away from her. Fortunately, she had formed a friendship with Dorian’s aunt, Lady Agatha, and so, everything worked out perfectly in the end.
“Duke Redbourne,” Lady Laura nodded. “It is lovely to see you. How are you adjusting to fatherhood?”
“Very well,” he replied, “if there ever was a measuring stick for how fatherhood goes.”
She peered over his shoulder. “As far as I can tell, you are doing very well. Thank you for being so kind to my niece and thank you even more for loving her the way she has so desired.”
“She makes it rather difficult to do anything but,” Dorian added with a wry smile.
“Laura,” Albion came forward, his shuffling gait a little more pronounced, but appearing jaunty as ever. “Good to see you, and Redbourne, happy to see you in good health.”
Dorian almost coughed at the sight of the old man in great health as if he had not suffered a terrible stroke only a few months earlier. “Better to see you, my Lord. I somehow doubt you decided to attend after all these months to suffer through social conventional conversations, so let me show you to your grand hellions and you can rest for a while.”
“I would be very grateful,” Albion chuckled as Dorian walked him to the seating area.
The boys jumped to their feet, practically falling in over each other, to hug their grandfather around the knees and middle while Albion patted David on the shoulder.
“Grandpapa!” Cassius shouted. “It has been so long and we haven’t seen you!”
“Well, let us make it a delightful reunion then,” Albion chortled heartily. “My, the two of you have grown rather considerably. In a year or two, you’ll be taller than me, sons.”
“Me too,” Dorian grinned. “I suppose I should let you three talk about the conquests David is going to perform and the tactics Cassius is going to construct to allow him to do so.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Albion smiled. “I did wonder how long it would take to press a siege against Normandy.”
Moving to join his wife, Dorian swept her into a waltz and she smiled, swirling with him around the room. The passionate manner in which he whirled her across the dance floor wordlessly told anyone who looked at them that they were still in love, deeper than they had ever been once.
“You look like the cat that got the canary,” she whispered.
“I have,” he grinned. “But I fear for my life if I describe the canary.”
“Smart man,” Miranda smirked. “Prudence is the better part of valor.”
He spun her around and added, “That is a very quaint way of you saying you’ll sever my head from my body if I dare even try.”
“Then don’t,” she giggled. “I rather prefer your head where it is.”
“As do I,” Dorian twirled them in a series of dizzying turns as the crescendo peaked.
While the strains lingered, Dorian leaned in to kiss her forehead softly. “This party is beautiful, by the by. You have a natural touch for the subtle yet inimitable.”
“I would say so,” she laughed, “look at the lovely children I made.”
He cocked a brow. “I think I had a hand in that too.”
A liveried footman approached with a tray in hand, and they took a frosted flute, sipping the peach-flavored champagne.
“You might have,” she smiled sweetly. “But a small percentage.”
“Fifty?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Forty.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Be careful, lest I reduce that to fifteen.”
Spinning her into his arms, he murmured, “I trust and love you with everything that I am, and to this day, I do not know what I did to deserve such a lovely soul in my life.”
“Oh, I love you too, Dorian.” Her eyes welled as she rested her palm against his heart. “But if you want to be reminded of how we met, I can tell you.”
“No thanks, my dear,” he snorted. “I choose to remember the better parts.”
She smiled slyly and sipped her drink, “As I said, smart man.”