A Duke By Any Other Name

Epilogue

O phelia Smythe, the dowager Countess of Piketon, stood once more by her window, gazing out into the night sky. This time, it was not the afternoon clouds signaling an impending storm but a tapestry of stars blanketing the night sky. Such was her life now—watching, waiting, and hoping for some sign of what was to come. Yet Ophelia had lived long enough to know that fate was not always kind, and it was often better to take matters into her own hands and scheme for the outcomes she desired.

She had been waiting for word of her nephew, Landon, and whether he had acted on the information she had provided. The earl’s wedding was fast approaching, and her restlessness grew with each passing hour. Had Landon abducted the poor lady?

Ophelia’s gaze caught on the silhouette of a horse in the distance. For a moment, her breath hitched. Could it be Landon, coming to her again so soon? She wasn’t entirely certain how she would feel about such a visit.

But as the rider drew closer, she let out a soft breath of relief. It was not Landon, but a footman. She squinted, studying the man’s livery, and allowed herself a small smile. No, Landon would not have come himself—not for this.

The footman dismounted and approached the front entrance. Ophelia left the window, seating herself in a nearby chair, and waited. Whatever he had brought would soon be delivered to her by one of the servants. She would not have to wait long.

“Pardon me, my lady,” her maid, Sally, said as she entered. “This has just arrived for you.” She held out a sealed missive.

Ophelia accepted it with a gracious nod. “Thank you, Sally. Please have tea and biscuits sent up.”

After the maid departed, Ophelia broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter. Her lips twitched into a smile as she read.

Auntie,

I wish to inform you of my marriage to Lady Henrietta Newman—or rather, I should say, Henrietta Murray, the Duchess of Rosebery. She is a lovely lass, and I could not adore her more.

I suspect this news will not come as a surprise to you. Well played, my lady. Well played. I owe you my deepest thanks for your machinations. Without them, I might never have found her.

With much affection,

Your nephew,

Rosebery

Of course Landon had uncovered the truth—she had never doubted he would. She was particularly grateful he had not acted too hastily and abducted Grayfield’s bride. That would have been a catastrophe. Thankfully, Lady Elena Chandler had already been ensconced at Grayfield Park when she met with Landon, ensuring that his attention was directed elsewhere.

She toyed with the letter for a moment before tucking it safely into the pages of a nearby book. The maid soon returned with the tea tray, setting it neatly before her. Ophelia poured herself a cup, her mind already turning to the future as she considered her nephew’s gratitude.

This scheme had succeeded splendidly, but what if it had not gone as planned? She played a dangerous game, one requiring finesse and precision. But such risks were part of the thrill, and she had every intention of continuing her role as matchmaker for her family. Her other nieces and nephews would soon benefit from her expertise—whether they realized it or not.

Ophelia took a sip of tea, a sly smile forming as she began to plot her next move. Now…which of her dear relatives should find themselves ensnared in her matchmaking schemes next?

Lucky for them, she knew the perfect person to make them all happy.

The End