The Lyon’s Legacy (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Epilogue

Five years later…

John had commissioned a painting and couldn’t wait to see it finished. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall mullioned windows of the drawing room, that Lexi and Melissa had expertly redesigned, dappling the patterned Persian rug with soft golden swaths. The air carried the scent of the portraitist’s oils as usual. But this time, he was painting John’s entire family, all of his love and pride.

The Chesterfield armchairs had been relocated to make space for the ornate settee, now central to the scene, flanked by high-backed chairs set in balanced symmetry. Cosway, with his thin mustache and sharp gray eyes, adjusted his palette with deliberate precision near the fireplace.

John stood at the edge of the room, his hand resting on the carved mahogany post of the chaise lounge. His gaze trailed over his son, seated on one of the burgundy damask chairs meant for the portrait. Herbert, nearly a man now, bore the sharp lines of his late mother’s face and the quiet intensity of his stepmother’s raised brow when caught in thought. His hair, dark and thick, caught the light as he bent toward his uncle Dustin, who’d already served as Duke of Duncan for half a decade and turned out to bring excellence to everything he started.

“And so,” John said, leaning in just a touch to ruffle the boy’s shoulder lightly, “at Oxford, you’ll learn the weighty matters of laws and taxes.”

Dustin interrupted him. “But would it be such a loss if you also acquainted yourself with a little chemistry? Perhaps put anatomy on the list of courses?” He grinned lazily, broadening his posture before Herbert could raise reasoned protest. “I may need an heir for the estate and the clinic.”

Herbert smirked, though he tried to disguise it behind an exaggerated nod. “If Father permits, Uncle. Medicine courses would be—”

“Extras.” John narrowed his eyes briefly. “If it comes to it,” he mused, his voice even, though the corners of his mouth hinted at amusement. “One never knows what questions running an estate as large as ours might raise. If not for your own betterment, think of your future laborers’ well-being. Diligence at every level matters.”

Herbert’s chin tilted upward slightly—a gesture John recognized as pride but also challenge. They had spent countless hours studying tenant contracts and the intricacies of crop rotations. To John, the boy’s confidence now spoke volumes about his readiness to take the next step. And it no longer seemed to matter whether there would be male heirs or not, Herbert came after John and was ready to support his family and the Dukedom in every way.

“When I come home in the winter, I’d like to take one of the rings for Laura.” Herbert sucked in his lips and met John’s gaze.

“Once you’re ready, son. It’ll all be there for you.”

The settee across from John creaked softly as Lexi adjusted her position, twin daughters tumbling and giggling at her side. Their identical blonde curls glinted in the sun, and their lace frocks bunched at their knees. She tapped one gently on the nose to discourage wriggling, her expression calm but her tone firm. Despite her busy days as Duchess, she carried motherhood as naturally as any duty she had performed for the family.

Nearby, Melissa sank into a chair, her movement graceful despite her rounded belly. She wore a soft green gown that suited the calm she seemed to bring into any room. Marianne, their first-born daughter, named after Herbert’s mother, toddled up to her side, her chubby hands stretched skyward for attention. Melissa scooped the girl up and settled her onto her lap, stroking the toddler’s dark curls as her laughter bubbled.

John’s chest tightened—not with pity for what had been or regret for what might have come if paths had changed earlier, but with the fullness of now. The family, in every form they had become, occupied this space together. Marianne already shared an unshakable connection with her older brother. Herbert teased the child, projecting little acts of brotherly affection, though John suspected this loyalty grew as much from devotion as from the boy sensing her connection to his late mother.

“Father,” one of the girls called, yanking Dustin’s sleeve when he remained standing too long at the room’s edge. “Angus is stealing my cushion!”

Sure enough, the oversized cat, with fur as thick as winter velvet, had sprawled dead-center on the largest seat, eyes blinking lazily at the fuss surrounding him. Someone chuckled—Dustin, most likely—and there was no need to shoo the creature. Angus wouldn’t move unless he truly intended.

Joining Melissa near the chairs, John laid a hand across hers when she momentarily switched her attention to him. “Are you comfortably settled?”

Melissa glanced toward his eyes, a soft knowing there even after all these years. Her cheeks, rosy from the room’s warmth, lifted into a light smile. “The baby and I are just fine, though at this rate Marianne might outrun my abilities.”

John laughed quietly, though full from the sound. “If this one carries half as much spirit as her siblings, we shall have a proper hurricane of a household.”

Cosway cleared his throat as he demanded stillness from his subjects for at least five minutes, though chuckles persisted, naturally from the little girls. Little Marianne curled on her mother’s lap. All settled—John on the central chair with Melissa to one side, Herbert on the other standing behind John, the twins nestled against Lexi, and Dustin on the other side. There was no Duke in the center, as they’d agreed. Dustin couldn’t run the estate without John and John wouldn’t have anything to run without Dustin, so they shared the responsibility. Even Angus held still, his large paws hanging off the edge of the central cushion like a spoiled king.

John straightened, brushing the cuff of his jacket where it settled at his wrist, and allowed his gaze to wander one last time across the company. Oxford loomed for Herbert, and another child awaited its debut. Yet, standing in the doorway of tomorrow’s changes, he felt no apprehension. Instead, there was a grounding peace that settled low in his chest, thick and sure as iron tethered to the earth.

The world might shift again, as it had so irreversibly before, but this—a family knit as tightly as winter’s wool—was unshakable now. This was theirs to face together.

“I need to sketch the two Dukes of Duncan first,” the aging painter announced.

Dustin cast John a warm smile.

“We’re ready,” John told Cosway. “Make this moment last for eternity.” And he wished he could.