Epilogue
CHRISTMAS DAY
Amassive yule log, walls dripping with glittering garlands, fresh holly sprigs, little bows, and flickering candles, dominated the Ealdwick Manor parlor as Christmas had finally come.
It was a beautiful fixture at the far end of the room next to the roaring fireplace, casting dancing light over the chaos.
It was mid-morning on Christmas Day, and the ancient house, perhaps for the first time, felt truly alive.
A makeshift race was in progress, involving a miniature wooden horse, a velvet cloak used as a cape, and three grown men moving far faster than their dignities should allow.
Benedict was utterly unrestrained. His jacket was tossed over an antique chair, and his movements were quick and joyous, a shocking contrast to the rigid control he had worn like armor for years.
“Yah!” He yelled out as he moved with a booming laugh, a sound rarely heard before Isla had come into his life. “Come boy!” He cheered as he scooped up Oliver around the waist.
He tossed the boy high into the air, catching him easily before setting him down to chase after the runaway wooden horse.
“Look at me!” Oliver cried to Isla, who was sitting comfortably by the fire on a settee.
“Ye are most brave, Oliver! I am so glad ye are enjoyin’ yer Christmas present, although nae as much as yer faither!”
Callum, dashing and competitive, yelled playfully as he cut in front of Benedict then, attempting to snatch the velvet cloak.
“I fear ye are too slow, Yer Grace! Your old bones canna keep up with young lads like us! Aye, Oliver?” He said as he finally snatched up the cloak and the boy, who began giggling wildly.
Lord Murkwood slapped Callum on the back, grinning widely.
“Easy now, lad! Not all of us are still in our athletic prime!” He said as he narrowly dodged a soft throw pillow Oliver had aimed at his head, shouting, “A good toss, Master Oliver! But your aim is like your father’s strategy… predictable!”
In that moment, Benedict changed course and ran into Kenneth, playfully knocking him on the settee next to Isla.
“That will show you who is in their athletic prime, and predictable,” he said with a wink. “Now, who is ready for some refreshment. I think my son needs a few more gingerbread and biscuits. Where is Mrs. Callahan?”
“Right here, Your Grace,” she said as if on cue, dropping a fresh batch of biscuits on the coffee table and a steaming pot of coffee. “And no wine until after dinner, Lord Arnold. You forget, I knew your mother. You have to listen to me!”
“Mrs. Callahan, please do me one last order,” Benedict said sharply, the room falling to a hushed silence.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said, her face blank.
“Take the rest of the day off. Please. Along with the rest of the staff.”
“But Your Grace! Christmas dinner!”
“I know my way around the kitchen. Please have the cook leave the stews simmering and Her Grace and I will serve our guests.”
“This is most unusual, but kind Your Grace… my granddaughter will be so happy. Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it,” Benedict said with a wink, returning to his sport with a cookie in hand.
On the other side of the towering marble fireplace, Isla was still seated with Eilidh and Aunt Honoria on the other sofa. All three sipped hot tea, utterly charmed by the spectacle in front of them.
“You cannot find entertainment this lively, even at the theatre!” Aunt Honoria said with a chuckle. “I am most taken with your stepson.”
“As am I, Aunt Honoria,” Isla said with a wide grin.
Eilidh leaned forward, watching her brother-in-law chase her nephew. “I still cannae quite believe it. He looks like a different man altogether, Isla. He’s light now. The shadow is gone.”
Aunt Honoria was as stately as ever in rich plum silk, dressed elegantly even for the casual event.
“He is indeed. He was a good, honorable man hiding beneath a mountain. You gave him permission to be happy, my dear. That is no small contribution. You are a marvel, and daresay… your parents would be very proud of you, dear.”
Isla stirred her tea, her gaze soft as it followed Benedict’s movements. “I am just happy that they are happy. Oliver has his faither, and Benedict has his son, unrestrained by the ghosts of the past.” She smiled, her happiness radiating.
Eilidh took a sip of her own tea. “Speaking of ghosts, I suppose the arrest is finally done? Is that menace truly gone for good?”
“Forever,” Isla confirmed, placing her cup back in its saucer with a click. “Lamfort is in Bedlam. They deemed him entirely unfit to stand trial. The poor soul lives completely in his own delusion now.”
“How terribly sad,” Eilidh said with a shiver.
“Benedict arranged for him to have the highest level of care and security,” Isla whispered, not wanting to disturb the merriment around her. “For the safety of everyone, including himself. He will never trouble us, or anyone else, again. I hope he receives the support he needs…”
“A tidy, if tragic, end,” Aunt Honoria remarked. “Now, enough of villains. Look at them, they’ll be winded before we sup!”
A half-hour later, the men were disheveled but satisfied, settling around the grand mahogany table now groaning under the weight of the afternoon Christmas feast they had set together. The atmosphere was joyful, punctuated by the clinking of silver and the easy flow of good wine.
“You are still sweating, Your Grace,” Kenneth teased, gesturing with his wine glass. “A proper Duke should not sweat. Clearly, the boy is proving your age.”
Benedict, wiping his brow with a napkin, smiled good-naturedly. “Wait until you have one of your own. Just wait and see.”
Callum snorted, carving himself a piece of turkey with the servants at their own family feasts. “I’m years away from that kind of domestic destruction. And both of you are old men. I can outrun you both and still have room for two more slices of honeyed ham.”
Oliver, having finished his own plate, ran around the table and nestled against Isla’s side. “Mama, Callum said Papa is old! Is that true?”
Isla chuckled, kissing the top of his head. She looked across the table at her husband, her eyes full of love and mischievous challenge. “He has a point, mo chridhe. Perhaps you should take a seat. I fear you’ll strain your back and become too tired...”
For nocturnal activities, she thought as she winked at her husband across the table.
Benedict’s gaze met hers then, a searing heat passing between them. He raised his glass to her, a deep promise in his eyes.
“I assure you, Your Grace, that my fortitude remains unyielding… let us all raise a glass, to good health and good cheer!”
“Here, here,” Kenneth said as he drained the last of his wine. “Can we have old Flark bring up another bottle from the cellar?”
“I am already prepared, my lord,” Benedict said, as if on cue. He poured a fresh round of wine for all, the consummate host. “A merry Christmas indeed.”
After the sweet course, a delicate lemon and almond pudding, had been brought in by Isla herself, the room fell quiet. The act was a small breach of decorum, yet one the Duke observed with an appreciative nod.
“The chef has outdone himself once more,” Kenneth said as he ate so quickly.
“It is not your last meal,” Benedict said with a laugh. “Although this is a most delightful dessert, although no gateau.”
After they finished, the table had been cleared by Isla. The family then adjourned to the drawing room for the final, more intimate exchange of gifts between the adults.
It was a simple, joyful affair, filled with thoughtful presents that bypassed expensive glitter for personal meaning.
Callum, ever the scholar and romantic, gave Isla a leather-bound volume of Robert Burns’ Scottish poems, a quiet nod to their heritage that made her eyes shine.
Kenneth, with his customary grand gesture, gifted Benedict an antique, framed map of his family’s holdings.
Even the often-acerbic Aunt Honoria became genuinely emotional when Eilidh gifted her a small, perfectly stitched embroidered handkerchief, a piece of handiwork that spoke volumes of care.
The soft murmur of thanks and the rustle of paper filled the elegant room, binding the disparate members of the family together in a web of affection and quiet respect.
Then, Benedict stood, tapping his spoon against his glass. The room fell silent, the flames in the hearth reflecting in his eyes. He looked at Isla, his smile spreading into a genuine, unburdened expression of joy. He walked up to her and took her hand, drawing her gently to her feet beside him.
“My family, my friends,” Benedict announced, his voice strong and clear.
“I have enjoyed this year, which has been full of most unexpected gifts. My son is happy, my home is safe, and I have found true companionship and love.” He paused, looking down at Isla.
“And now, Isla and I have another piece of good news to share with you all. We will be welcoming a new member to the family this coming summer.”
A shocked, ecstatic silence was followed by an explosion of applause as everyone leapt to their feet.
Oliver was the first to react, shrieking with pure delight and throwing himself at his mother. “Mama! A little brother or sister! I knew it! I knew we could have one! It’s all I wanted for Christmas!”
Eilidh rushed forward, pulling Isla into a fierce, tearful hug.
“I ken it! Your face is so radiant, sister,” she said. “Pregnancy suits ye well. Ye are resplendent.”
Aunt Honoria dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief, beaming with satisfaction, while Kenneth and Callum hammered Benedict’s back with hearty congratulations.
“If only your parents were here, dears,” Aunt Honoria said wistfully. “I am grateful to bear witness to this.”
“I hope this little one has the best qualities of them both,” Isla said as she smiled at her dear aunt.