Epilogue
Pryde Manor, August, the following year…
The sun filtered through the foliage, warming Modesty’s cheeks as she watched Augustus. He stood in the lush grass, his chubby hand pressed against the trunk of the ancient oak that soared above them, his eyes fixed on Modesty and Constantine. He desperately wanted to walk to them but wasn’t yet allowing himself to let go of the trunk. Unsatisfied with his slow progress, he grunted, his pale eyebrows drawn together over his blue eyes, which were so like Ophelia’s.
He’d been tottering along while grasping on to pieces of furniture and walls for weeks. The next step would be letting go of them and walking on his own.
Mrs. Walcott was dozing on a chair a few steps away, and Modesty didn’t want to wake her. Lucien and Chastity as well as Dorian and Patience with their eight-month-old baby, Edward, were positioned on blankets next to theirs, arranged in a triangle around the larger blanket that held food and drink. The spread included glazed ham, cold game pies, various terrines, fresh bread, sweetmeats, and bowls of seasonal fruit and berries. Silver wine coolers held bottles of champagne and claret.
The palatial three-story Pryde Manor with tall columns and windows was fifty or so yards away, across a large lawn often used for activities like archery and cricket. A park with rolling hills and woods surrounded them.
Modesty was lying on her stomach on the picnic blanket, Constantine’s head nestled in the valley of her lower back. She had received a letter from Sir Joseph Banks, trustee of the British Museum, and was reading it aloud to the gathered company.
“‘Your interpretation of the mirror’s symbols opens fascinating new avenues of research into ancient British societies. The museum would be particularly interested in your thoughts on similar symbols found on recently discovered stones in Morayshire…’” A small explosion of fireworks burst in her heart as she read the words.
The company erupted in joyous exclamations of approval. For months she had been comparing the mirror’s symbols to other feminine imagery in ancient British art, developing a theory about women’s roles in Pictish society.
She’d compared the carved spiral patterns among a few Pictish stones and objects—including her mirror—to the spiral carvings on Knocknagael Boar Stone, which had been found in Inverness. That stone’s spirals were thought to signify cycles of life or eternity. Often, they appeared alongside the boar—a symbol of strength and protection. In combination with the knowledge that Pictish kings were crowned through the female line, she argued that women had played a much more important role in Pictish society than was currently believed. In her essay, she theorized that Pictish tribes associated women with both resilience and spirituality.
And her work had garnered the attention of scholars in the field. More antiquarians had become interested in the history of their own country.
Perhaps she hadn’t proven her theories yet, but she looked at the past with a fresh perspective. And—for the first time—her voice mattered. It was respected, acknowledged, and appreciated. She contributed to the understanding of humanity, just like she’d always wanted, and she was not going to stop there.
Augustus’s grunts had become more determined, pulling her attention from the letter. The mere sight of him, as ever, caused her heart to overflow with love.
“I think he’s about to walk,” she muttered to Constantine, her stomach squeezing with excitement.
She felt his head shift as he looked at the child.
“Oh, indeed. Go on, lad!” He sat on his haunches by her side, setting down his copy of The Gentleman’s Stable Directory: Or, Modern System of Farriery by William Taplin.
He was studying treatments for lameness caused by hoof abscesses, which was afflicting his tenant Mr. Greenbow’s mare. Constantine has already cleaned and poulticed the abscess, showing a gentle touch that had the farmer’s teenage son watching in awe. The new veterinary surgeon, one of the first graduates of the Royal Veterinary College, would arrive tomorrow. But Constantine planned to continue learning and helping where he could.
“Go on, Augustus!” four-year-old Stella, Lucien’s daughter, cried out as she jumped up from her blanket and rushed to the boy, her golden locks bouncing. In her excitement, she threw a piece of cake, which landed in Lucien’s hair. He was stretched on his side next to Chastity, wooden horses, blocks, and figures spread on the blanket in front of him.
Stella stopped two steps away from Augustus and held her hand out to him. “Just one little step! You can do it!”
Lucien grimaced as crumbs rained down on him, and Chastity burst out laughing. The rest followed, even Dorian’s expression transforming into an amused grin. Modesty thought it was a rare but welcome sight that made him look boyish and carefree. Patience lit up with joy from within like a candle sconce.
Little Edward was sitting nearby, carefully picking individual blades of grass and studying each one with a look of concentration that was not unlike Patience’s. He had Dorian’s dark hair but Patience’s angelic face. Everyone jested that he would be a botanist like his mother.
Lucien shook his head with a grin and removed the piece of cake from his golden locks. “The joys of fatherhood are clear to all present,” he said with a kind chuckle, his gaze, full of love, on Chastity and on Stella.
“Papa!” Augustus called, his gaze on Constantine.
Of course, Constantine was his uncle, but when he’d started saying Papa—his first word—no one had had the heart to correct him.
With a determined frown, stretching his chubby hand straight towards Constantine, he took his first shaky step.
Modesty’s gasp froze in her throat. Everyone cheered and called out encouragements as the child took three steps before plopping back onto his plump behind.
“Well done!” Constantine said as he made his way to Augustus.
“Marvelous!” echoed Stella, who came to stand by Constantine—only a few more baby steps from Augustus.
“Go on,” said Constantine. “Come here.”
“Come here, Augustus!” Stella bounced up and down.
Her Whitechapel accent had disappeared after almost one year living with Lucien. And she was an adorable little lady, with a striking combination of a strong character and indomitable charm—both from Lucien.
Augustus grinned, grunted as he stood up, and took five more steps before falling into Constantine’s waiting arms.
Everyone erupted in cheers and clapping, waking up Mrs. Walcott, who joined in.
Modesty chuckled as she watched Constantine fall onto his back with a giggling Augustus safe his arms. Stella giggled, too, and launched herself onto Constantine, tickling him. Even Edward joined in, and Constantine was a wriggling mass of a male completely taken over by three children.
As Modesty smiled, tears of joy in her eyes, she looked at Patience and Chastity, both of whom exchanged understanding gazes with her. He’d changed so much since the first day she’d met him.
He was now soft, and relaxed, with inner peace radiating from him. Even his formerly impeccable windswept hairstyle now looked a bit unruly at times, with a few hairs often sticking up at the back of his head.
That look of contentment had been with him every day since the failed kidnapping. Not even the scandal that had raged through London for some time afterward had affected him.
He’d met everything with a calm, stoic acceptance.
Before, he had been as cold as a stone. Now, he was as unbreakable as one.
When His Royal Highness had summoned him to the palace, Modesty and the six dukes had refused to let him go alone. They’d stood by his side before the Regent, who had demanded to know if the rumor was true. He’d said he had every intention to honor the former duke’s will; he only needed proof.
Constantine had apologized for his previous behavior and told him he regretted his actions and his futile rivalry with the Regent. The rumor was false. There was no proof because it was not true. But the Regent could, of course, rule otherwise as was his privilege. Or he could reject Constantine’s letter of resignation. With Constantine so calm and respectful, it seemed the fight no longer interested the Regent. Modesty suspected his change of heart had more to do with Constantine’s gift of Icarus and the duke’s new humble demeanor than any real forgiveness.
Constantine told him Icarus was his and was waiting for him in the courtyard. He apologized that he had taken the gift back before, but he could now see how futile his pride was and that there were more important things in life.
That left the Regent completely speechless. He had made a few jabs at Pryde’s character, but seeing that it had no effect, he said he would not accept Constantine’s resignation and that he would need to continue to fulfill his duties as a duke and not try to pass them off to a baby.
The Regent had never again made any overtures towards Modesty. Whether it was Constantine’s fierce defense of her that day in Carlton House or simply that His Royal Highness had found new amusements, she was grateful the matter had been laid to rest.
“Who would have thought, Constantine,” said Chastity, who was dressed in the most gorgeous yellow color that made her look like the goddess of spring. There was a fluffy feather decorating her hair. “One year ago, on this very lawn, we were shooting arrows at your house party. You were so correct, so faultless as a host. I could never imagine you rolling in the grass with three children, with smudges of butter and jam on your clothes and laughing from joy.”
Constantine winked as he set Augustus on his feet. Then he rolled over onto his stomach and said, “I know, Chastity. Allow me to shock you even further. Children,” he exclaimed and neighed, “I am a unicorn—who would like to ride me?”
As the grown-ups roared with laughter and the children squealed in excitement and began to crawl onto his back, Modesty shook her head. Could her heart be any lighter? Could love fill her very being any more than it did now?
She was among friends, people who’d become her extended family. The Misses with Microscopes club had become a weekly gathering where Patience, Chastity, and she chatted about their latest theories and discoveries…and sometimes about their husbands. She felt like she’d found a home with two new best friends. She also went to help Grace in the almshouse regularly, and Constantine joined her from time to time.
“Say, Constantine,” said Lucien as he gave his wife a meaningful gaze, “does your groundskeeper still enjoy his new cottage?”
“Yes, he does,” Constantine replied between neighs as he slowly walked on hands and knees in the grass with Stella and Augustus on his back. Little Edward crawled after them, giggling and making a funny sound that could be a neigh, as well.
“So the old one is still unused?” asked Lucien, holding Chastity in his heated gaze. Modesty noticed Chastity’s cheeks were flushed, and she was sending him the same gaze straight back!
“It is,” said Constantine. “Why do you ask?”
Lucien finally averted his eyes when Dorian began glaring at him. “No reason. Keep on with your horsey nursery.”
“I must say,” said Patience, who leaned against her husband, and earned an arm wrapped around her shoulders, “I much prefer this house party to last year’s! We have Modesty now!”
Everyone cheered her and nodded their agreement. Modesty beamed. “All of you are welcome here anytime. And please stay as long as you wish.”
Lucien picked up a grape and crushed it between his teeth. “Thank you, Duchess.” He winked at Chastity, who grinned back at him. “We certainly have much to look forward to on Pryde territory.”
The night air was heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine as Constantine followed Modesty’s laughter through the twisting paths of the maze. The children were in bed—sound asleep, he hoped. And they’d enjoyed a wonderful dinner with their best friends, who had now retired to their rooms.
Moonlight silvered the perfectly trimmed hedges, creating an ethereal glow.
“This way,” her voice called, drawing him deeper into the labyrinth. “Unless the mighty Duke of Pryde is afraid of getting lost?”
He chuckled, quickening his pace. “I grew up here, darling. I know every turn.”
“Then why haven’t you caught me yet?”
A year ago, he would have bristled at such teasing. His pride would have demanded he prove his mastery over his own grounds. Now, he delighted in letting her lead this dance.
He rounded another corner and stopped short. The center of the maze opened before him, transformed. She’d laid out a thick blanket scattered with pillows. Candles in glass lamps cast a warm glow, and a bottle of wine sat cooling. But it was Modesty herself who took his breath away.
She stood beside a telescope she must have borrowed from their library, her copper hair loose around her shoulders. She’d discarded her spencer, leaving her in just her thin muslin gown.
“I thought we could study the stars,” she said with a hint of shyness in her smile that made his heart ache. “The ancient Romans believed the summer constellations told stories of pride and redemption.”
He moved closer, drawn by the sparkle in her green eyes. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” She gestured upward. “See there? That’s Cassiopeia, the queen who challenged the gods…”
Constantine wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, breathing in her familiar scent of wildflowers. “And was humbled for her pride?”
“Yes.” She leaned back against his chest. “Though some say she found greater glory in accepting her true self.”
“Like someone else I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck.
She turned in his arms. “We both had to learn that lesson, I think. I was nothing but the humble daughter of a vicar.”
“You were always much more than that, darling. And now here you are, leading your husband on a moonlit chase through the maze.” His fingers traced the curve of her cheek. “What happened to that vicar’s shy daughter?”
“She fell in love with a duke who showed her it was safe to be herself.” Modesty’s hands slid up his chest. “Who proved that true nobility has nothing to do with birthright or title…”
“And everything to do with decisions we make and the actions we take,” he finished, lowering his mouth to hers.
The kiss was sweet, unhurried. They had all night, all their lives, to explore this precious thing between them. When they finally parted, Modesty’s eyes were luminous.
“Make love to me under the stars?” she whispered.
Constantine’s breath caught at her boldness—not because it shocked him anymore, but because he treasured how far they’d both come. “Here? In the open air?”
“Everyone’s asleep.” When he hesitated still, she added, “Live a little, Duke.”
“Mmmm,” he murmured as he planted a kiss on her collarbone. He could feel her pulse beating faster under his lips. Good. His own heart drummed for her. “I like seeing you happy like this. Are you happy?”
She chuckled. “Very. Are you?”
“I couldn’t be happier.”
She leaned back slightly. “Let me see if I can show you how I feel.”
He couldn’t stop a grin. “I was told redheads are fire in bed. You certainly are.”
He loved when she took control like this. She saw him—and he felt seen. Not just as a duke, a title, and a number of pounds earned per year.
But as himself.
She walked him towards the blanket, her hands on his chest, and then they both dropped to the soft pillows.
He thought she’d lie down next to him, but she knelt by his bent knees instead. He propped himself against up with his elbow, watching her settle between his thighs with a sparkle in her green eyes. He wanted to lick every inch of her. Her skin tasted divine on his tongue.
“What do you have in mind, darling?” he asked. “I know that glint in your eyes. You are planning something.”
He remembered her the night he made her his…sensual and yet afraid of her own body, of her reactions, of the pleasure she could experience.
Modesty then would have never imagined taking initiative the way she did now.
He had never imagined letting her do so.
Now they were both complete.
She licked her lower lip. “You know me so well.”
She began fumbling with the buttons of his breeches. He swallowed. Seeing her this way, leaning over his crotch, her breasts practically falling out of her dress, had his semi-erection hardening to stand at full attention.
“Modesty—” he said, his lips parched.
“Hmmm?”
“What are you doing?”
He knew exactly what she had in mind, and the mere thought of her touch sent desire coursing through him.
“I am freeing you of your clothes.” She pushed his breeches down his thighs, and his cock appeared before her.
She stared at it, the wicked minx, and licked her lips again. He couldn’t stop a growl.
“I can see that…” he said, his voice low and throaty.
“Let’s see if I can make you even happier.”
Her hand circled his erection, and his head fell back. Even her lightest touch brought him intense pleasure.
“Where do you get such ideas?” he managed as he watched her hand move up and down.
“Well,” she said, “the Misses with Microscopes don’t just discuss science.”
The shock of hearing that almost made him sit up—except at that moment, she took his cock in her mouth, and the questions died in his throat. All he could do was moan, watching those lush pink lips wrapped around him.
“Wha—?” he choked out as her tongue glided up and down, swirling around. “Who—? Are you ladies talking about this?—?”
“Mmmm,” she murmured against his cock, sending vibrations through his flesh. “No talking now.”
“Damnation,” he managed as she encircled him again and pushed against his chest so that he lay flat on his back.
He wasn’t sure he liked her discussing things that went on in the privacy of their bedchamber, unless…
Well…
They resulted in new experiences like this one.
A year ago, he never would have allowed something like this. He’d have needed to be the one in control.
But look at him now…wonderfully helpless…trusting…free.
He hadn’t just surrendered his body to her but his whole self. Fears, flaws, the darkest, most shameful things he hadn’t even dared acknowledge to himself.
And she still loved him.
Still wanted to please him.
She amplified the sensations now by pumping him with her hand while her tongue was working around him.
He didn’t think he could get any harder, any bigger. Good God, he’d face a thousand scandals to protect this woman, to keep her and their family safe.
“Modesty,” he groaned as he sat up. “I must be inside you.”
Her face was flushed, her lips red and glistening, and he kissed her as she straddled him—just like that night when he’d lost control for the first time with her. She guided him into the tight, hot heaven of her body, and he looked into her eyes as he entered her, feeling as if he were swimming in the sea of stars above them.
Thousands of people had come before them, and thousands would come after them. These eternal stars had witnessed countless stories of pride and redemption. But none, he was certain, quite like theirs.
Soon, he could feel her trembling, her knees giving in, and he himself was pure fire.
He couldn’t hold back any longer. She was too good. He was always completely undone when it came to her.
“Darling,” he said as he leaned back a little, “I am going to— Ohhh…”
The grip of her body around him tightened as he knew she was reaching the same blissful point he was, and her arms gripped his shoulders harder. He couldn’t stop himself from plummeting over the edge. But as he was writhing with pulsing need, he stroked her slick sex with his fingers until she cried out. And he felt her clench around his pulsating cock, her thighs shaking.
Heavens above, he loved this woman.
Never could he have enough of her…never.
They both collapsed onto the blanket, and she nestled her face on his chest. They were breathing hard, and he kissed her sweaty forehead.
“You little scientists.” He chuckled.
“What?” she asked innocently. “The study of pleasure is science as well.”
“Please don’t tell me you are sharing intimate details with them.”
She shrugged. “Nothing concrete. We don’t gossip about you dukes. But we do share what pleases us…what surprises us…and what we wonder about.”
“You can always ask me.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “I can, and I do. But sometimes I like to surprise you. Didn’t you enjoy this?”
“I did. All right. Permission for surprises granted.”
She laughed softly and put her chin on his chest, looking into his eyes. “Oh, Duke of Pryde. Could you ever imagine saying that when we had just married?”
He shook his head thoughtfully. “No, that Constantine could have never allowed himself to be surprised. Least of all by you.”
“Why is that?”
“Because…because you intrigued me. I didn’t know what to do with your incredible selflessness. Your kindness completely disarmed me.”
“I thought you despised me because I was lowborn and so easily controlled.”
“I never despised you, darling.” He kissed her. “Never. Truth is, I think I was in love with you long before I allowed myself to admit it—even to myself.”
She sighed. “You’re not the only one who was afraid to be in love. I was, too, darling. I was sure a duke like you could never love someone like me. That I’d always be just a means to an end for you.”
He wrapped the blanket around them and held her closer. “I suppose we both had our own demons to overcome. I will always love you, Modesty. You’re the love of my life.”
“And we both became better people,” she said. “I love you, Constantine. My humble Duke of Pryde.”
He traced the curve of her cheek, marveling at how the moonlight caught the copper in her hair. “Do you know what makes me proudest now?”
“What’s that?”
“Not my title or lands or bloodline, but that I’m worthy of your love. That I can be both the duke society needs and the man you deserve.”
She lifted her head, her eyes shining. “And I’m no longer just a vicar’s daughter. I’m a duchess and I know my worth—in the library, in society, and in her husband’s arms.”
“You’re everything, Modesty.” He kissed her softly. “My heart, my home, my redemption.”
Above them, the summer stars wheeled in their eternal dance, witnesses to how the challenges they’d faced together had transformed both pride and modesty into something far more precious.
Love.
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