Epilogue
The carriage stood waiting in the drive, its polished panels gleaming faintly in the waning light. Brighton’s air was softer than London’s, scented with salt and late roses, and it stirred the ribbons of the Dowager Duchess’ bonnet as she descended the steps with measured grace.
Margaret stood at the threshold of the Brighton estate, curtseying with the utmost propriety as the Dowager Duchess adjusted her gloves.
There was a faint slump to her shoulders, a softening at the edges of her usually sharp posture.
The proud set of her jaw was still there, but the lines around her eyes carried a trace of weariness, and the gleam of imperious authority seemed a little dulled.
“Your Grace,” Margaret said, her voice soft, measured, “it was… a pleasure to receive you.”
The Dowager regarded her for a moment, and in her eyes, there flickered something quieter, something that might almost have been weariness. “You keep the house well,” she said at last, her voice not unkind. “Sebastian has chosen wisely.”
Margaret’s lips curved faintly. “It is kind of you to say so.”
A pause stretched between them, not hostile but filled with all that would never be spoken. At last, the Dowager inclined her head, the gesture regal even in its brevity. “I shall not keep you from your duties. You are mistress here now.”
Margaret lifted her chin, the weight of the words settling upon her not as a burden but as a mantle. “I will do my best to honor it,” she replied softly.
“Safe journey, Your Grace,” Margaret said, stepping forward just enough to ensure the parting carried no shadow of coldness.
The Dowager paused on the threshold of the carriage, her gaze returning once more to her daughter-in-law. “You have courage, child. I daresay that will serve you better than all the rest.”
Margaret gave a slight curtsy. For the first time, she did not feel the Dowager’s shadow pressing upon her.
The Dowager’s lips pressed together briefly, then parted in a faint, almost wistful smile. “Good day, Duchess,” she said, her tone polite yet tinged with a subtle fragility. She gave a final nod before turning, her steps slower than before.
Margaret exhaled, letting the tension drain from her shoulders. She watched the carriage wheels recede, the image of the once-imposing Dowager now tempered by quiet melancholy lingering in her mind.
Margaret bent slightly to scratch Miss Fortune behind the ears, the cat purring and weaving between her ankles. “Come along, little one,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Let’s go and find Sebastian. I’m certain he’s been waiting far too long for us.”
Miss Fortune mewed in agreement and padded ahead, tail high, leading the way as Margaret followed, her steps lighter now that the weight of the visit had lifted.
Margaret crossed into the Brighton drawing room and let herself sink into its warmth. The sunlight glinted across the polished floorboards, and the quiet hum of the estate felt like a balm.
Sebastian was already there, sitting close to the fire, his eyes lighting up the moment they met hers. “And how did tea go?” he asked, voice teasing yet low, as though no one else existed in the world.
Margaret smiled, the tension of the past weeks melting with the ease of their shared space. “Civil enough,” she murmured, stepping toward him.
Margaret let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. “Do you think she meant it? That she will leave us in peace?”
Sebastian made a low sound that could have been agreement or disbelief, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
“Peace is not in my mother’s nature,” he said, his lips brushing the crown of her head, “but I must admit, I expected worse. I half-prepared myself to drag her out bodily if she uttered one word against you.”
She tilted her face up to him, her smile soft. “And she did not.”
“Only because you disarm her.” His gaze searched hers, both curious and tender. “You astonish me, Margaret. After everything she did—after everything she allowed to be done—you welcomed her to dinner, and with such graciousness, I scarcely recognized you. How can you be so kind?”
Margaret smoothed her hand along his sleeve, thoughtful.
“Perhaps because I cannot imagine what it is to have a brother and lose him as she did. If I had, maybe I would have tried to protect him, too, no matter how unworthy. And besides…” A mischievous gleam lit her eyes.
“I rather enjoyed watching her endure Miss Fortune’s company since she insisted I be rid of her. ”
At that, Sebastian laughed outright, the deep, rich sound echoing through the room. He leaned back, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of all the reasons to forgive her sins, my mother was spared because of a cat.”
Margaret feigned indignation, her hand pressing to her breast. “Not spared. Tested. Miss Fortune is my fiercest judge after all. And what happened? Your mother passed admirably. She even petted her!”
Sebastian blinked as if the thought were too outlandish to credit. “Pet her? Stroked her fur as if she were not some impudent creature who claws upholstery and terrorizes footmen? I swear, I think you dreamed it.”
Miss Fortune, overhearing her name, gave an indolent flick of her tail from the carpet, as if to confirm her sovereignty.
Margaret laughed, warmth suffusing her face. “She knew, perfectly well, that if she wished to play with her grandchild one day, she must first earn Miss Fortune’s favor. Consider it a bargain struck.”
Sebastian’s eyes widened, mock serious. “Do you mean to tell me the cat holds veto power over my heir?”
Margaret nestled closer, her smile curving against his jaw. “Naturally. She rules this household already. I merely share in her benevolence.”
He gave a theatrical groan then turned his face to nuzzle against her temple, his voice softer now. “God help me, you are incorrigible.”
His voice gentled further, carrying something he had clearly been holding for a while.
“Do you know, Margaret, it has been weeks now since you’ve woken in fright.
Since you came to my bed, not once have you cried out in the night.
Not once have I woken to find you trembling.
That, my Margaret, I credit to no one but you. ”
Her breath caught, her hand tightening in his coat. “You noticed.”
“I notice everything,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across her hair.
“Especially when it comes to you.” He shifted then, his palm sliding down, coming to rest with reverent tenderness against the gentle curve of her belly.
“And to him… or her.” His eyes softened, alight with something fragile and fierce all at once. “Our peace is no small miracle.”
His mouth curved in a wry, crooked smile. “The world may wag its tongue, but gossip…” He glanced back at her, eyes warm, fierce with devotion. “That, we have survived.”
Her gaze lifted to him, steady, searching. “It was a scandal. The kind of tale the ton feasts upon.”
“And yet here we are.” His eyes softened, their storm quieted now.
“They have feasted well on us these past three months on, and still, they gnaw at it. We spoke the truth—that it was my uncle’s hand that brought the fire, that killed your parents, and that struck down your uncle too.
Let them call it ruin if they like—what has it ruined? Nothing I care to keep.”
Margaret laughed, the sound light in the air. “They will grow bored with us soon enough. A fresh scandal will come, and ours will fade into the background.”
“Good.” Sebastian bent to press his lips to her temple. “Let them chatter. It gives us time to be forgotten. Already, there is a baron’s daughter caught eloping with her groom and a viscount in debt to half of Mayfair. I give it another month before they forget our names.”
She leaned into him, her heart quiet in its certainty. “Do you mind it? The quiet? No balls, no invitations, no parade of gowns and partners?”
His arm tightened at her waist, his smile audible against her hair. “I have everything I want at home. Why would I go looking for it in a ballroom?”
Before she could think twice, he caught her up in his arms with sudden, laughing ease.
The world spun as he turned her once, a dizzying twirl that made her skirts flare and her breath catch.
She clung to his shoulders, startled laughter spilling from her, before he steadied her close against his chest—held not as a lady upon a chair but as though she were weightless, precious, his to keep.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her snug against him. “You do know, I missed this,” he said softly, nuzzling against her temple. “Missed you.”
Margaret tilted her head back, brushing a loose curl from his cheek. “Did you?” she whispered, the corners of her mouth quirking with playful mischief. “I had the faintest suspicion you might.”
He gave a low laugh, but the sound faded as his gaze lingered on her mouth. “An hour apart feels like an eternity when it is you.”
Before she could reply, his lips found hers, slow at first, reverent, but quickly deepening, urgency threading through the sweetness.
She melted against him, her fingers curling into his hair as his arm bound her close, his warmth enveloping her, the world falling away until there was only the taste of him and the thunder of his heartbeat pressed against her own.
When at last he drew back, his breath ragged, he rested his forehead to hers, his thumb stroking her cheek with reverent slowness.
“My miracle,” he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion and heat alike.
“My Margaret. If the world should burn tomorrow, I would ask only this. That you be in my arms when it does.”
Her answering smile was tremulous, radiant. She kissed him once more, softer this time, sealing the vow between them. “Always.”
He shifted, pulling her tighter against him, his hand splayed across the small of her back, anchoring her as though he would never let her go. The kiss broke only long enough for him to murmur against her lips, his voice low and rough, “God, I do not know how I lived before you.”
Her answering whisper was breathless, trembling with laughter and wonder both.
“Poorly, I imagine.” She kissed him again, fierce and tender, and the gossip, scandal, and duty beyond them ceased to matter.
There was only this: his warmth, her joy, and the steady beat of two hearts refusing ever to part again.
The End?