Epilogue
“Iam quite all right, Mary,” Lucy said, though the words trembled as they left her mouth. “You don’t need to sit with me. Did Mama put you up to this?”
Mary did not believe her; she did not budge from her side either, even though Lucy insisted she was quite all right as she dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief.
She said it lightly, with a small, brave smile meant to convince, but the evidence betrayed her.
Her lashes were damp, her breathing uneven, and Mary, sensible as she was, did not look persuaded in the least.
“You need not fuss,” Lucy said again, turning slightly away as she composed herself. “It is nothing more than fatigue. The week has been… long.”
Mary remained where she was, hands folded, eyes watchful.
She had been with Lucy long enough to know the difference between tiredness and distress, and she was clearly unwilling to abandon her post. Lucy could feel the concern pressing in on her, well-meaning and yet suffocating, when the quiet of the room was broken entirely.
The door opened with far more force than courtesy allowed.
Rowan stepped inside as if patience were a luxury he no longer possessed, his expression taut, his coat still on as if he had not paused even long enough to consider propriety. Lucy’s eyes widened at the sight of him.
Behind him, the butler hovered in clear discomfort, one hand half raised in apology.
“Your Grace, I did say...” the man began, breathless. “... that you might wait in the drawing room while I sent for Miss—”
“I know what you said,” Rowan replied without turning. His eyes were already on Lucy.
The butler fell silent, retreating a careful step as the tension in the room shifted. Lucy straightened instinctively, her hand lowering from her face, though the remnants of tears were impossible to hide.
Rowan noticed her at once. “I will speak with Lucy alone,” he said, his tone firm.
The maid hesitated, glancing at Lucy, clearly torn between obedience and loyalty. Lucy drew a steadying breath.
“It is all right,” she said softly. “You may both leave us.”
The maid lingered for a heartbeat longer, then inclined her head and slipped from the room, closing the door behind her with care.
The silence that followed was heavy, charged, and very uncomfortable.
Lucy stood very still, her hands clasped together, while Rowan remained near the door, his earlier urgency held in check by the stillness of the room.
Whatever composure she had managed to gather felt thin as glass. She did not need him to speak to know that this conversation had come whether she was ready for it or not.
“Your Grace, it is quite surprising and improper to see you like this,” she said, retreating. “What brings you to my home?”
Rowan didn’t wait for her to regain her composure. He took two long, predatory strides toward her, his presence filling the small room until the air felt thin. He looked at her tear-stained face, his own expression mixed with desperation and demand.
“Is it true?” he asked, his voice vibrating with a raw edge she had never heard. “Have you been crying, Lucy? Because of me?”
Lucy recoiled as if he’d struck her, her hand flying to her throat. “I don’t know where you heard that, Your Grace. I was merely overwhelmed by the transition. I am fine.”
“Do not use that voice with me,” Rowan snapped, stepping even closer until she was backed against the wall by the window. “I didn’t ride all this way to hear you play the professional. I want to know why you were crying. What were you upset about, Lucy?”
“Rowan, stop it,” she whispered, her eyes filling with fresh moisture.
“No,” he pressed, placing his hand on the wall near her head, pinning her in place. “Tell me. What are you upset about?”
As he leaned into her space, Lucy was blindsided by the scent of him.
He smelled of cold rain, leather, and that distinct, masculine spice that belonged only to him.
It was a scent that had become her anchor over the few days, the one she had tried to conjure from memory as she lay in the dark the night before.
For a terrifying, beautiful second, she wanted to stop fighting. She wanted to lean forward, bury her face in the damp wool of his coat, and let the feeling of him drown out the hollow ache in her chest. She wanted to breathe him in until the longing in her heart finally stilled.
But the habit of self-protection was too strong. She blinked back the fresh moisture in her eyes, trying to find the mask that had slipped.
“I am... I am just tired,” she gasped, her heart hammering so hard against her ribs she was certain he could hear it. “It has been an exhausting month.”
“Likewise,” he whispered, his eyes searching hers with a desperate, frantic intensity. “If you wanted to leave, if you wanted your business and your independence, then you should be celebrating.”
He leaned in even closer, his forehead almost touching hers. “Was it because you wanted to stay? Was it because you felt the same thing I did when I watched you walk toward that carriage?”
Lucy looked at his lips, then back to his eyes, her resolve crumbling like dry parchment. The scent of him was making it impossible to think, impossible to be the logical woman she had always been.
“I am upset because I didn’t want to be free,” she finally cried out, the words bursting from her like a confession under torture.
“Is that what you want to hear? I was crying because you let me go as if I were nothing more than a ghost passing through your halls. I was crying because I had finally found a place where I felt I belonged, and I was confused and trying to figure out what I was feeling, but you cut me loose.”
The dam finally broke, and the words Lucy had been suffocating for days came rushing out in a jagged, breathless torrent.
“I was crying because I realized far too late that I love you, you stubborn, impossible man,” she screamed at his chest, her hands coming up to bunch the fabric of his lapels.
“I love you, and I love Brook and Daniel and Anthony. I was terrified because for my entire life, I’ve seen marriage as a cage.
I’ve seen women disappear into their husbands’ shadows until there was nothing left of them but a title.
Even though I have seen love blossom in many marriages, there were just too many loveless, broken ones.
I didn’t want to be trapped! I didn’t want to be a wife if it meant I couldn’t be Lucy Crampton anymore! ”
She looked up at him, her face wet with tears, her voice cracking.
“But you were also right. Deep down, I did not think that I deserved love. After what I did to my cousin, forcing her hand into a marriage, I didn’t think I should be happy.
So, I started seeing marriage as something that was not for people like me, and it consumed me.
That is why I chose this path. If I couldn’t bring myself to love, then maybe I can lead others to it. ”
“But the irony is that I was more myself with you than I have ever been in my life,” Lucy continued. “In your study, in those gardens, even when we were arguing about the boys’ lessons. I wasn’t performing. I wasn’t a matchmaker. I was just me, and you all saw me.”
Rowan’s grip on her loosened, his hand sliding down to cup the side of her face, his thumb catching a falling tear. His eyes, which had been so fierce just moments before, were now filled with a shimmering, disbelieving light.
“You love me?” he whispered.
“I love you so much it feels like I’ve been hollowed out since I left,” Lucy sobbed, finally leaning her weight into him, her forehead resting against his chin.
The scent of him was overwhelming now, a physical relief that made her knees weak.
“I didn’t want the freedom you gave me, Rowan.
I wanted the choice to stay. I wanted you to tell me that I was more than a contract.
I wanted you to tell me that you needed me as much as I needed you.
But I was so stubborn, too. My mouth just refused to say the words my heart was screaming. ”
She felt his arms wrap around her then, crushing her against him with a desperation that mirrored her own. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot and ragged against her skin.
Rowan let out a shuddering breath as he pulled her away gently, tilting her head to meet his eyes.
“I love you, Lucy,” he confessed. “I cannot tell you when exactly it happened, or how it did, but just know that I have never felt this way about anyone before. Noone. I just didn’t have the courage to believe a woman like you, so fierce, so independent, could ever truly want a man like me.”
He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his hands framing her face with a reverence that made her heart swell.
“That night... when I asked why you were willing to go through with the wedding…” he whispered.
“When I asked you what you truly felt, and why you looked so sad, I wasn’t looking for a reason to let you go.
I was starving for a reason to keep you.
I was waiting, praying, for you to show me even a glimmer of what was in your heart.
I wanted you to tell me that it wasn’t just about the boys or the deal. I wanted you to say it was for us.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, and Lucy saw the raw, naked longing he had been hiding behind his ducal mask.
“I wanted to kiss you so badly that night that it felt like I was losing my mind...” he admitted, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. “And God help me, I want to kiss you even more now.”
“Then stop talking, Rowan,” Lucy whispered, her voice a ragged plea against his thumb. “Because I want that too. More than anything.”
The last of their restraint shattered. He groaned low in his throat and claimed her mouth with a ferocity that stole the very air from the room.