Epilogue
“It is here!” Biddy rushed inside the mistress’ chambers, out of breath.
“Biddy, what is the matter? Why are you out of breath?” Dahlia looked at her lady’s maid a little alarmed.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “But your new book, it has arrived!”
“Oh goodness!” Dahlia leaped from her chair and ran towards her husband’s chambers. “Peter!”
The adjoining door, which was now always kept opened, showed an empty room.
“Oh, where is he? Peter!”
The door to the master’s bedroom opened to reveal Peter almost, but not yet completely, attired for the dinner party that they hosted for their visiting family and friends.
“Do not tell me that it is time to go down, wife, when you yourself are not yet fully dressed.” He pulled her to him and kissed the tip of her nose.
“Peter!” Dahlia said blushing and looking over his shoulder at Peter’s valet who moved around his bedroom. “Evans is right there.”
“So is Biddy.” He smiled, pointing at her.
“But you have made me forget what I was about to tell you!” Dahlia pulled away from him and went to Biddy, who handed her the package.
“Thank you, Biddy.”
Her lady’s maid curtsied and turned to leave when Dahlia caught her arm. Biddy turned, an inquiring look on her face.
“Biddy.” Dahlia blinked at the sudden wetness in her eyes. “This would not have happened if not for your help. Yours and Benson’s and John’s. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you were there for me. My achievement is yours, too. Please know that.”
“Oh, Your Grace.” Biddy put her hand over Dahlia’s, which still grasped her arm. “It has been my joy to see you turn into what you are today. A more deserving person, I have never met. I am happy for you, Your Grace.” She smiled and added, “I only ask one thing of you, Your Grace.”
“Anything,” Dahlia said. “What is it?”
“That you let me read your new book!”
Dahlia’s lips curved into a smile.
“You shall have you own copy.” Then leaning closer to Biddy, she whispered something in her ear which earned her a gasp and a sniffle.
With a huge smile, Biddy made her leave, allowing husband and wife their private moment.
When she turned back to Peter, she held the package in her hands. Her eyes shone with pride and happiness.
“It has arrived?”
Peter’s eyes widened. He caught her in his arms, package and all.
“Why did you not say so at once?” He closed the door to his bedroom and led Dahlia to his desk. “Come, will you open it now?”
Dahlia nodded, her body fairly vibrated, and she could hardly keep still.
Then taking a deep breath to calm herself, she slowly, almost reverently untied the strings and then unfolded the wrapper. When the package was completely opened, Dahlia’s eyes shone with tears.
Her new book, A Proper Wallflower’s Guide for a Young Lady’s First Season, by Dahlia Thornscroft, lay crisp and perfect on top of Peter’s desk.
They both looked at the precious book. It represented so much. Dahlia’s journey as an author and her foundations, Peter, her family, and her friends.
With trembling hands, Dahlia turned the pages. She ran her fingers over the print and stopped when she found the page she sought. She handed Peter the book.
To every young lady who feels that she is insufficient, know that you are not. You were made exactly right, more than enough—abundant. May this guide you on your first experiences as young ladies of society.
To my parents, thank you for taking me with you. To Celine and Helena, your love and friendship I shall always need. To Mary and Claire, my inspirations. To Benson, Biddy, and John, whose friendship and loyalty made this book possible, this author would not have been an author without you.
To Peter, the one who showed me the way, the one who showed me beauty where I thought there was none.
“Dahlia. My beautiful Dahlia”
Peter’s hands trembled as he cupped her face.
“I am proud of you, my love.” he whispered to her.
“Thank you, Peter. I find that I am quite proud of myself as well.”
He handed her a handkerchief; taking it, Dahlia wiped the tears from her eyes.
“A book that finally has my real name on it; oh, Peter, how can I describe what I am feeling at this moment?”
“You can try.”
She nodded and took his hand, her eyes closed. Peter felt her hands tighten in his.
“When we started our life together, I knew that I need not write about romance any longer, for I was already living it; my imaginations had become my reality.”
Peter softly kissed her hand.
“You—our life together—is so much more than I had dreamed of, so much more than I had imagined.
“More exciting than the Duke of Snowdon’s adventures and romance?” Peter teased.
She laughed and cupped his cheek then answered him in a most earnest voice.
“Yes, a thousand times more so. I do not need to dream; I do not need to imagine anymore because I am living it with you.” Dahlia smiled.
“And so, I thought that I must convey to the young ladies of society who felt hopeless that love is there if you know where to look. I wanted to show them that there are dangers as well that must be avoided. I wanted them to realize that they are not alone. Whatever they are feeling as young ladies of the ton, someone before them has felt it too.”
“A most noble dream,” Peter said sincerely. “You are a remarkable woman, Dahlia Thornscroft. I cannot wait to see what you will further accomplish.
“And will you always be there when I accomplish them?”
“You know I shall,” Peter kissed her again, “for there is nowhere else I would rather be but right here with you, my wife, my Dahlia, my one true love.”
If anyone had told Dahlia a year ago that she would be publishing her books under her real name, she would have looked at them very doubtfully.
After all that she had gone through as an author—with all the difficulties of being an unmarried female author, the subterfuge, the covert meetings with the publisher, and the collusions with Benson, Biddy and John—seeing her newly published book now with her name, Dahlia Thornscroft, proudly and prominently imprinted on the front cover was a dream fulfilled.
And if anyone told her a year ago that the cold and forbidding Duke of Icedale would look at her as he was looking at her now—as if she made the sun shine and the earth revolve—she would surely have laughed at them.
Looking at his handsome face, she sometimes still wondered if all of it were real.
Am I awake? Or is this all a dream?
But the heavy beating of her heart told her that it was not a dream and that indeed, this was her reality—and what a reality it was!
She put her hand over his heart, feeling its rhythm, and kissed him, thrilling at the freedom to do so.
Dahlia stepped back and smiled at Peter.
“And why do smile that way?”
“What way?”
“As if you know something that I do not.”
“Ah, because I do, my dear husband.”
Husband. Would she ever get used to the thrill of claiming Peter as that? Would she ever stop marveling at the love they shared. Indeed, at what they made together.
“And will you make me ask?”
Dahlia put her hands over her stomach and looked at Peter with shining eyes.
“Dahlia…Dahlia? Are—are you sure?”
She nodded.
Eyes wide, Peter rushed to her. He knelt in front of her, gently moved her hands away and wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his lips against her stomach in the gentlest of kisses.
Laughing and sobbing, she pulled him up to his feet.
“Peter, we have created beauty together,”
“My love, I had not thought I could be anymore happy, but you, Dahlia, keep giving. You keep handing me joy and light and fire and now, life.
“Too long I had thought that the dark satisfied me, protected me. How wrong I was. Your fire cleansed my poor heart, your love wiped away the soot until there was nothing left but your light.”
Peter took her in his arms, and Dahlia felt that he would never let her go.
“Can you see it, Peter? The life that we will build together?”
“Yes, as clearly as I see you now. And what a life it shall be.”
Outside, the last rays of the sun announced the ending of the day, but to Peter and Dahlia, the world just seemed to be beginning. And in this beginning was their dream, planted by them both, nourished by them both until its roots took hold, its branches and leaves thrust upward.
“I have not even met him or her, and yet I find that I love this baby with everything there is in me,” Peter said as he spread his hand over her stomach.
“We shall fix that then.” Looking down, she spoke softly, “Baby, this is Peter, you father.” Then looking at Peter, she continued, the fullest smile on her face, “Peter, meet our baby.”
The End?