Epilogue #2
The dance was a waltz; intimate by the standards of the ton, requiring a closeness that had once been considered scandalous. Daniel's hand settled at her waist with familiar ease, and Lillian placed her own hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of him through the layers of cloth.
"You are quite good at this," she observed, as they moved through the first figures. "For a man who claims to hate dancing."
"I had an excellent teacher."
"You had a dancing master when you were twelve."
"I was referring to you." His hand tightened slightly at her waist. "You taught me that there were things worth doing even when they frightened me. Dancing is merely one of them."
"I did not teach you anything. You learned it yourself."
"I learned it because of you. Because you made me want to be better than I was." His voice was low, meant for her alone. "Everything good in my life traces back to you, Lillian. I hope you know that."
"You give me too much credit."
"I give you exactly the credit you deserve.
Which is considerable." He turned her through a spin, and she felt the brief disorientation of movement, the solid anchor of his grip bringing her back to center.
"Before you, I was a man playing at life, going through the motions, fulfilling obligations, feeling nothing that mattered. You woke me up."
"You woke yourself up. I merely opened the curtains."
"And let in the light." He smiled down at her, and she saw in his expression everything he had once been too afraid to show; love, tenderness, the fierce joy of having chosen and been chosen in return. "I love you, you know. In case I have not mentioned it recently."
"You mentioned it this morning. And last night. And several times during dinner."
"Then I am consistent. That should count for something."
"It counts for a great deal." Lillian stepped closer as the dance brought them together, close enough to feel his breath against her hair. "I love you too. In case that was in doubt."
"It is never in doubt. But I do enjoy hearing it."
The music swelled, and they moved together in perfect synchrony—two people who had learned each other's rhythms through trial and error, through conflict and reconciliation, through the daily practice of choosing each other.
When the dance ended, Daniel did not immediately release her. They stood in the middle of the ballroom, his hand still at her waist, her hand still on his shoulder, as though neither of them could bear to break the connection.
"We should return to our pillar," Lillian said finally. "Before we cause a scandal."
"What scandal? I am dancing with my wife. It is perfectly respectable."
"It is perfectly respectable to dance one dance. Two dances suggests excessive attachment. Three dances suggests we have forgotten that other people exist."
"I have forgotten that other people exist. I forgot it the moment you walked into my life." But he released her, stepping back with evident reluctance. "Very well. We shall return to the pillar. But I reserve the right to claim you for another dance later."
"Noted."
They made their way back to the edge of the room, and Lillian noticed that several matrons were watching them with expressions of mingled approval and curiosity. The Duke of Wyntham, dancing with his wife, smiling at his wife. Behaving, in all respects, like a man in love.
It was, she supposed, worth gossiping about.
"She is coming this way," Daniel said, his voice shifting to alert attention.
Lillian followed his gaze and saw Rosanne approaching, her cheeks flushed with exertion and happiness, her eyes bright with something that looked very much like triumph.
"Brother. Lillian." Rosanne arrived slightly breathless, her fan moving rapidly.
"I have had the most wonderful evening. Mr. Fielding is delightful; he knows absolutely everything about botany, and he has invited me to see his mother's conservatory next week, and Lady Ashby is the kindest woman I have ever met. "
"You have met Lady Ashby?" Daniel's tone was carefully neutral.
"Mr. Fielding introduced me. She said I reminded her of herself at my age—can you imagine?
She was apparently terribly shy when she was young, and now she is one of the most sought-after hostesses in London.
" Rosanne beamed. "She gave me advice on managing nerves.
She said the trick is to remember that everyone else is too worried about themselves to notice your mistakes. "
"Sound advice," Lillian said, glancing at Daniel to gauge his reaction.
He was quiet for a moment, studying his sister's face. Then, slowly, his expression softened.
"You enjoyed yourself," he said. It was not a question.
"I did. More than I expected to. More than I thought possible, if I am honest." Rosanne's smile turned slightly shy. "I know you worry about me, Daniel. I know you want to protect me from... From making mistakes, I suppose. But tonight I realised something."
"What did you realise?"
"That I do not have to have everything decided immediately.
I do not have to know whether Mr. Fielding is the man I will marry, or whether this season will end in a betrothal, or whether any of it will lead anywhere at all.
" She looked up at her brother with an expression of quiet certainty.
"I just want to enjoy it. To be young and foolish and free, for once in my life.
To dance and laugh and meet people without the weight of expectation crushing every moment. "
Lillian watched Daniel's face as he absorbed this; the conflict between his protective instincts and his growing understanding that protection could become prison.
"Is that so wrong?" Rosanne asked, when the silence stretched. "To want a season of freedom before I have to be sensible?"
Daniel reached out and took his sister's hand—an unusual gesture for him, a public display of affection that would once have been unthinkable.
"It is not wrong at all," he said quietly. "It is what you deserve. What you have always deserved."
Rosanne's eyes widened. "Truly? You will not lecture me about duty and propriety and the importance of making a good match?"
"I will not lecture you about anything." He squeezed her hand gently.
"Enjoy your season, Rosanne. Dance with young men in yellow waistcoats if you wish.
Fall in love or do not fall in love, as suits you.
Make mistakes and learn from them." He paused.
"I only ask that you be happy. That is all I have ever wanted for you. "
Rosanne's eyes filled with tears—happy tears, Lillian thought, the kind that came when something long hoped for finally arrived.
"Thank you," Rosanne whispered. "Thank you, Daniel."
"Do not thank me. Thank your sister-in-law." He glanced at Lillian with a rueful expression. "She has been explaining to me, at considerable length, that loving someone means trusting them to find their own way."
"It has been a lengthy education," Lillian agreed. "But he is finally showing signs of progress."
"Slow but measurable improvement," Daniel conceded. "Like a particularly stubborn crop that has finally decided to grow."
Rosanne laughed, a sound of pure, uncomplicated joy, and released her brother's hand. "I must go now. But I will see you both at supper?"
"We will be there," Lillian promised. "Now go. Your evening awaits."
They watched her go—this young woman who had learned to carry herself with grace, who had discovered that fear did not have to be a prison.
"You did well," Lillian said softly, when Rosanne had disappeared into the crowd. "That was not easy for you."
"It was terrifying. I wanted to lock her in a tower and forbid her from speaking to anyone under the age of forty.
" Daniel's voice was dry, but she could hear the emotion beneath it.
"But you were right. She deserves the chance to find her own path.
Even if that path leads somewhere I cannot follow. "
"It is a strange thing, loving someone." Lillian leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body against her shoulder.
"We want to protect them from everything—from pain, from disappointment, from their own mistakes.
But sometimes the best protection is simply stepping back.
Trusting them to be strong enough to face what comes. "
"You sound as though you speak from experience."
"I do. I spent months trying to protect you from yourself, and it accomplished nothing." She smiled up at him. "You had to face your own fears in your own time. I could not do it for you, however much I wanted to."
"You gave me a reason to try." He bent his head, pressing a kiss against her hair; a gesture of intimacy that would certainly fuel tomorrow's gossip, and that Lillian found she did not care about in the slightest. "You gave me something worth fighting for."
"You found your own courage. I merely stood nearby."
"Nearby and slightly exasperated."
"Frequently exasperated. You were remarkably difficult."
"I prefer the term challenging."
"I prefer the term 'maddening.' But we have established that you have poor judgment."
He laughed; a sound she still treasured, even after a year of hearing it more frequently. The Duke of Wyntham, laughing in public. Another impossibility made real.
Across the room, Rosanne was dancing again. A country dance this time, lively and joyful, her face alight with pleasure. Mr. Fielding was watching from the edge of the floor, his expression that of a young man who had seen his future and found it entirely agreeable.
"They would make a good match," Lillian observed. "If it comes to that."
"If it comes to that," Daniel agreed. "But tonight—tonight is not about matches or futures or careful calculations. Tonight is about enjoying the moment." He turned to her, offering his hand once more. "Shall we?"
"Shall we what?"
"Cause another scandal. Dance another dance. Remind all these tedious people that the Duke of Wyntham has a wife he adores and no intention of pretending otherwise."
Lillian looked at his hand; this hand that had trembled when it first reached for hers, that had learned to hold her with confidence and tenderness, that had signed the marriage register one year ago and changed both their lives forever.
"The gossips will be insufferable," she said.
"Let them. We have survived worse than gossip."
"We have survived you."
"I am choosing to take that as a compliment."
"It was not intended as one."
"And yet I am taking it as one anyway." He smiled—that rare, unguarded smile that still made her heart skip. "Dance with me, Lillian. Tonight and every night for the rest of our lives."
She took his hand.
"I suppose I can endure it," she said. "For the rest of our lives."
"The enthusiasm is overwhelming."
"I find that enthusiasm must be carefully rationed, lest you become insufferable."
"I am already insufferable. You married me anyway."
"A decision I question daily."
"And yet here you remain."
"Here I remain." She stepped into his arms as the music began again, and the ballroom spun around them; glittering, noisy, full of people and politics and the endless complications of society.
But in the center of it all, there was only this: two people who had found each other against all odds, who had learned to love without fear, who had discovered that happiness was not a destination but a daily choice.
They danced, and the world watched, and neither of them cared.
The End
Thank You for Reading “The Cold Duke's Heart”, I hope you loved it!I’m so grateful for your support.