Epilogue #2
“To Brightwater,” she declared, voice sharp and clear. “To second chances. May we bestow them graciously on others and consider ourselves lucky when we are granted the same in our turn.”
The room buzzed with warmth, the kind that came from something more than fire. Catherine sat back, letting it sink in.
Midway through dinner, the dowager cleared her throat with a deliberate sort of drama. “Now, before the brandy, I have a confession to make.”
“Oh dear,” Duncan murmured under his breath.
Catherine arched a brow. “Should we be worried?”
“Always,” he said dryly.
The dowager waited until all eyes turned to her. “You may recall,” she began, “that fateful evening some months ago, during the house party, when our dear duke and duchess found themselves locked together in a certain room.”
Catherine froze, fork halfway to her lips. A murmur spread around the table, followed swiftly by giggles from the children who clearly didn’t understand but knew a secret when they heard one.
Duncan’s head turned sharply toward his grandmother. “Grandmother,” he said in warning.
She ignored him, eyes bright with mischief. “Well, as it happens, it wasn’t a coincidence that jammed the door as was once assumed.”
Helen gasped. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did,” the dowager said, entirely unapologetic. “A woman has to take matters into her own hands when two people insist on being blind to what’s standing directly in front of them.”
Catherine’s jaw dropped. “You locked us in?”
“But…” Duncan spluttered. “When we found ourselves in that room, the Duchess and I didn’t even know each other. We had never been properly introduced.”
The dowager raised her glass again, eyes twinkling.
“You might have been perfect strangers to one another, but I knew of you both. I could see how well your personalities would intertwine, and so, I acted.” She lifted her glass higher.
“I assumed you would get to know each other quite well in that tiny, restrictive space.” She winked at Catherine. “Was I wrong?”
The table erupted in laughter as the Dowager took a dainty sip of her drink. Stephen nearly choked on his wine. Helen was dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. Even Catherine’s father smiled, shaking his head in disbelief.
Catherine turned to Duncan, mortified and amused all at once. “Did you know?”
“Of course not,” he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched. He turned toward the dowager. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“I look forward to it,” she said sweetly.
Catherine pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to contain her laughter. “I can’t believe—”
“Believe it,” Duncan murmured, his tone wry but affectionate. “She’s been meddling since I could walk.”
The dowager leaned back in her chair, looking immensely satisfied. “Well, perhaps I should share my technique with a few friends. A locked room might do wonders.”
When the laughter subsided, Duncan lifted his glass, looking toward his grandmother. “For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “thank you.”
Her brows rose. “For meddling?”
“For sending her in my direction,” he said simply, glancing at Catherine.
Dinner continued with easy warmth. Stories passed down the table—Helen recounting the chaos of her engagement preparations, Stephen telling tales of his students at the university, the dowager interjecting with scandalous gossip that made Catherine laugh until her ribs ached.
When the final plates were cleared, Duncan rose, tapping his glass. “One more surprise, before the night is through.”
The children stilled, eyes wide with anticipation.
“Your Grace?” Mary asked. “Another pudding?”
“Better,” he said. “Wait here.”
He stepped out briefly, returning moments later with two footmen carrying a large crate. Gasps filled the room as the box was set down and opened— inside, a dazzling array of wrapped gifts.
“For us?” Oliver whispered, awestruck.
“For each of you,” Duncan said, smiling faintly. “From the Duchess and me.”
The children crowded around as he handed out presents— wooden toys, dolls, ribbons, tiny books, even a few sweets wrapped in paper. Their shrieks of delight filled the hall.
Catherine watched, her eyes burning with quiet joy. Duncan knelt beside one boy, showing him how to wind the string on a carved wooden horse. The sight of his large hands moving so carefully, the tenderness in his voice, made her heart swell almost painfully.
When the last gift was given and the children were happily playing before the fire, Catherine leaned close. “You planned all this without telling me.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he murmured, eyes warm.
“It’s perfect.”
“So are you.”
She blushed, shaking her head, but her smile gave her away.
The night stretched softly onward—music, laughter, the glow of candles reflected in glass. One by one, the guests retired to their rooms. Helen and Stephen lingered by the door, whispering to each other. The dowager announced her intention to “sleep off the scandal,” leaving them all chuckling.
Finally, the hall grew quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire. Catherine turned to Duncan, who was watching her with that same look he had worn since morning—steady, adoring, impossibly full of promise.
“Shall we?” he asked softly.
She nodded.
Upstairs, their chamber was warm and dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn against the cold. A small evergreen stood by the window, strung with simple white ribbons. On the table near the bed, a little box waited, wrapped neatly in gold paper.
Catherine turned to him, smiling faintly. “You’ve been conspiring again.”
“Only a little,” he said, handing her one of the gifts. “Yours first.”
She unwrapped it carefully. Inside lay a small silver locket, its surface engraved with the Brightwater crest— a dove in flight. She opened it and found two tiny portraits within: one of him, the other of the children gathered in the garden.
Her breath caught. “Duncan…”
“So, you never forget what you built,” he said softly.
She reached up, cupping his face. “As if I ever could.”
“Your turn,” she whispered, handing him a small package.
He opened it and stilled. Inside lay a compass, the casing worn but beautifully polished. On the underside, an inscription read:
For the man who always finds his way home.
Duncan clutched the gift to his chest, then laid it gently on the side table. “My home. My heart. My…”
Catherine reached for him, and he stopped talking midsentence. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”
He stilled, brow furrowing slightly. “What is it?”
She moved his hand along with her own and placed them both against her stomach. “I’m with child.”
For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Then his eyes widened, wonder overtaking everything else.
“You—” He broke off, laughing softly in disbelief. “Catherine, are you certain?”
She nodded, tears filling her eyes. “The physician confirmed it.”
“I love you,” Duncan whispered.
“And I you.”
Duncan pulled her into a hug and encased her in his warmth.
Catherine closed her eyes and relished the feeling of him, her husband.
She knew she would remember this moment, the strength of his arms, the peace in his eyes, and the miracle growing within her, as the truest Christmas gift she would ever receive.
The End?