Epilogue - Rafe
Hobbling on his crutches, Rafe made his way along the dining room table toward his seat on Derek’s right.
A Derek who was completely oblivious to the rest of the world and staring calf-eyed at his brand-new wife.
Rafe’s heart spasmed, and he inhaled sharply at the shock of pain.
His gaze fell to the floor, jaw clenching.
He was so bloody happy for his best mate, but, fuck, he hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to see it. To see it and know…
He ground his teeth. No. Compartmentalize. He wasn’t going to go there. What was done was done. Rafe had long since learned how to shove the misery life dealt deep, deep down. Where no one could find it. Where he couldn’t feel it. Feel anything. This was just one more thing.
Rafe carefully settled in his seat, and pain instantly radiated through his leg, but he welcomed it.
Welcomed the distraction. His wound was healing well, but Christ did it bloody hurt when it pulled.
Sometimes his muscles felt like they were being shredded apart when he situated his leg a certain way.
“So, what distraction do you have planned for us, Your Grace?” Livy’s soft, lilting tones floated around Derek’s large dark frame, her head popping out from behind her husband.
“Distraction?” What in the blazes was she on about? “And Rafe, please. You’ve married into the family. There’s no need for formality.”
Her smile softened. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, curling his toes in his boots. Emotions were breeding like rabbits in this house as of late. He was still getting used to it. Even if some of them were his own.
“Rafe, then.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “I was told that your present to the happy couple was a distraction.” She threw a smirk at Derek. “I believe there is a broom closet that requires my attention.”
Rafe’s eyebrows jumped up. No simpering, demure chit in this one. No wonder Derek had fallen in love with her.
He glanced at his friend and barely suppressed his eye-roll.
The man was grinning like a schoolboy back at Harrow.
Derek was done for. Rafe's chest hollowed as he studied his best mate’s daft smile, an achingly sad happiness festering there.
Derek deserved this—deserved someone in his corner, to care for him, to be there for him.
“I would never have believed there existed a woman capable of governing the Marquess of Dunmore,” he said quietly. “But, Livy, you have proven me wrong.”
She winked at him. Yes, he liked the chit. She’d be good for Derek.
Derek glanced heavenward, mumbling under his breath. Rafe was fairly certain he caught the word “bastard.” Rafe and Livy exchanged amused glances. Another new thing in Rafe’s life. Amusement. He wasn’t the same man he’d been before going to Ironcrest.
And just like that, the memories hit him: Laughing so hard, his ribs ached, barely able to take in enough air. Ebony-brown eyes dancing back at him, tears of mirth trailing down flushed cheeks. The puff of soft breath coasting over his skin as she buried her laughter into his neck.
He thrust the unwanted memories away, his gaze falling to his lap. To his leg.
His lame leg.
Rafe’s throat tightened. The doctors were optimistic that his leg would still function well enough once healed.
The worst he’d suffer was a limp, possibly requiring a cane to walk.
In other words, his leg would never be the same.
He rubbed his chest. It wasn’t the only thing.
He swallowed down the despair and frustration. Today wasn’t the day to wallow.
He was alive. Rafe glanced back at his friend’s profile. He was with Derek on the most important day of his friend’s life. Being here on this day was a gift he would forever be grateful for. A gift of friendship and family and a future.
The table before him was filled with cheer and chatter, with guests who wore face-splitting smiles and cheeks flushed with laughter. Lady Rutledge leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Rupert’s shoulder as her body shook with mirth. Another man who had found his perfect counterpart.
He glanced away. One thing that was nice about being unconscious? You couldn’t feel the wreckage of a shattered heart.
He turned to the spread before him. The perfect distraction. Fresh steaming rolls, cold meats, savory pies and pastries, and—Rafe’s mouth watered—cakes and tarts and puddings. If weddings meant dessert for breakfast, more people needed to get married.
At that moment, his grandmother turned to face him from where she had previously been laughing with Lord Forester. Their gazes collided, and her warm brown eyes lit up like a match to a taper. A taper he had just swallowed whole by the feeling twisting in his gut.
They had never been especially open about their love for each other, but every time she saw him now, her entire being seemed to glow.
Rafe couldn’t imagine what kind of pain she’d gone through while he’d been on his sickbed.
He looked away, his hands fisting on his thighs.
He would be better from now on. If his accident, if his stay at Ironcrest Castle, had taught him anything, it was that holding on to those who you loved—and who loved you in return—was the most important thing you could do in life.
“I would like to propose a toast.” Grandmother’s strong, clear voice rang through the dining room, and slowly the joyous chatter faded as all heads turned toward her.
“I have known Lord Dunmore for the majority of his life. So long, that I should have a charming nickname for him just as I do Raffy.”
Rafe laughed softly, and chuckles drifted through the guests.
“I shall work on that. However, something that has always been evident to me, which I believe is evident to all in this room, is that despite the hard and intimidating exterior Derek presents, he has always possessed the largest of hearts.”
Derek squirmed next to Rafe, a light blush coloring his sharp cheekbones. Poor bastard. Rafe didn’t envy him being the center of attention, at the center of praise.
“At the mere age of seventeen,” Grandmother continued.
“He provided me and Raffy with a place to stay, safety. He fought to revive a floundering estate, one mired in debt and mismanagement, improving the life of his tenants. And at twenty, he embarked on a venture to help the abandoned, homeless children of London. The woman deserving of that man, well, in my mind she had to be nothing short of extraordinary.”
She turned slightly, her gaze landing directly on Livy.
“It is perhaps the prerogative of every grandmother to believe no woman worthy of her grandson. However, Olivia, my darling, you have far surpassed any woman I could have envisioned for Derek. I am honored to officially welcome you into our family.”
“Hear, hear,” Rafe said gruffly as the table erupted in cheers and whistles. He glanced at Derek, his friend’s green eyes swimming.
Rafe leaned over and whispered to his friend, “Bloody watering pot.” Then he discreetly wiped the corner of his own eye.
Derek grinned. “Hypocritical bastard.”
Rafe grinned back. A full, face-splitting one.
Derek’s smile faltered, and his face tightened, emotion rolling over it in a wave. “Fuck,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen you grin.”
Rafe opened his mouth, desperately searching for a jest to diffuse the weighted moment—
Crash!
The door ricocheted off the wall, and Rogers, their butler, stumbled into the room. He bent over double, hands on his knees, chest heaving. The entire room went silent, attention homing in on the distraught butler.
“What is the meaning of this, Rogers?” Grandmother’s tone was sharp, slicing through the silence.
“Your Grace—” he wheezed, broken by harsh gasps. “Pardon.” He gulped for air. “Interruption.” He dragged in a long draught. “I tried to refuse the woman entry. But she forced—” Another deep inhale. “Two footmen—trying to hold her back now—she is putting up a fight. I ran ahead…to warn you.”
Rafe immediately hefted himself up. Derek was already standing—a much easier task with two functioning legs. They stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, forming a blockade in front of Livy.
“I believe you went a bit overboard on the distraction, Rafe,” Livy murmured from behind them.
“Who, Rogers?” Grandmother commanded, already out of her chair, her spine straightening, looking every inch the duchess she was. “How could a woman possibly get by you and the footmen? Physically restrain her if you must!”
“She says she hails from Ironcrest Castle, Your Grace.” Rogers cast a nervous glance around the room, the whites of his eyes showing. “We are attempting to restrain her. But she is armed with a knife and pistol.”
Before Rafe could blink, Lord Forester rose and stepped in front of Grandmama.
Derek stiffened by Rafe’s side. Reaching inside his jacket, Rafe closed his hand around the handle of a dagger.
A dagger he always kept on his person. He clenched his jaw.
A great help he’d be: a lame duke on crutches with only one functioning arm.
He bared his teeth. But he needed only one arm to wield his blade.
Footsteps thundered down the hall, and every muscle in Rafe’s body steeled over. Ready.
A disheveled woman burst through the doorway of the dining room, her golden-brown hair flying wildly around her face, chignon in tatters. Trembling hands clutched a pistol, the barrel outstretched, swinging wildly. Her wide-eyed gaze darted around the room.
Frantic.
Crazed.
Desperate.
Desperate, until it fixed on Rafe.
Gun trained on him, some of the glazed panic cleared from her eyes.
Ebony-brown eyes.
Rafe stared, dumbfounded. The only thing his broken brain could comprehend was the familiar sweet scent of lavender filling his nose.
His throat worked as he tried to make his mouth form words.
“Theo?”
Thank you so much for reading Livy and Derek's story!