Epilogue
Anne found Dorian in the study as she often did. She leaned against the doorframe without entering, her gloves already fastened.
“You have been finishing that for ten minutes.” She smiled. “Will you be ready to join me soon?”
“I am thorough. You know that.”
“That is one word for it.”
He set down the papers and leaned back slightly in his chair, studying her. “You are early.”
“I was not aware there was a right time for going riding with one’s husband,” she quipped.
“You make an excellent point. I have ledgers to study, but the stables are certainly more important.”
Once, that might have been something he said sarcastically, but it no longer was. He was completely sincere in saying that their time together was more important to him than his work, and he had been for a while.
Anne laughed quietly, crossing the room to his desk to move the papers aside. “Then we are already late. Come.”
They left the house together, the early afternoon light soft over the grounds. The stables were already alive with movement, and when Dorian entered, a groom straightened immediately, then hesitated before speaking.
“Your Grace, Tempest has been prepared as requested.”
“Good.”
The groom lingered for a moment longer than necessary before adding, “He seems in high spirits today.”
“That usually means he is planning something inconvenient,” Dorian replied.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Anne had already moved toward Tempest’s stall, her hand resting lightly against the gate as she looked in. The horse shifted toward her immediately. She was pleased that the bond she shared with him had remained intact despite everything that had changed in the year since her arrival.
“I do not think that riding him is a good idea today,” she sighed. “If he is in such high spirits, it is not particularly conducive to a gentle ride like we planned.”
Dorian stepped closer, watching as she studied him. She did not wish to leave Tempest behind, but she wished to ride beside her husband that day rather than twenty paces ahead.
“We could bring him still,” Dorian suggested. “We could take other horses, and he could join us for some exercise. It might be good for him if he has so much energy today.”
“Are you saying that you trust him enough to be without a rider?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I do,” he replied. “Though I will not pretend that a rider would be able to stop him from racing on ahead.”
“Alright,” she agreed with a laugh.
They mounted a short time later and left the estate at a steady pace, Tempest moving ahead of them at once. The path beyond Ashford Hall opened into familiar countryside, fields stretching outward in soft green layers.
For a while, they rode in companionable silence. Anne broke it first, as she often did.
“There is still talk,” she said.
Dorian did not ask what kind, for he understood. The ton looked kindly upon them for not publicly holding a grudge against Lady Vivian and Holloway.
“There will be for some time.” He nodded.
“Does it bother you?”
“No,” he said after a moment. “But it used to.”
Anne glanced at him. “What changed?”
“Nothing changed,” he answered. “It simply stopped being important enough to shape what I do. Besides, we are in York, so I cannot claim to be interested in what those in London believe.”
That coaxed a small, quiet laugh from her.
They rode farther from the estate, the land gradually opening wider, and Tempest’s energy shifted as they reached a stretch of grassland, his pace quickening.
Dorian made no attempt to call him back, even though Tempest had begun to listen to him. Anne noticed, and she wondered why he was so happy to let it happen.
“You are letting him go.”
“I am aware.”
“That is new.”
“Perhaps, but it has been a long time coming. He has earned my trust a long time ago, and it is only fair that I let him do what he wants.”
Tempest broke into a full gallop, the thud of his hooves cutting cleanly through open ground. Anne’s horse kept pace more steadily beside Dorian, though she did not look unsettled. Instead, she watched with pleasure.
“You are not going to rein him in?” she asked.
“No,” he replied.
“Even though you want to?”
He exhaled slowly, a faint admission rather than denial. “I will always want to, as it would be more convenient, but it is not necessary.”
That satisfied her more than any reassurance would have.
They continued riding until the land began to rise gently, the fields giving way to a slight incline where the countryside opened further still. Tempest slowed down eventually, drifting back toward them, as though he had confirmed what he needed from the space ahead.
Anne guided her horse alongside Dorian’s.
“He trusts you more now,” she said quietly.
Dorian glanced toward Tempest. “Or he has simply learned I am no longer trying to control his every moment.”
The fields below stretched out in quiet layers, the estate somewhere behind them, no longer demanding their attention. Tempest moved ahead again, then slowed down without prompting.
Anne watched him, then turned slightly toward Dorian. “Do you still expect it to fall apart?”
“No,” he replied. “Sometimes, I wonder if it will happen, but I do not expect it. The fear is still there, but it no longer decides anything.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then reached across the small space between them and touched his hand lightly. “Good,” she said.
He closed his fingers around hers and squeezed gently.
The world around them slowly turned golden at the edges. Tempest remained ahead but no longer distant, and the space between everything they had been and everything they were becoming felt comforting.
They did not turn back immediately. Instead, they allowed the ride to carry them further than either of them had planned, following the natural rise of the land until the countryside opened fully beneath them.
The estate was distant enough that they could barely see it. Tempest moved ahead again, but not like he once had. He simply ran because the space allowed him to.
Anne watched him for a moment before speaking. “He looks different when he is not being managed.”
Dorian gave a faint huff of amusement. “He is always being managed.”
“Not by you. You used to hold everything too tightly, especially him.”
He did not respond immediately.
The wind moved between them, carrying the thud of Tempest’s hooves in a rhythm that no longer felt chaotic.
“I thought control was the same as care,” he said eventually.
“And now?”
“Now I think that sometimes stepping back is the best way to show that you care.”
Anne considered that, then nodded once. “That is better.”
“It is unfamiliar,” Dorian added. “But that does not mean it is bad.”
A brief silence settled between them again, and once more Anne was the one to break it.
“Do you remember what you said to me the night you came to Rosemere in the storm? You told me you would rather spend your life terrified beside me than safe without me.”
He looked at her more fully, as though measuring how far they had come from that moment. “I remember.”
“I believed you then,” she said. “Even when I was angry with you. Now I think you were wrong about the first part.”
Dorian’s brow furrowed slightly. “Which part?”
“That it was terror,” she clarified. “I think it was love. You simply did not know how to recognize it without fear attached.”
He did not speak for a moment, only nodding in agreement.
“And you?” he asked, his voice quieter.
Anne sighed. “I was afraid of losing everything I had just learned to want.”
The admission sat between them without strain.
Tempest slowed down again, drifting back toward them as the land began to slope gently downward.
“It is strange,” Anne added after a moment, “knowing that something might end and still not wanting to step away from it. Even so, I think that is part of what makes it so beautiful.”
Eventually, Tempest came back to their side, his pace slowing. Anne smiled at that, steering her horse slightly closer to Dorian’s.
As they began the slow turn back toward Ashford Hall, the estate now visible again in the far distance, she looked ahead before speaking once more.
“It feels like home now,” she murmured.
Dorian followed her gaze. “Yes, it does. It is a strange way to feel about a house I have always lived in, but it is becoming more of a comfort each day.”
The last stretch of the ride was quieter than the rest, as though the world itself had begun to soften in preparation for their return.
Lights appeared in the windows one by one, and although Anne had enjoyed their ride, she was also looking forward to being home again.
They did not have any plans for the evening, but that was what was so appealing about it.
There were no expectations. They could simply remain in the house and do anything they pleased.
Tempest moved just ahead of them with the easy certainty of a horse that had been allowed to be free and had chosen, without pressure, to come back. Dorian watched him for a moment before letting his gaze shift to Anne beside him.
She noticed, as she always did, but she said nothing. She had realized long ago that he did not mean to stare at her, that it was a way of him showing affection.
They reached the gates, eventually. They swung open at a gesture from a groom who bowed slightly as they passed through, no urgency in his movement. It had become common for their staff not to be too tightly wound.
Dorian dismounted first, his boots landing firmly on the gravel path, then stepped forward to take Tempest’s reins as Anne followed. She did not wait for assistance anymore, as he had finally understood that she did not need it.
“You are quieter than usual,” she noted, coming to stand beside him.
“I am always quiet,” he pointed out.
“That is not true,” she said lightly. “You used to fill silence with noise.”
“Now I prefer you to speak first. That way, I know how we are going to handle matters.”
She let out a soft laugh, and the sound seemed to linger in the air longer than it should have.
A stable boy approached to take Tempest, hesitating only briefly before Dorian released the reins. The boy looked surprised by the ease of it, as though he had been expecting more instructions or more control.
“There is no need to overthink it,” Dorian said.
The boy nodded quickly. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Anne watched the exchange, then moved closer to him as the horse was led away.
“You did not correct him,” she said.
“He did not make a mistake.”
“You used to correct everything.”
Dorian looked toward the stables for a moment before answering, “I used to think that was the best way to show that I care.”
Anne did not respond immediately. Instead, she reached out and took his hand. Her fingers were warm against his, and his were steady in a way that no longer surprised her, though it still affected her more than she cared to admit.
They began walking together toward the house, the gravel crunching quietly beneath their shoes, the evening air settling around their shoulders.
“Do you ever think about how strange it is that everything changed so quickly?” Anne asked after a moment.
Dorian considered the question as they walked, the house growing closer with each step.
“No,” he replied. “If anything, I think about how long it took. I wish that I had seen sense immediately, so that we could have been this way from the beginning.”
“You need not punish yourself. After all, if we had not faced difficulties, we would not appreciate our lives now as much as we do.”
As soon as they reached the front steps, the door swung open, and warm light spilled out into the evening. Anne stopped there for a moment, not because she hesitated but because she found herself noticing something she had not expected to feel so clearly.
This was no longer a place she returned to. It was a place she belonged to.
Dorian stepped up beside her, releasing her hand only to brush her shoulder gently with his fingertips as she looked up at the house.
“It feels like home,” she murmured.
Dorian turned slightly toward her. For a moment, he did not speak. He no longer felt the urge to contradict that, no longer felt the need to be protected from the truth of it. He lifted his hand instead, resting it briefly on her back.
“It is,” he agreed softly.
And this time, when they stepped inside together, Anne did not fear that she was mistaken in what she believed, because what she had found in her husband was not something that could be taken away.
The End?