The Duke’s Forever Companion – Extended Epilogue

The garden was warm, and Honora had been writing for hours. She sat on the old stone bench at the Hale Manor. The lavender was in full bloom now, filling the air with its sweet, calming scent, and the roses had finally grown strong.

Her notebook lay open on her lap, and her pen moved across the page in quick, confident strokes. She was writing about a thimble again. Not the same one from the story she had once read to David in the library.

This was a different thimble, a golden one passed down through generations of women. Each owner had left her mark on it…a scratch here, a dent there, a tiny engraving. By the time it reached the last woman in the line, it was barely recognizable as gold anymore. But she loved it anyway.

The sound of carriage wheels on the drive pulled her from the page.

She looked up. A carriage was making its way up the long approach, dust rising behind it in a golden cloud. She recognized the crest on the door immediately. The Skeffington crest. David had chosen to keep it, even after everything that had happened, because it was his name and his history, and he wanted to build something new on top of the old.

The carriage came to a stop. The door opened.

The dowager climbed out before the footman could reach her, which was impressive for a woman of her age and the width of her gown.

“The roads are a disaster,” The dowager announced to no one in particular. “Who is responsible for the roads in this county? They should be shot.”

David appeared behind her, his face caught somewhere between exasperation and deep affection.

“Good afternoon to you too, Grandmother.”

“Do not ‘good afternoon’ me. I have been rattling around in that carriage for two hours. My bones have been rearranged. I am not the same woman who left this morning.”

“You look the same to me.”

“Then you are not paying attention.” The dowager’s sharp gaze swept over the house, the windows, and the hedges lining the drive. She sniffed. “The hedges are uneven.”

“They are fine.”

“They are uneven. I can see it from here. The left side is higher than the right.”

“That is because the left side gets more sun.”

“That is an excuse, not an explanation.” She marched toward the front door, her cane striking the gravel with every step. “I am going inside. Someone bring me tea. And biscuits. The good ones, not the ones that taste like cardboard.”

She disappeared through the door without another word.

David turned toward Honora.

Their eyes met across the garden, and for a moment neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. A year of marriage had taught them how to read each other’s silences. A year of learning one another, of building something new on the wreckage of the past. She smiled. He smiled back, then followed the dowager inside.

The house was alive.

That was the first thing Honora always noticed when she stepped in from the garden. The Hale estate had stood empty and cold for so long, waiting for someone to breathe life back into its walls. Now it was full of voices, footsteps, and the cheerful clatter of dishes from the kitchen.

Mary stood in the entrance hall, directing a young footman who was carrying a tall stack of linens. Her dress was plain but neat, her hair pinned back with the practical efficiency that came from years of hard work. She had been the housekeeper for six months now and wore the role as though she had been born for it.

“The blue linens go in the east wing,” she was saying. “The white ones in the west. And for the love of God, do not mix them up again. I spent three hours sorting them last time.”

“Yes, Mrs. Birks.”

“It is Miss. I am not married.”

The footman blushed and hurried away.

Mary turned and saw Honora. Her expression softened into a smile. “There you are. I was beginning to think you had run off to join the circus.”

“I was writing.”

“You are always writing. One day you will write something that gets us all in trouble.”

“I already did,” Honora replied. “It is called a marriage certificate.”

Mary laughed. “Fair point.”

Allan emerged from the study with a stack of papers in his hand. He had grown into his role as estate manager, though he still wore his cravat slightly crooked and his coat never quite sat right on his shoulders. He was frowning at the top sheet, muttering under his breath.

“…and the supplier is claiming we did not pay for the last shipment, which is absurd because I have the receipt right here, signed and dated, and if he thinks he can—”

“Allan,” Mary interrupted.

He looked up. “What?”

“The supplier.”

“What about him?”

“Did you handle it?”

“I am handling it. I am holding the evidence in my hand. I am about to write him a letter that will make him wish he had never been born.”

Mary crossed her arms. “You have been saying that for three days.”

“Good letters take time.”

“Good letters take an afternoon. You are stalling.”

“I am not stalling. I am crafting.”

“You are avoiding.”

Allan sighed. “Fine. I will write the letter. But I am going to be very unpleasant about it.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

He turned and walked back into the study. Mary watched him go, and there was something soft and warm in her expression that Honora recognized. It was the same look she used to see in her own mirror before she and David had finally admitted what they felt for each other.

“You are staring,” Honora teased.

“I am not staring.”

“You were staring.”

“I was considering the most efficient way to handle the supplier situation.”

“You were watching him walk away.”

Mary’s cheeks flushed. “He has a nice walk.”

“He has a nice everything.”

Mary turned to her, eyes wide. “Did you just—”

“I am just saying,” Honora smiled. “If you are going to stare, at least be honest about it.”

Mary opened her mouth to respond, but Seth came through the front door before she could.

He was dressed for riding, boots dusty, hair windblown, coat unbuttoned. He looked like a man who had been on the road for hours and had enjoyed every minute of it.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked.

“You missed lunch,” Mary said.

“Good. I hate lunch. Lunch is for people who have nothing better to do.”

He walked past them toward the kitchen. Honora heard him open a cupboard, rummage around, and emerge with a biscuit.

“These are excellent,” he called out. “Who made these?”

“Cook,” Mary replied.

“Tell her I said they are excellent.”

“Tell her yourself.”

Seth appeared in the doorway, biscuit in hand. “I would, but she frightens me.”

“She is a perfectly pleasant woman.”

“She looks at me like she is calculating how much I weigh.”

“That is because she is. She is trying to figure out how much to feed you.”

Seth took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Fair point.”

He settled into a chair near the window, stretching his legs out. “I have news.”

“Good news or bad news?” David asked, coming down the stairs.

“I do not know yet. It could go either way.”

“That is not helpful.”

“I am not a helpful person. I am a charming person. There is a difference.”

David sat down across from him. “Tell me.”

Seth leaned forward. “I have taken on two new cases. Corruption in neighboring cities. One involves a magistrate who has been accepting bribes for years. The other involves a landlord who has been evicting tenants and stealing their belongings.”

“How did you find these cases?”

“People heard about the Hale investigation. They started writing to me. Letters, mostly. Some of them were desperate.” Seth’s voice softened. “Some of them have been waiting for years for someone to listen.”

David was quiet for a moment. “And you are going to help them?”

“I am going to try.”

“That is all anyone can do.”

Seth nodded. He looked down at the biscuit in his hand. “I have found my calling,” he said. “For the first time in my life, I mean it. This is what I was supposed to do.”

David reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. “I am proud of you.”

“As you should be.”

David just rolled his eyes.

Peter was waiting for David near the doorway. Honora couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she saw the easy way they stood close together, heads bent in conversation. Something quiet and familiar passed between them. Then David laughed, and Peter laughed with him.

The ease between them was visible now. It filled the space around them like warm sunlight.

Peter clapped David on the shoulder and disappeared down the corridor. David turned and caught Honora watching.

“What?” he said, smiling.

“Nothing.”

“You are staring.”

“I am admiring.”

He crossed the room and took her hand. “Admiring what?”

“You. Him. The way you are together now. It is different from before.”

“I stopped being an idiot.”

“You stopped pretending.”

He kissed her forehead. “Same thing.”

In the afternoon, the dowager found Honora back in the garden. She had been writing again, notebook open on her lap, completely absorbed in her story. The sun was warm on her shoulders, and the lavender smelled sweet. She didn’t hear the old woman approach until the dowager spoke.

“What are you writing?” The dowager asked.

Honora looked up. The dowager stood over her, cane in hand, white hair glowing in the afternoon light.

“A story,” Honora said.

“What kind of story?”

“The second collection. My first book came out a few months ago.”

“I know. I read it.”

Honora blinked. “You did?”

“I did. It was adequate.”

“High praise.”

“It was not praise. It was an observation. The stories were good. The handwriting was terrible. You should hire someone to copy them for you.”

Honora laughed. “I will take that under advisement.”

The dowager sat down on the bench beside her. “What is this one about?”

“A thimble.”

“A thimble?”

“A golden thimble passed down through generations of women. Each one adds a scratch or a dent. By the time it reaches the last woman, it is barely recognizable as gold. But she loves it anyway.”

The dowager was quiet for a moment. “That is surprisingly sentimental for you.”

“I am surprisingly sentimental these days.”

“Marriage has softened you.”

“Marriage has made me happy. There is a difference.”

The dowager nodded slowly. Then she asked, “What have you heard about Philippa?”

Honora set down her pen. “She is living in the north with distant relations. Her assets were seized. Her position is gone. She has nothing.”

“Good.”

“She tried to write to David. He returned the letter unopened.”

“Good.”

“He says he has nothing to say to her.”

“He is right.” The dowager looked out at the garden. “I failed. I should have seen what she was doing. I should have stopped her.”

“You could not have known.”

“I am the Dowager Duchess. It was my house. My family. I should have protected them.”

“You protected me.” Honora took her hand. “When I was at Halworth, you were kind to me. You trusted me. You held my hand and told me stories about your husband. That is what I remember. Not what you failed to do. What you did.”

The dowager’s eyes were bright. “You are a good girl.”

“I am a grown woman.”

“You are a good woman.” The dowager squeezed her hand. “Now bring me tea. I am thirsty.”

Honora laughed. “Yes, my lady.”

That evening, the house had grown quiet. Mary and Allan were walking in the garden, their voices drifting through the open window. Honora could hear Mary laughing at something Allan had said, followed by his low, warm response. She smiled and turned back to the room.

David was standing by the window, watching them.

“They are going to get married,” he said.

“I know.”

“He does not know yet.”

“He will figure it out eventually.”

“Soon, I hope. The tension is unbearable.”

Honora crossed the room and stood beside him. He took her hand, his fingers warm and familiar around hers.

“I am pregnant,” she said softly.

David went very still.

His hand tightened around hers. His breath caught. He stared at her as though he hadn’t quite understood the words and needed to hear them again.

“I am pregnant,” she repeated gently.

“You are—”

“Yes.”

He was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. “We are going to have a baby.”

“We are going to have a baby.”

He pulled her into his arms and held her so tightly she could barely breathe. His face was pressed into her hair, and she could feel his heart pounding against her chest.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes were bright with joy, but then something shifted. The joy flickered, and fear took its place.

“What if I am not a good father?” he asked.

“David—”

“The episodes. They have grown less frequent. Months now between them instead of days. But they have not disappeared. You know that.”

“I know.”

“What happens when a child is crying in the night, and a sound triggers me? What happens when my hands shake, and our son or daughter is watching? What happens when they are old enough to understand and they see their father fall apart?”

Honora took his face in her hands. She held him gently, the way he had once held her in this very garden when she could not breathe.

“We have fought worse than this,” she said. “And we are still here. We are still standing. We are still together.”

He shook his head.

“The episodes do not make you weak,” she continued. “They will not make you a bad father. Do you know what makes a bad father? A man who does not try. A man who does not care. A man who walks away when things get hard.”

“I have walked away before.”

“You have come back. Every time. You have come back.”

He looked at her. The fear did not vanish entirely. It still lingered behind his eyes. But something else steadied him now. Something that looked like hope.

“We face it together,” she said. “The way we have faced everything. Whatever comes, we fight it side by side.”

He kissed her, his hands coursing through her hair, and then he pulled back and pressed his forehead against hers.

“Side by side,” he whispered.

“Side by side.”

He smiled. It was a small smile, fragile and trembling, but it was real.

“We are going to have a baby,” he said again. “And I am going to be a father.”

“You are going to be a wonderful father.”

“You do not know that.”

“I know you.” She kissed him softly. “And I know that you will love our child the way you love me. Completely. Fiercely. Without reservation.”

He closed his eyes. His arms tightened around her.

“I love you,” he said.

“I know.”

“I am going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

“You already have.”

They stood together in the quiet room, the garden dark beyond the window, the voices of Mary and Allan fading into the night. The future stretched out before them…uncertain, bright, and theirs.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of them was afraid.

THE END