Sinclair pressed his head to hers. Life was short, and the future was uncertain, but while he had the chance, he would live life to the fullest—with the only woman who had a chance to hold his heart forever.
Epilogue
Grafton Park
December 1815
* * *
“The weather has turned.”
“Hmm,” Sinclair murmured sleepily, and then pulled the blankets higher about them both. “They predict heavy falls by tomorrow morning, I hear.”
Kitty turned to look at her husband. “Who says that?”
“Old John by the brook.”
She shook her head. “Mr. Cook was always more reliable.”
“He is when he is sober,” Sinclair muttered before slithering entirely under the covers. “He hardly ever is now.”
“The man lost his wife. He has taken it very hard. They were together for a long time.”
There was a minute of silence, and then, “Did you miss Forbes like that?”
“I did miss him, but he is gone, and that is all you need to know about him.”
Sinclair sighed heavily. “Quite right.”
Many things had changed at Grafton Park in the last thirty years. Coming back had stirred up so many old and painful memories for her. She never used the bridge that led to her former home. In fact, the house was not there anymore. A fire had destroyed it ten years ago, she’d been told, and she had only seen the grounds from a distance.
Aside from those first unsettling recollections, she was happy to be here again. Glad to be married to Sinclair. There were not many of the locals who were truly astonished the duke had married her. If they thought her unworthy, they kept those feelings to themselves. She had been one of them, and she had not taken to holding her new rank over anyone.
There had been a bit of a celebration upon their return to the estate. A country dance following a picnic for all the tenant farmers to come and greet Kitty. But then the estate residents had settled back into familiar routines and rhythms as if nothing momentous had occurred, until today. Kitty had found her feet quickly as the mistress of this grand old house. The housekeeper had been a friend of hers once, after all.
As for how society had taken the news that the Duke of Exeter had finally married, well that was another matter entirely.
After the notice had appeared in the Times, letters had begun to arrive from concerned members of the ton—both to Grafton House in London and to Grafton Park too. Kitty had read a few herself . Some begged for assurance that Sinclair had not actually married. That it was all a lie and some even promised they would get to the bottom of it for him.
When Sinclair had not answer anyone, because they would have been still traveling at that time, a number of gentlemen took it upon themselves to come pounding on his London door. Of course they could not see him there, so Bow Street runners had been sent to track them down.
On their journey Scotland, Sinclair had penned letters to both his nephew, Lord Ettington, and to the Duke of Baxter and to the Prince Regent too but they did not arrive soon enough to stop the pursuit. It had been much too late to halt the runners who arrived to interrupt their dinner one night on the English coast before the crossing could take place. Once assured the duke was perfectly safe and sound, and on his honeymoon no less, the runners rushed to depart for London again with their tails between their legs.
Poor Sinclair had been so embarrassed by the fuss that had been made of him marrying that he’d vowed to vote by proxy for the next year. Kitty refused to support that decision and they’d retired early that night, to debate the matter in bed.
After that interruption, they not been bothered again.
Willa had written to Kitty in Ireland and share how the ladies of the ton had taken the news.
Not well.
Willa reported that there was more than one broken hearted lady in her acquaintance, some still sobbing their eyes out months later.
And today, they were now on the cusp of hosting the house party Sinclair had planned in meticulous detail for so many months. Guests would begin arriving today for his birthday celebrations, and Kitty was almost as excited as Sinclair about that.
The only real alteration to Sinclair’s plans was that Percy and Felicity had taken up residence in the dower house instead of the cottage. Now that had stirred up feelings among those who remembered her brother. They were quite worried about when he would blow it up.
She looked back at Sinclair and pulled the sheets from his face. “We should get up. Percy will need to be badgered to put in an appearance, too.”
“But I am just starting to get the hang of sleeping late.”
“Well, I am getting up.”
Sinclair’s hands shot out, captured her, and pulled her back under the covers with him. “Oh no, you are not.”
She looked at the man she loved and shook her head at him. “You say that every morning.”
“And every morning, I manage to convince you to stay in bed with me a little longer. Besides, Teddy is here now. If anyone comes before midday, he will take care of them.”
Teddy was still wearing livery but the young man had whispered to Kitty that he planned to give Sinclair the perfect birthday present—he planned to out himself as the duke’s heir during the final ball, just before the fireworks.
“He is not the host of your little party. You are.”
“We are. I need my beauty rest more than you do. I am the eldest.”
She laughed. Sinclair could be so ridiculous about his age and his looks. “You are as handsome as ever.”
“And you are divine.” He moved her beneath him, and his lips dropped to her chest. He rained light kisses on her skin, moving her nightgown so he could kiss her breast. “Will you still love me when my looks are gone?” he asked suddenly.
“Forever, my beloved,” she promised. “But I did not actually marry you for your looks.”
“My money?”
“No, do not be foolish.” She smoothed back his hair from his face, admiring his sheepish smile. “And not for your title, either.”
“So you must love me for my sense of humor then.”
She stole a kiss. “I married you for that great heart of yours, and so I could give you mine again.”
He brushed against her, moving restlessly, and kissed her deeply. When he drew back, his eyes were filled with love and desire. “Love will find a way no matter how long it takes.”
“Thirty years was almost too long,” Kitty whispered, and then pulled him down and kissed him soundly. “I will love you for the rest of my life and yours, I swear.”
Sinclair grinned and pulled the covers over their heads. In the sudden darkness, he whispered, “I will show you how, if you will let me love you again.”
“You never need ask that question,” she whispered back, as the reason they needed to get up was entirely forgotten for another hour.
Dear Reader…
I hope you enjoyed THE DUKE'S HEART, book 11 in the Distinguished Rogues series. Now that you’ve reached the end of this story, I’d love for you to write a review. I understand writing reviews is time consuming, but they are so important and appreciated and help other readers find new stories. I hope you’ll also consider posting yours on Goodreads, Bookbub and on retail sites everywhere.
Also look for Romancing the Earl, book 12 in the series, February 2020. It's available to pre-order today.
Cheers and thank you for reading.
Heather
What to read next…
If you enjoyed The Duke's Heart make sure you don't miss the Winter Wishes Anthology which has a brand new Distinguished Rogues novella inside…
* * *
ONE ENCHANTED CHRISTMAS
~ An Excerpt ~
* * *
Lady Meg Stockwick covered her cold nose and mouth again and blew out a breath, hoping to warm her face a little bit. Meg was not used to traveling in the winter months. She was not used to traveling at all really. She
was doing her best not to become an icicle.
Her brother was to blame for her discomfort, not that he seemed to care.
Until recently, she’d never had reason to venture from the family home on the coast of Dorset. But it was Hector’s home now; her brother had assumed control of their father’s estate and title upon his death, and she was supposed to obey the new viscount—even if she couldn’t seem to stop questioning his decisions.
“It’s not too late to turn back,” Meg told him urgently as Hector’s new traveling chariot began the slow descent into yet another blindingly white valley. “We could be home by Christmas morning.”
“It certainly is too late. We’re almost there,” her brother assured her as he scrubbed the damp from the window with his fist. “You will enjoy yourself.”
Meg doubted that as she huddled more deeply into her coverings. The sun had come out to shine at last and brought with it Hector’s enthusiasm for new surroundings. He had been saying she’d enjoy herself repeatedly for the last day, and she was still quite sure he was wrong. Spending the anniversary of the worst month of her life in Derbyshire, at the home of a terrible rogue, was not her idea of fun.
“We should still celebrate Christmas the way we always have,” Meg insisted, determined to win her brother over. “In our home. I had everything in hand before you arrived.”
“Next year you can do as you wish,” he promised. “But this year I have other plans than sitting in Dorset all alone.”
Meg shivered, wishing her brother had stayed in London. His return had heralded an upset of all her plans for the holidays. And now she was here, far from home and all she’d ever known. Meg had heard nothing good about her brother’s closest friend in the past few years and now she would be forced into close proximity with him for weeks.
She had known Lord Clement as a boy, but it had been a decade since she’d lain eyes on him. She had heard enough to form a clear picture of his character though. Lord Clement was often gallivanting about London with her brother, too important to visit their little coastal village. Meg believed him to be a terrible influence on her older brother.
She heaved a heavy sigh. There was only one thing to look forward to this holiday. Lady Vyne, the rogue’s mother, was certain to be better company. Lady Vyne had written Meg many comforting letters in recent years following the death of her mother and then her father so soon after.
Hector suddenly began gathering his possessions—book, handkerchief, and a pouch of sweet meats he’d procured along the way—and stuffed them into a leather satchel he’d kept at his side for the entire trip.
Meg hugged her book close to her chest. “Mother and Father are still with us in spirit,” she argued.
Hector shifted forward to stare at her, his expression grave. “If Mother and Father are spirits as you continue to claim, and watching over us as well, then surely they’ve heard our itinerary many times from your own lips and will have hitched a ride.”
Meg wished that might be so. Did ghosts ever take a holiday? “That is how they met. Father climbed into the wrong carriage, and they fell in love.”
“By the time they reached the fourth turnpike,” Hector said softly.
“Love at first sight.” Meg wanted so much to believe in the impossible right now. Even though she had Hector still, she felt very alone without her parents. There was no one to tell her secrets to and no one who gave her theirs to keep. Two years of death, first her mother and then her father, and the constant period of mourning had been hard to bear for everyone. Her closest friends had married and moved away to start new lives with their husbands already. She had lost touch with all but a few.
Hector had been away in London when their father had died, but he had rushed home to be with her for the burial. He had not stayed long, traveling back to London to meet with Lord Clement while she had mourned alone.
And now Hector insisted she must travel with him. In the winter!
“Cheer up, old thing,” Hector said. “Who knows what might happen during the holidays.”
Nothing good, she suspected. Not if Lord Clement was anywhere in the vicinity of her brother. She might not see much of Hector either. That was not how she wanted to see out the year.
Meg huddled farther beneath the warm furs, trying to resign herself to the fate her brother had forced upon her. “I’m still in mourning,” she reminded him. “Even if you forbid me to be.”
He shoved his satchel aside roughly. “It was past time!”
Meg glared at him. “Papa deserved to be mourned for a full year as we did with Mother. Six months is hardly long enough.”
“Enough is enough,” he cried, smacking his fist on his thigh. “You will do as I say, and be grateful I care enough to take you to visit my friends at all. I am the head of our family and you will enjoy yourself.” Her brother scowled. “I insist you make merry.”
Meg glared at him. “You cannot make me pretend.”
Hector pinched the bridge of his nose, a sure sign she was trying his patience. “You will not embarrass me by spoiling Christmas for Lord Clement and I.”
Meg pressed her lips together tightly, affronted that Hector thought more of Lord Clement’s happiness than hers. “You don’t seem to care what I want anymore,” she grumbled even though knowing she was being difficult. This trip had been a tax on her nerves. She’d barely slept last night in yet another strange bed.
She slumped in her seat as her eyes pricked with the threat of tears. There were days she did not like her brother. He gambled away his fortune and spent far too many nights out in society. His improved situation had gone to his head. She’d also heard gossip he had a woman in London too—the sort Mama had whispered must never be acknowledged.
“I do care. Very much, and it is high time I did right by you and brought you out in society.” Hector nodded. “Gentleman have to see you in order to ask to marry you.”
Meg blushed at the idea of marrying a stranger. Hector was all for that. “You speak such nonsense. No one will notice me here.”
“On the contrary, Lady Vyne is sure to host at least one dinner during our stay. There’s a village not far from the manor house, too, and we will be here until after Twelfth Night don’t forget. Anything can happen in that amount of time.”
Meg turned up her nose. “That village has an alehouse, I assume?”
Hector grinned widely. “Every village tends to have at least one. Gentlemen come for miles around and some of them call on Lady Vyne, and Clement, too. They will assist with any introductions if they deem the connection suitable.”
He had an answer for everything. “As if Lord Clement would stir himself on my behalf.”
Hector chuckled. “He’s a good friend.”
“I thought I was that to you once,” Meg grumbled.
“You’re worse. You’re my unmarried little sister. It is required that I adore you,” Hector teased, grinning as he tapped her nose. “Even when you are out of sorts. If the signs of merriment bother you so much, just try not to scowl at everyone for the duration of our stay. Don’t spoil Christmas for the rest of us. Mother and Father would hate to know you were so miserable.”
She heaved a heavy sigh. Hector was probably right, but Mother and Father had made this time of year special. She had hoped to do the same but for Hector instead. “I will do my best. To honor their memory.”
Hector turned his attention back to the view. “Excellent.”
Meg glanced out the foggy windowpane, too. It wasn’t Hector’s way to let grief smother his good spirits. He had lived away from home for a long time. He’d not borne the worry of caring for either of their parents as they had declined.
He meant this trip as a way to end their mourning.
Meg might never end hers, no matter what happened. Her life had not been the same since her mother and then her father had passed, and it could never improve.
Frustrated that her breath had fogged the window again, she rubbed a circle on the pane with her fist
and glared at the rolling fields of white powder until she realized she was looking down at their destination.
The manor on The Vynes estate, a widespread yellow stone structure, sat at the end of a long, winding road. Snowy mounds hiding what might be garden shrubbery dotted the landscape, bordered by low stone walls around the dwelling. But everything that could be pretty or green was hidden beneath inches of snow. There was no warmth here.
Meg desperately missed the rolling blue of the sea and the sound of crashing waves upon the shore near her home. It had been three days since she’d been bundled into this carriage, and two uncomfortable nights sleeping at posting houses along the way.
She focused her gaze back on the nearing house with a sense of foreboding. The family they were visiting were a good bit wealthier than they were, and it was a larger family, too. Lord Clement had a mother and father, Lord and Lady Vyne, a younger pair of unmarried sisters, and an infant brother as well. It was going to be a noisy few weeks in the country, and awkward to be with another family.
But Hector grinned as the carriage began to travel around the circular drive that would bring them to a stop before an impressive pair of oak doors. “Ready to dash inside and begin to make merry?”
“If my legs haven’t gone numb yet.” She smiled with false brightness. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
But there was little chance this was going to be a happy Christmas. Meg was sure it might just be the worst ever.
* * *
More information…
The Distinguished Rogues Series
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The rogue she can’t have is the only one she wants.
The Duke's Heart Page 22