A Duke’s Love for a Dressmaker – Extended Epilogue

Julia sat at the open window of her private sitting room in the east wing of Griffinwich Manor, the soft spring breeze fluttering through the lace curtains.

In her lap rested a swaddled infant with downy dark curls and a peaceful expression, despite the quiet hum of activity that drifted up from the gardens below.

Sarah and Margaret were arranging ribbons on white-linen tables, fluttering about in excitement for the garden fête that would commence at noon.

The celebration meant to honor both Julia’s twenty-fifth birthday and the birth of her second child, had been in preparation for weeks—and somehow, they’d still found a reason to add more flowers that morning.

“Do you think she’ll sleep through her own party?” came a familiar voice from the doorway.

Julia looked up and smiled at her husband, who stood leaning against the carved doorframe with his coat unbuttoned, the cravat at his neck slightly loosened. The ever-dignified Duke of Griffinwich had grown more relaxed in the past few years, particularly when inside the walls of his home. Especially with Julia.

“I daresay she might,” Julia replied, glancing down at their daughter. “She seems to possess your ability to tune out society.”

James chuckled, stepping into the room. “And here I was hoping she’d have your liveliness instead. Heaven help us if she becomes as brooding as her father.”

“She won’t,” Julia said with a teasing smile. “She’s far too beloved by everyone already. Sarah hardly puts her down, and your mother speaks to her as though she understands everything.”

James leaned over and kissed the crown of his daughter’s head before lowering himself into the armchair across from his wife. “Sarah is enjoying being an aunt almost as much as she enjoys being a wife.”

“Speaking of which,” Julia said, raising a brow, “your dear sister and Mr. Edward Bellamy seem to have no interest in producing a niece or nephew. At this rate, our children will have to do all the work of populating the next generation alone.”

James smirked. “They’re only just coming up on their second anniversary. Give them time.”

“I’m only teasing,” Julia replied. “Though Edward has been a calming influence on her.”

“True. I used to think no man would ever possess enough sense to handle Sarah, but he’s rather well suited to the task.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the gentle rustle of leaves and distant birdsong lulling them into a peace that only years of shared laughter and hardship could bring.

After a moment, James reached for Julia’s hand. “You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “when I look at you like this… when I see you here, with our daughter in your arms, I cannot fathom how I ever doubted what we could be.”

Julia gave him a fond smile, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Because you were a nobleman and I was just a dressmaker?”

He winced slightly, but then nodded. “Yes. And I was an idiot.”

“You were.” She leaned forward and kissed him gently. “But I loved you anyway.”

Their daughter gave a small sigh in her sleep, and Julia looked down at her again, a soft glow of pride and tenderness lighting her features. “Do you think Buttercup will behave today?” she asked suddenly.

James groaned. “Not likely. Last time she stole an entire roast quail off someone’s plate and hid under the tablecloth.”

“And yet your mother still insists she be allowed to attend every family event.”

“She says it would upset the harmony otherwise,” he said, rising to his feet. “Come. Let’s introduce our daughter to the world. Before Buttercup eats the cake.”

The gardens at Griffinwich Manor had never looked more splendid.

Pale pink and ivory roses, carefully trimmed hedges, and silk bunting in gentle hues of lilac and gold decorated the hedgerows and trellises. Long tables were laid with fine linen and set with gleaming silver and porcelain. Guests in colorful spring attire mingled among the flowerbeds, enjoying cordial and cucumber sandwiches while footmen weaved through with trays of tarts and tea.

Lady Sarah Bellamy—still youthful, elegant, and full of energy—was the very picture of happiness as she swept through the crowd, introducing her friends to one another and beaming at every mention of her new niece. “You must meet her,” she declared to nearly everyone. “She is the most perfect child ever born.”

Julia, standing at James’s side, blushed and laughed as she handed her daughter to Margaret for a turn. “You’ll spoil her before she’s old enough to even hold a spoon,” she teased.

Margaret, looking quite content with the infant nestled in her arms, gave a rare soft smile. “It’s a grandmother’s privilege, I’m told.”

Buttercup, naturally, was causing a stir at the far end of the lawn. Having escaped her lead, she was being chased—ineffectively—by a pair of footmen after leaping into the decorative fountain. Children shrieked with laughter, and one of the twins belonging to Sarah’s friend from Bath tripped in the grass trying to catch her.

“I give it ten minutes before she steals someone’s pudding,” Julia murmured, taking James’s arm.

“I give it five,” he replied dryly. “She’s gotten faster with age.”

Julia looked around at the happy gathering, her eyes scanning for one particular face. “I still find it odd that your cousin Lord Lennox was not invited,” she said after a moment, her voice lowered.

James’s mouth twisted. “It is not odd. He tried to convince you to ruin my life and then publicly insulted you when you refused. I daresay he will never again find himself welcome at Griffinwich.”

“Last I heard, he was in Paris,” she said. “Likely gambling away whatever funds he still had.”

“He wrote to Mother once. She did not answer.” James exhaled and looked at her. “Some people don’t deserve second chances, love. Not when they’ve proven themselves again and again to be a threat to others’ happiness.”

Julia nodded, grateful for his protective nature, even now. “I suppose I just wanted to be sure.”

“Besides,” James added, lowering his voice, “you’ve more than earned your place here. Not a soul in this garden sees you as anything less than a duchess. Not even my mother, who, if you recall, once thought Tiffany Beaumont a better match.” He arched a brow at that.

“Oh, dear,” Julia whispered, laughing. “Whatever became of her, anyway?”

“I believe she married a viscount from Kent who moved her immediately to Scotland. Far, far away.” James grinned. “Peace on earth was restored.”

At that moment, Sarah arrived with Edward in tow and took Julia’s hand. “Come with me,” she said. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Julia blinked. “Now?”

“Yes. Edward and I prepared something. James knows.”

With a quick smile at her husband, who nodded in encouragement, Julia followed Sarah across the garden, past the guests and around the hedge toward the far edge of the estate—toward the old nursery windows.

Julia’s brows furrowed. “What is this?”

“You’ll see.”

And with that, Sarah stepped aside and gestured toward the building.

A beautifully hand-painted sign now hung above the refurbished door:
“Miss Julia’s Sewing Room – For Ladies of Refinement and Ambition”

Julia stared at the sign, her mouth falling open. “Sarah,” she whispered, blinking back sudden tears. “What is this?”

Her sister-in-law beamed. “It’s yours. A proper space. You always said you missed working with your hands. And I thought—well, we thought—you might like a room again. For sewing. Designing. Teaching, even. There are so many girls in the village who admire you.”

James came up beside her then, having followed behind, his hands in his pockets and a smile playing on his lips. “It was your idea, truly. You just never said it aloud.”

Julia swallowed hard. “You took the old nursery and—”

“Remade it,” Sarah said proudly. “Edward and I oversaw it while you were expecting. We kept it a secret. It has everything: your mannequin from Cheapside, a full wall of fabrics, a proper cutting table, and an embroidery frame from Paris. Mama even donated one of her old dress forms.”

“And the light,” James added softly. “You always said the light in that room was your favorite.”

Julia stepped forward on shaky legs and opened the door. Warm spring light spilled across the wooden floorboards, now polished and gleaming. Bolts of fabric lined the far wall, arranged by color, and a sturdy oak table had been placed beneath the tall windows.

An armchair rested in the corner, next to a bookcase already stocked with pattern books, journals, and pencils. Her sewing box—the one her mother gave her when she turned thirteen—sat waiting atop the desk.

The sight of it nearly undid her.

She turned around and threw her arms around Sarah. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s perfect.”

“I thought you might want a place that’s all your own again,” Sarah said gently. “Somewhere to dream.”

James joined them and took Julia’s hand. “We thought about making it a greenhouse,” he said playfully, “but you’re not especially gifted with plants.”

“I’m not especially gifted with surprises, either,” Julia replied, dabbing her eyes. “I might cry again.”

“Then we’ll cry with you,” Sarah said.

They laughed, and Julia stood in the center of the room, taking it all in. The scent of lavender sachets and beeswax polish hung in the air, and the window was open just enough for the soft sounds of the fête to drift in.

“What will you call your first design?” James asked.

Julia glanced down at her wedding ring and then at her daughter—who was now waddling unsteadily toward the door under Margaret’s careful eye.

“The Isabella,” she said after a moment.

James raised a brow. “After your childhood doll?”

She smiled. “No. After the name I would’ve given my daughter if she hadn’t been born a duchess. It was the name I whispered when I didn’t think I’d ever have all this.”

A hush settled between them for a moment, and then James bent to kiss her cheek. “You can still whisper it. Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed,” she said with a smile. “But all of it… for the better.”

The sun dipped low over the estate that evening, casting golden light across the lawn as the guests dined beneath paper lanterns strung between trees.

Buttercup dozed under the table with a ribbon tied loosely around her neck, Sarah was leaning back with Edward beside her, and Margaret had a baby in one arm and a glass of sherry in the other.

Julia sat next to James, her hand resting comfortably in his beneath the table.

“I cannot believe,” she whispered, “how far we’ve come.”

He tilted his head toward her. “Because you started as a seamstress and ended up married to a duke?”

She grinned. “Because I started thinking I didn’t belong anywhere. And now… I belong to you. To all of this.”

He turned in his seat so he could look at her properly, his expression earnest. “You never belonged to anything, Julia. You made it. You built it. And you brought us along with you.”

A warm breeze rustled the rose bushes. Nearby, Sarah was telling a story to one of her new friends from London—Lady Arabella, who, to Julia’s amusement, was as fascinated by dress patterns as she was by gossip.

Mrs. Lydia Cooper, proudly dressed in a deep burgundy gown of her own making, had taken it upon herself to teach the gentlemen present a new card game she swore she hadn’t made up. She was already winning.

“Your mother’s becoming quite the scandal,” James said fondly, watching the laughter rise from that corner of the garden.

“She’s in her element,” Julia replied. “You should’ve seen her when I was ten and accidentally sold a noblewoman’s shawl before it was finished. She recovered the sale and completed the piece in twelve hours without so much as a complaint. This”—she gestured at the card table—“is nothing.”

“Remind me never to play against her,” he muttered, making her laugh.

As twilight fell and the lanterns glowed brighter, James stood and clinked his spoon gently against a glass. The garden quieted. He cleared his throat.

“I should like to say a few words,” he began, lifting Julia’s hand as he spoke. “When I first met my wife, she was sitting cross-legged on the nursery floor, covered in thread, and scolding my sister. I thought she was insubordinate.”

Laughter.

“I later discovered she was also intelligent, compassionate, maddeningly stubborn, and terrifyingly clever with a needle.”

More laughter.

“But I never knew—until now—how much joy a single person could bring into a house, into a family. She brought back laughter to this manor. She brought Sarah peace. And she brought me… home.”

He looked down at Julia, who had tears in her eyes and a smile she couldn’t suppress. Then he raised his glass.

“To my wife. The Duchess of Griffinwich. Long may she reign.”

“To the duchess!” the guests echoed, raising their glasses.

Julia laughed through her tears, and once the toast ended, James leaned in to whisper, “And to think, I once sent a chaperone in to watch you sew.”

“I still haven’t forgiven you for that,” she murmured back, eyes sparkling.

“I’ll keep making amends,” he promised, kissing her knuckles.

The music started again, and Julia was drawn up into another dance—this time with Sarah, then with Edward, and eventually, with her own little daughter clinging to her skirts.

Much later, when the last carriage departed and the final lanterns were extinguished, Julia and James walked arm in arm back to the house.

Above them, stars shimmered. The manor’s windows glowed warmly behind them. Their daughter slept soundly upstairs, Buttercup curled loyally at the nursery door.

And as they paused on the terrace to take in the night, James leaned in and whispered against Julia’s ear, “I’d marry you again tomorrow, you know.”

She smiled. “Good. Because I’d say yes again.”

And they stepped into the future—together.

THE END