Condemned to Marry the Duke – Extended Epilogue

Six Years Later

The sunlight settled across Thornwoode’s lake, scattering gold across the surrounding tree branches. Isabella spread two blankets on the soft grass, smoothing their edges while the afternoon air brushed against her face.

Her son, Little William, darted after dragonflies, his laughter carrying across the water while her daughter, Charlotte, scampered toward the shallows, her bright brown curls glinting under the afternoon light.

“Not too near the water, my darling,” Isabella called.

“Do not worry,” Gabriel said from behind her. “I shall keep our adventurer in check.”

He appeared, his violin case in one hand and a basket in the other. The children turned at once and ran to him.

“Play the one with the birds, Papa!” William shouted.

“Then the birds shall have competition today,” Gabriel said, smiling.

He took out the violin after the children had settled on the blanket and began to play. Lily joined with a quiet hum, her voice clear and bright. Isabella watched them all…her husband, her children, and their niece, who had become an integral member of their family. It couldn’t possibly get better than this, could it?

From the edge of the manor came Colin and Catherine, hand in hand, their twin boys tumbling ahead to join William by the water’s edge.

“They will overturn the lake before luncheon,” Colin said.

“That means they will tire themselves before dinner,” Catherine answered, laughing. “I would take that any other day.” 

Soon, Margaret’s carriage arrived as well, followed by Penelope and her husband, Lord Hartwell. 

“You know, when you said you were inviting everyone to the picnic, I did not know you meant everyone,” Gabriel whispered into her ear as Penelope and her husband grew even closer.

“I suppose apologies are in order then.” 

Gabriel smiled. “I suppose so as well.” 

Gabriel moved to where Isabella sat and lowered himself beside her as the children clustered near the violin.

“A request, Your Grace?” he asked.

“Play the song you composed the spring Charlotte was born,” Isabella said with a smile.

“Ah, yes,” he murmured, tuning the strings. “The one inspired by sleepless nights and lullabies.”

He began to play. Charlotte’s head settled against Isabella’s lap while William leaned against Gabriel’s knee. Around them, the talk quieted until there was only the sound of music and the gentle wind drifting through the grass.

Colin and Catherine exchanged smiles as their boys stilled to listen. Beatrice’s eyes closed, her fan resting forgotten in her lap, and Margaret leaned forward, her gaze soft, while Penelope clasped her husband’s hand. 

When the final chord faded, Lily clapped. “Again!” she cried.

“After we eat,” Isabella said, smoothing the child’s hair. “Your uncle will faint if we starve him.”

“Your aunt slanders me,” Gabriel said lightly, “but I will take food as applause.”

Laughter rippled through the gathering, and baskets opened. Catherine poured lemonade while Colin told a story about a bull in the orchard that made Beatrice laugh until she wiped her eyes. Margaret passed sandwiches, offering seconds to everyone.

Penelope stood near the lake with Lily, pointing to a swan gliding across the surface. 

“Make a wish,” she told the girl. “Hold your breath until it passes.” 

Lily obeyed, her expression serious. When she looked up again, Penelope smiled, her eyes kind.

Isabella smiled as well and took her eyes off her sister and niece before turning to Gabriel, who was already looking at her with expectation in his eyes. 

“Shall we walk?” he asked softly.

She nodded, and soon, they had risen to their feet, leaving the celebration behind them; they followed the curve of the lake, the grass whispering under their steps. When they returned, it was beginning to get dark. They all settled gently by the lake once again, watching the twilight settle.  Servants moved among the picnic things, clearing plates and gathering napkins.

“Is it not funny how it was only six years ago that I feared Thornwoode might never see peace again?” Isabella asked, her voice low.

Gabriel slipped an arm around her waist. “I remember thinking there was nothing out there again. At least not until you showed me there was something to live for.”

They watched the children run through the wooden plank that led to the other side of the lake. William darted and doubled back, careful to keep Charlotte within reach. Lily, who took the role of the oldest sister as carefully as she could, clapped once to gather them and sent them to fetch their sweaters. 

Isabella took in the sight, then laughed before turning her gaze to her husband. “To think we almost lost all of this six years ago because of your cousin and your ex-fiancée?” 

Gabriel glanced down at Isabella. “Roger remains far across the world, in the Australian penal colonies, and may it stay so.” 

“And from what I read today, Miss Ashcroft still has one year of her sentence left.” 

“I saw the same thing,” Gabriel responded. “Sometimes I wonder if forgiveness might one day reach even people like them.”

“We shall let time decide that, Gabriel, not us.”

Colin came by with a blanket over one arm and grinned, breaking gently into their conversation.

“Do you not think it is time we head back to the manor?” 

“Is it?” Gabriel asked, his eyes narrowed. 

“Well, if we do not bring the children back now, we shall be searching for them by lantern until midnight.”

“We are coming,” Isabella said, smiling.

The servants lifted baskets and started toward the house. Margaret tucked her hand into Penelope’s arm while Lord Hartwell fell in on Penelope’s other side, protective without fuss. 

Gabriel turned back to Isabella. The last light drew a pale edge along his jaw. “It is quite fantastic, is it not? Six years, and I still find you lovelier each day.”

“I would say the same about you but you grow less lovely each year.”

He laughed quietly and lowered his forehead to hers. For a moment, there was only their breath and the small, clean night sounds. From the path, they both heard Lily call the little ones inside and broke into laughter.

Isabella exhaled as Gabriel pressed a brief kiss to her mouth. “Home, my love?”

“Home.”

They all followed the line, hand in hand. Little William paused to show Isabella a captured firefly cupped in his palms. She bent, admired it, and sent it free. Charlotte slipped her fingers into Isabella’s and matched her steps. Lily, on the other hand, counted the children again when they got to the gate and then nodded in satisfaction.

Isabella and Gabriel stayed a moment at the top of the steps as the children made their way inside. The courtyard was quiet now, and the dark sky was beginning to shimmer with stars. 

“I cannot believe there was a time I used to live in this house without you,” Gabriel said, his voice low as he leaned closer to Isabella. “I can never imagine it, no matter how hard I try.”

Isabella’s smile grew. “Lily will say you have grown sentimental.”

“She may be right.” He squeezed her hand. “Can you believe that was the same child who would not even talk to anyone when she first arrived?”

“She was our saving grace,” Isabella said in response. “She came right when we needed her.” 

“I would also go as far as to admit vice versa as well.” 

Isabella laughed as they went inside and watched a maid hurry past with a tray of cups.

***

The house eventually settled much later in the night. In the drawing room, the lamps were turned low, and a small fire burned the logs in the fireplace. Aunt Beatrice was by the settee near the fireplace itself, Margaret stuck to the chair with the best light, with Penelope beside Lord Hartwell on the sofa. Colin poured port, and Catherine took tea and curled into the corner of a sofa with her slippers tucked under her.

Gabriel set his violin case on a side table and sat close enough that Isabella could feel the brush of his sleeve. He tipped the port toward her. “A drop?”

She shook her head. “Not tonight.”

Beatrice lifted her glass. “To quiet evenings and roofs that do not leak.”

Colin laughed. “A notable improvement over last winter, your ladyship.”

“Credit Mrs. Brown,” Isabella said. “She bullied the roofers like a general.”

Margaret folded her hands on her lap. “And you, Isabella. You refuse praise too often.”

Penelope smiled at her sister. “She does. It is becoming a habit.”

Isabella felt the warmth of it and let the moment pass without protest.

“News from the tenants?” Gabriel asked, turning toward Colin.

“Good,” Colin said. “The south fields will bring in early. We will need extra hands by the end of the season.”

“We can hire from the village,” Catherine offered. “Mr. Turner says his brother’s boys will work this season.”

“Done,” Gabriel said. “See that they have boots, not rags.”

Colin nodded. 

Lord Hartwell cleared his throat after a brief moment of silence. “I would be glad to contribute to the cost, in whatever way I can. Penelope may organize me as she sees fit.”

Penelope nudged his arm. “You hear that, Isabella? He has learned well.”

Catherine grinned. “Trainable husbands. A miracle.”

Gabriel’s mouth curved. “Careful,” he said. “Colin will think you mean him.”

“I do,” she replied lightly, and Colin bowed as if honored.

They all chuckled at that moment, and the fire momentarily burned brighter. 

Beatrice leaned forward, brisk again. “The school in the west hamlet…how is that going?”

“Busy,” Isabella said. “Mrs. Evans has twenty-three children now, and we will need a second bench before autumn.”

“I will see to the slates,” Penelope said at once. “And the primer books.”

“Thank you,” Isabella said. “And perhaps, if you are willing to do it, can you offer lessons in embroidery for the older girls, once a week?”

Penelope’s face lit up. “Gladly.”

Margaret glanced from one to the other and then down at her hands. When she looked up, her voice was quieter than usual. “I am proud of you, Isabella, and I am certain your father would be as well.”

Isabella’s throat tightened. “I hope so.”

Colin took another sip of port and turned to Gabriel. “We ought to speak of the bridge, too. The planks by the mill bend like leather.”

“Replace them before the rains,” Gabriel said. “I will send Mr. Price tomorrow.”

“Done.”

Catherine tilted her head. “May we speak of less industrious matters?” Her eyes sparkled. “Like the Midsummer concert?”

Beatrice clapped once, pleased. “Yes, yes. If Thornwoode is to be charitable, it may be joyful, too.”

Gabriel leaned back, at ease now. “What do we have in mind for that?”

“It is simple, your Grace,” Catherine said, her voice quaint. “We shall have a chorus from the school itself. Then a dance for the villagers, and fireworks if we want to go the extra mile.”

“No fireworks,” Margaret said dryly, but her mouth softened.

“We can give baskets to every household that comes,” Isabella said. “Bread, cheese, and a little sugar. It would mean a lot.”

“It will be done,” Gabriel said. “And Lily will play that new piece she loves.”

“She will insist,” Isabella said. “And William will announce the titles whether we ask him or not.”

“On a chair,” Colin added. “So all may hear him.”

“Someone must tell him the chair is not a ship’s mast,” Catherine said.

“Leave that to me,” Gabriel said with mock gravity. “I am very stern.”

“Terrifying,” Isabella murmured, and he looked down at her with that look she knew now in every shade.

Margaret poured herself more tea and regarded Isabella over the rim of her teacup. “You have found a way to make this house yours without making a show of it. I was wrong to think you would shrink.”

Isabella held her mother’s gaze. “We both were wrong about many things.”

Margaret nodded, one small, honest dip of the head. “Yes.”

They all stood half an hour later, ready to retire to bed. Catherine gathered the last crumbs on a plate while Colin refilled Beatrice’s glass with water. They drifted toward the door in pairs. 

Beatrice kissed Isabella’s cheek and patted Gabriel’s arm with a look that said everything and asked for nothing. 

Margaret squeezed Isabella’s hand, and for once, there was no counsel attached to it.  

Penelope pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and whispered something about being excited to teach at the school. Colin and Catherine were last. 

“We will check the bridge at first light,” Colin said. “If the planks hold, we will know what material to use in replacing them.”

“Take two men with you,” Gabriel said. “I know you, Colin. I do not want to hear anything about your heroics.”

Catherine kissed Isabella’s cheek, and Colin clapped Gabriel’s shoulder, then they both went out arm in arm, still talking.

Isabella looked around the room as Gabriel stood by her side and took her hand. 

“Shall we?” he asked.

“In a moment,” she said. She wanted one more breath of this room.

He waited.

She let the silence press down on her, steady and deep. The life they had fought for had become a simple evening, a warm fire, a list of activities for tomorrow. Isabella lifted their joined hands and brushed her thumb over his knuckles. 

“This,” she said, so softly it was almost to herself. “This is all I ever wanted.”

THE END