A Widowed Duke’s Chance at Love – Extended Epilogue


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“Are you certain we have enough blankets, Isabelle? The nights have been rather chilly, and I want everything to be perfect,” Eleanor fretted, her hands resting gently atop the swell of her belly. The nursery, awash in the soft light of late afternoon, was a cozy tableau of anticipation and maternal care.

Isabelle, with the newfound wisdom of a mother three months postpartum, smiled reassuringly and adjusted a stack of finely knit blankets on the nearby mahogany crib. “Eleanor, between the dowager’s zeal and my recent experiences, your little one will be the warmest and most coddled infant in all of England.”

At that moment, the Dowager Duchess herself swept into the room, her presence as commanding as it was gleeful. “And why shouldn’t he be? My grandchild deserves nothing less!” Her eyes twinkled with the sort of excitement that had filled the halls of Hawthorne Manor ever since the news of Eleanor’s pregnancy had been announced.

Eleanor’s gaze drifted to the window, watching the golden hues of autumn dance across the expansive estate grounds. “I just want everything to be perfect,” she murmured, more to herself than to her companions.

“Nonsense, my dear,” the Dowager Duchess chided gently, coming to stand beside her. “Perfection is a dreadfully dull standard. What this child needs is love, laughter, and the occasional spoiling, which I am more than prepared to provide.”

Isabelle, easing herself into a plush armchair, chuckled. “She speaks the truth, Eleanor. And speaking of preparations, how are you feeling about the birthing plan? Remember, I’m here to help you through it, just as you were there for me.”

The mention of the upcoming birth sparked a visible tension in Eleanor’s posture, her hand subconsciously smoothing over her belly. “I am…nervous, truth be told. But excited, too. How strange it is to feel such conflicting emotions simultaneously.”

“It’s perfectly normal,” Isabelle assured her, her voice a soothing balm. “I was a bundle of nerves one moment and bursting with excitement the next. But when the time comes, instinct takes over. You’ll see.”

The Dowager Duchess nodded sagely. “She’s right, my dear. And remember, you’re not alone in this. The entire household is buzzing with anticipation. Why, the kitchen staff have been arguing all week about what to serve in celebration. Cook is insisting on her famous raspberry tart.”

Laughter lightened the mood, and Eleanor’s anxious expression softened. “I do adore her raspberry tart,” she confessed, a genuine smile curving her lips.

“As do we all,” the Dowager Duchess agreed, her voice rich with affection. “Now, let’s see to the final touches in here. I believe the new drapes for the cradle have arrived, and they require a woman’s touch.”

Together, the three women busied themselves with the joyous task of readying the nursery. It was a scene of tranquil domesticity, each fold of fabric and placement of pillow a testament to the family’s eager anticipation of its newest member. Amid the soft clatter of the Dowager Duchess arranging the crib’s hangings, Eleanor felt a profound sense of belonging—a tethering to the future, woven through with the threads of love and expectation.

Eleanor’s heart swelled with a quiet joy. Surrounded by the support of her family, both given and chosen, she found not just comfort, but a deep, resolute strength.

As the evening wore on, Benedict found Eleanor in the nursery, her silhouette framed by the soft light of the nursery lamp. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before she noticed his presence.

“Eleanor, my love,” Benedict began, his voice betraying a hint of the worry that had been gnawing at him ever since they learned of the pregnancy. “Are you quite certain you’re feeling well? You know, with everything…”

Eleanor turned to face him, her expression one of understanding. She reached out her hand, and he came to her side, enveloping her hand in his. “Benedict, I know you worry, especially after… after what happened before. But I am in good health, and Dr. Hammond assures me that all is proceeding as it should.”

Benedict’s brow furrowed, his eyes reflecting the flicker of the lamp’s flame. “I cannot help but feel this dread, Eleanor. Losing you would be…” His voice trailed off, unable to articulate his deepest fear.

Eleanor cupped his cheek, drawing him down to look into her eyes. “I will be fine, my dearest. Dr. Hammond is the best, and Isabelle will be here with me. And you—” she paused, a gentle seriousness overtaking her features, “—you must be strong for us, for our son.”

Benedict nodded, pressing his forehead to hers, drawing in the scent of her, which always seemed to anchor him. “I shall try. For you, I would storm the gates of hell itself, but waiting, watching you in pain—I feel so powerless.”

She smiled, that brave, resolute smile that had first drawn him to her across the crowded fairgrounds. “Then stay with me, Benedict. When the time comes, be there, not beyond the door wringing your hands, but by my side.”

The very thought was unconventional, unheard of in their society where childbirth was strictly a women’s affair, but Benedict felt a fierce relief wash over him. “If you wish it, I shall be there.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden onset of Eleanor’s labor late into the night. The household sprang to life as Isabelle and the Dowager Duchess rallied the necessary attendants and prepared for the birth.

Despite the commotion, Benedict remained glued to Eleanor’s side, his hand clasped tightly in hers. The labor room, usually forbidden to men of his station, now felt like the center of his universe. Every groan and strained breath from Eleanor pierced him like a blade, yet her grip on his hand was his unspoken directive to stay, to support her through the ordeal.

As hours ticked by, each moment stretched into eternity. Eleanor’s strength waned and surged with each passing hour, her resilience a testament to the depth of her spirit. Benedict, despite his initial fears, found himself marveling at her endurance, whispering words of encouragement and love with every challenging stride she took through the pain.

Finally, as dawn crept across the sky, painting the room with strokes of pale blue and gold, the cries of their newborn son cut through the last remnants of night’s shadow. Exhaustion mixed with profound joy as the midwife placed the tiny, wriggling bundle into Eleanor’s arms.

“It’s a boy,” Eleanor whispered, tears of relief and happiness mingling down her cheeks. Benedict, overwhelmed by a surge of emotions, could only nod, his vision blurred as he looked upon his wife and child—the family he had yearned for, now cradled in his arms.

The room quieted, the earlier flurry of activity settling into a peaceful stillness, leaving the new parents alone with their son. Benedict sat beside Eleanor on the bed, his arm around her, gazing at the little life that was part theirs, part miracle. The weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders as he observed the tiny features of his son, every breath the boy took a testament to their shared love and Eleanor’s incredible strength.

“He’s perfect, Eleanor,” Benedict murmured, his voice a mix of awe and relief. “Absolutely perfect.”

Eleanor, still weary but beaming with maternal pride, nodded, her eyes never leaving their son. “He is, isn’t he? Just look at him, Benedict. He has your eyes.”

Benedict chuckled softly, the sound tinged with happiness. “And your courage, my dear. I have never admired you more than I do this moment.”

As the first rays of dawn streamed through the window, casting a gentle glow over the small, peaceful tableau, the couple felt the room fill with a new kind of silence, a quiet celebration of life and new beginnings. The staff had discreetly withdrawn, understanding the importance of these first few moments as a family.

Outside, the sounds of Hawthorne Manor waking up were distant and muffled, the usual hustle of the estate’s daily routines subdued out of respect for the family’s privacy. Inside, however, the room felt like an isolated sanctuary where time paused, allowing Benedict and Eleanor to savor the joyous culmination of their journey.

Benedict, ever the protective husband, adjusted the blanket around Eleanor and the baby, ensuring they were both warm. “I should let the family know,” he said reluctantly, his gaze lingering on his wife and child.

“Not just yet,” Eleanor replied softly, her hand reaching out to touch his. “Let’s just be us for a little longer. The world will keep.”

He smiled, settling back beside her, his heart full. “As you wish, my love.”

They sat in silence, the kind that speaks louder than words, each glance and touch conveying more than conversations ever could. Eleanor rested her head against Benedict’s shoulder, the baby nestled between them, his tiny fingers curled around one of Benedict’s.

Benedict thought about the fears that had plagued him throughout Eleanor’s pregnancy, the shadow of his past loss lurking in his mind. But looking at Eleanor now, radiant and triumphant in her new role as a mother, and their son, so fiercely alive and already so loved, he felt those shadows recede, replaced by a bright future filled with promise.

“Eleanor,” he began hesitantly, “I know I was consumed by fear… too much, perhaps. But I want you to know, you and our son have given me a new strength, a new hope.”

Eleanor tilted her head to look at him, her expression tender. “And you have given us your unwavering support and love, even when gripped by those fears. We are a family, Benedict. Whatever comes, we face it together.”

Benedict nodded, his resolve strengthening. “Together,” he echoed, feeling the power of that word deep within his soul.

The little one, sensing perhaps the calm or merely settling more comfortably in his new world, sighed softly in his sleep, a small, contented sound that seemed to seal their promises.

As the room brightened with the morning light, Benedict and Eleanor continued to watch over their son, their hearts swelling with a love so profound it seemed to echo through the halls of Hawthorne Manor. In these quiet moments, wrapped in the warmth of family and the soft whispers of the manor, they spoke of dreams and plans, of the values they wished to instill in their son, and of the adventures they would one day share.

Benedict traced a gentle finger over his son’s tiny fist, marveling at the way the child’s hand instinctively curled around his own. “I wonder what he will become,” he mused softly. “A scholar, perhaps? A man of science?”

Eleanor smiled, her voice rich with quiet amusement. “Or an explorer, a poet, or even a statesman. Whatever path he chooses, I only hope he finds joy in it.”

Benedict pressed a kiss to her temple. “With you as his mother, how could he not? He will grow knowing love, Eleanor. That is more than many have.”

Eleanor’s gaze softened as she studied her husband’s face, the man she had once admired from afar, now the father of her child. “And with you as his father, he will grow strong and kind.” She shifted slightly, wincing as she moved. Immediately, Benedict’s hands were there, steadying her.

“I should let you rest,” he murmured, though he made no move to leave.

Eleanor reached for him, catching his hand. “Stay, just a little longer.”

Benedict smiled, settling back beside her. “Always.”

A knock at the door interrupted them, followed by Isabelle’s eager voice. “May we come in? The dowager is beside herself with excitement.”

Eleanor chuckled, adjusting the baby in her arms. “Let them in,” she said softly. “It is time to share our joy.”

As Benedict rose to open the door, he cast one last glance at his wife, his heart swelling. They had faced trials, conquered fears, and now stood at the beginning of a new journey. And in that moment, he knew—with Eleanor by his side and their son in her arms—their future would be nothing short of extraordinary.

THE END


OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!

Grab my new series, "Delightful Dukes and Damsels", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!




7 thoughts on “A Widowed Duke’s Chance at Love – Extended Epilogue”

  1. I loved it!!!! Finding true love is so special – no matter the status the age the circumstances. It was a rough road to get there – but safely and happily they did!!

  2. I absolutely loved this story! I couldn’t put it down until it was completely finished! The extended epilogue was also just perfect! Thank you for the many hours of joyful reading!

  3. A delightful feel good story! Eleanor and Benedict overcome seemingly insurmountable odds to reach their happily ever after in each other’s arms. The extended epilogue was a sweet addition to a lovely story.

    1. They truly have a special connection, and I’m glad you found their story so heart-warming. I’m also glad you enjoyed the extended epilogue—it was a pleasure to include that final touch to their happily ever after! Thank you so much for your feedback, Eileen!

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