Epilogue

July 1, 1812

Alice knew the lump was going to come to her throat the moment she glanced up. But it came, nonetheless.

"Look, Mama, look!"

Her daughter. Her beautiful, passionate, eager daughter. Her child. Happy and safe and dancing in the sunshine in a gown that actually fit.

Alice clapped. "Well done, my darling!"

The lawns of Stanphrey Lacey were extensive, and so was the great number of large oak and beech trees which had clearly been planted by some Duke of Cothrom long ago. Their branches stretched out to the sky, creating some much-needed shade for Maude to play in.

At the moment, her preferred game was dancing for whatever audience she could find.

Alice suppressed a grin.

"Look, Mama!"

"I'm looking," said Alice hastily, picking an apple from the picnic basket and biting into it as the little girl with blonde curls so like her own danced about. "In the shade, please, Maude."

Maude danced along the edge of the shade, keeping just to the line but suggesting that at any moment she could slip into the sun.

Alice's smile broadened. They were definitely two of a kind.

As her daughter continued to chatter away to herself, dancing all the while, Alice glanced over her shoulder at the beautiful manor house which was now their home. He had promised he would join them as soon as possible. Surely his business for the estate could not take long.

"Mama!"

"Yes, yes, I'm looking," Alice said hastily, looking back.

No matter how important his business was, she knew William would be with them as soon as he could. He was the doting father Maude deserved—deserved and had never known.

It was strange to think, in the gentle quiet of this English garden, birds singing, and a gardener in the distance carefully cutting roses for the vases of the many rooms, that just a few months ago her life had been dominated by loneliness and fear.

Alice's smile did not falter. She could think about it now which calm and equanimity.

Because she had done it—gone from harlot to widow to unwed mother to duchess. And she had managed to do so with the love of a man who was incomparable, giving her everything that she could have ever wanted.

And more.

Happiness. Peace. A sense she had finally found her place in the world.

And all that remained was to tell him—

"There you are," said a cheerful, deep voice. "Ah, Maudy, excellent dancing!"

And Alice's heart soared.

What had she done to deserve such happiness? Every particle of her being rejoiced as she saw William stride across the lawn, jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, a grin across his face as he beheld her and her daughter.

She did not deserve him. They did not deserve him.

And despite all that, here they were. Blissfully happy. About to be happier.

"Goodness, I thought reviewing those ledgers would never end," said William with a groan, dropping down onto the blanket which Alice had placed near the trunk of the old beech. "I honestly thought Nicholls was going to keep me there for the rest of my days."

Alice giggled and offered him the basket. "You know, I do like to hear you exaggerate. It's good practice."

"Practice?" repeated William, a frown curving across his brow. "Practice for what?"

"For an extravagant career on the stage," Alice said solemnly, then burst into laughter again at her husband's expression. "For life, of course! You think I like to see you all tied in knots over propriety or the right way to do everything?"

William chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back on an elbow and looked up with frank admiration. "You do know I'm besotted with you, don't you?"

Alice's stomach lurched, and she placed a hand on it. "Yes. Yes, I do."

And that was just one of the things that didn't make any sense. Here she was, a liar, a woman who had allowed herself to be seduced, a mother of a child stained with false illegitimacy, a charmer, a schemer...

And he loved her. William Chance, Duke of Cothrom, loved her.

Alice swallowed. She was not going to cry. Probably. "You said, at breakfast, you had something to discuss." That was it. Conversation. Calm, rational conversation.

William's eyes lit up. "Yes! Yes, I do."

He stuffed his hand into a waistcoat pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a letter, which Alice peered at curiously. When her husband unfolded it, however, he snorted with distaste.

"William?"

"Wrong letter," he muttered, shoving it back in his pocket.

"Who was it—"

"Aylesbury," William said darkly. "I've given that man too many second chances."

Alice hesitated. Never having had a brother, nor any sibling, William's relationship with his three brothers was something she was still learning about. "What has he done this time?"

Her husband sighed. "It's more what he hasn't done—or rather, how much money he has lost. It's that he never learns, that's the rub!"

There was tension in the man's voice Alice only ever heard when her husband was speaking of one of his brothers. Any of them, to tell the truth. They were as bad as each other. Except for Pernrith, of course, who couldn't help how he'd been born.

"That's it. He's cut off, I can't keep bailing him out."

Alice bit her lip. It was probably too early, far too early in their marriage for her to say such a thing, but... "Second chances can be powerful. If you could just—"

"He's had enough of them, trust me," William said bitterly, rummaging in his other pocket. "Ah, here we are. There."

He said the last word as though he were presenting her with a diamond.

As far as Alice could see, it wasn't a diamond. It was another letter. "For me?"

"To me, for you to read," William said, and there was a hint of excitement edging every word. "Go on. Read it."

Not entirely sure what to expect from the anticipation on William's face, Alice placed the apple core down and took the letter from him.

It was folded several times, and when she had unfolded it, it was to see a bold, large hand which had written a few short paragraphs.

Your Grace,

The process itself is simple, and I have taken the liberty of beginning to arrange the necessaries from here, in London.

As the guardian is likely to give permission, we do not believe the process will be an overly long one. In fact, by the time you receive this letter, I think it would be appropriate for the girl to be titled Lady Maude Chance at your earliest convenience.

All particulars and a few documents to sign will be couriered to you by one of our men before the end of the summer.

I remain yours respectfully,

Parker, Bells, and Hamble

Alice had to read it again, her pulse thundering in her ears.

In fact, by the time you receive this letter, I think it would be appropriate for the girl to be titled Lady Maude Chance at your earliest convenience.

Lady Maude Chance.

"You . . . you haven't . . ."

"I told you, when we were wed, that I would honor you and love you and respect you," William said quietly, gazing up from where he was leaning on the blanket. "Maude... she's a part of you. A part of your life."

"A part of my past," Alice said fiercely, trying desperately to hold back tears. "My mistakes, my—"

"Without her existence, we would not be together now," William said softly. "Would we?"

Alice blinked back the tears still threatening to fall as her lungs tightened with suppressed emotion.

No, she supposed not. It was only the need to protect Maude, to ensure she had a future, that had driven her to London in search of a husband. It was because of Maude that she had made that desperate attempt to gain access to the Earl of Chester's ball. Because of Maude that she had been so relieved, so delighted, to have caught a duke's eye.

She had wanted to give her child a fighting chance for a future. Now Maude had one. One Alice could never have dreamt of.

"You would give my child your name?" Alice murmured, astonishment dripping from every syllable.

William nodded slowly. "My name, everything. She'll have a dowry when she needs it, the best education when she's older... Alice, she'll be my daughter. She is mine, if... if you will consent to it."

Alice almost laughed, though it came out as a splutter. "If I—you have already—I don't know what to—"

"I know I probably rushed into things a bit, getting Parker, Bells, and Hamble to start the adoption paperwork," William said hastily.

A tear finally fell. Alice brushed it away. "We are rather in the habit of rushing, aren't we?"

"Miss Fox-Edwards, will you marry me?"

"You don't know anything about me."

William's expression warmed Alice in a way nothing else ever could. "Perhaps. But I know what I want, Alice, and it's you. You and Maude. In my life."

Alice swallowed, glancing over at her daughter. Their daughter.

Miss McCall had come out of the house and was shepherding her charge away for her afternoon nap. A habit Maude would soon grow out of. She would grow into this place, into Stanphrey Lacey. This would be her home. She would probably recall nothing else.

And she had a name that would protect her for the rest of her life.

"It's... you are everything I could ever have wanted," Alice breathed, turning back to the man she loved. "And more. You... you did not have to—"

"Yes, I did," William said fiercely. "And not because it was the right thing to do, even though it was."

Alice smiled through her tears and reached out her hand. William took it, squeezed her fingers, brushed her palm with his thumb.

It was the sort of man he was. A principled man, an honorable one. She had seen this in him from the start, though she had not understood him as much when they'd first met as she did now. And she presumed she would continue to deepen this knowledge, this affection for him, over the years.

Years. Years and years with this man she adored.

"But even if it wasn't the correct thing to do, I would have wanted to do it," William was saying determinedly. "She's... she's a part of you. In just the last few weeks I have grown to love Maude, love her like she was my very own. And now she will be."

Alice swallowed back all the questions that rose in her mind. Questions probably best left unasked.

As it turned out, William could just as easily read his wife's mind as she could read his.

"She won't be any different to any other Chances," William said quietly. "I mean, any of our future children. If... if we have any, of course. I suppose we cannot assume—"

He kept talking. Alice was certain he did, but a rush of noise in her ears prevented her from hearing his words.

Was this the time?

It felt right. There was no one else around, no one to spoil or interrupt their happiness. All other secrets were out in the open, there was nothing else to hold back. No reason not to be completely open.

"—and . . . Alice, are you listening?"

Alice blinked. "Yes. No, sorry."

William snorted with laughter. "Well, that's honest, I suppose."

"I wasn't listening," Alice said hesitantly, "because... because of something you just said."

A frown creased his brow. "What did I say?"

"About..." Come on now, this was ridiculous, she had no reason to hold back. "About future children."

William stared for a moment, then his face became serious as he sat up, still holding her hand. "My love—look, if we are not blessed in that quarter, goodness knows I would never blame... Maude is more than enough, if we have her—"

"I don't think that's going to be the problem," said Alice quietly.

For an instant, it appeared William did not quite understand what she was saying. "Not... not the problem?"

Hoping to goodness she was about to receive the reaction she hoped for, Alice shook her head. "No. No, in fact... in fact I would say that we have quite the opposite situation. Right... right now."

William's eyes widened, and his gaze dropped to her stomach. "Right now?"

His voice was barely a whisper.

Alice nodded.

And then she was being crushed, pulled into an embrace of laughter that was mirrored by the adoring touch of William's hands around her waist. And they were falling, tangled together on the blanket, Alice's squeals and William's laughter mingling in the hot summer air, and there was nothing better.

Nothing else like this.

Alice propped herself up on William's chest and grinned. "Surprise."

"Surprise indeed!" he said with a laugh. "Oh, Alice—truly? You are sure, you are with child?"

"As certain as I can be," she confided, smiling almost bashfully as she spoke so openly. "My flux has not come since we... well. I shall have to ask for a doctor to—"

She could not continue. William's lips had met hers in a reverential kiss that swiftly became very irreverent indeed.

"I do love you, you know," Alice said as the kiss ended, through William's nuzzling of her neck, sparks of pleasure starting to soar through her, down to her thighs, building an ache between them that was most scandalous. "But William, we can't, not here—"

"Why not?" William growled, his fingers already pulling her skirts up from her ankles. "This is my house, my garden, why shouldn't I ravish my wife here?"

And a thrill of dark delight soared through Alice. "You know, for all your talk about trying to give your family a fighting chance because of your brothers' bad behavior, I think you're the wild one."

"Perhaps," said William with a wicked grin. "Why don't you let me prove it?"

And she did.