Epilogue

SIX MONTHS LATER

H e was gone. Six months after his schemes crumbled, Lord Hartwell had to leave the country, reduced to a much humbler existence.

Alexandra’s heart hurt for the father who was supposed to protect her. Even though he turned out to be the opposite, she continued to hope that he’d do better with what he had now.

Bittersweet. That was the word that could describe her victory.

Alexandra sat by the drawing room window, watching the afternoon sunlight bathe the garden in a golden glow. Music continued to play in her head. Her penchant for creation had become stronger as of late, for a good reason.

She was finally with the man she had never even dreamed of—Oliver. There was also a secret niggling at her.

A letter rested on her lap, its seal broken. Oliver noticed it as he approached her.

“A letter from your father? What does he have to say for himself?” he asked, looking a little amused.

“He’s, uh, complaining as usual. Adjusting to his simpler life,” she murmured.

“Ah. But you’re still reading his letters, and they are piling up in your drawer. They’re competing with your compositions,” Oliver teased, but his eyes had softened.

Alexandra knew he understood her conflicted feelings about her father.

Oliver joined her on the loveseat, and they both stared gratefully at the beautiful scene before them.

“It’s difficult, yes, but I want to know if there will be progress, eventually. He has no more allies and no place to return to,” she explained, her fingers tracing the leather-bound book on her left.

“He should stay there,” Oliver murmured, even though his expression remained unreadable.

She couldn’t help but turn to him and study his handsome face. She always wanted to drink him in when she was with him.

She reached for his face and rubbed his beard. She loved doing it—it comforted her.

“I know he should stay away from us, leave us in peace. B-But I want him to be better. To feel better.”

“I know,” Oliver whispered. “He never deserved you, though. You rose above him and broke the shackles he used to control you. That’s what matters now.”

Her lips curled into a faint smile. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Something exciting had been simmering underneath Alexandra’s peaceful facade. However, it was her music that revealed it.

“There’s something strange about you, but I’m still trying to figure it out,” Oliver told her one day, looking at her adoringly as he sat on the ottoman behind her, watching her breathe heavily after playing the pianoforte.

“Do you want me to tell you?” she asked, a sly smirk on her face.

“Ah. Not yet, not unless you want to tell me now. I want to see if I can guess,” he said, placing a challenge. A little game.

“No, I am not ready right now,” she said.

Peace came in waves. Oliver returned to boxing twice, just to see how he would feel about it. But seeing his wife weeping did not give him pleasure—not at all. He stopped even coming near Devil’s Draw. Soon, Alexandra could no longer smell the smoke and gin on him. Instead, he smelled of nature and fresh rain. His long walks always meant he came back after surveying the grounds or speaking with his tenants.

“Do you not miss it?” Alexandra asked once.

“The only thing I miss about it is the fact that I saw you in a different light when you stormed in one night to save your bastard of a father.”

“Ah, shh,” Alexandra murmured.

“So, will you tell me your secret?” he asked.

“We are there, almost,” she said mysteriously.

He raised an eyebrow at her but remained dutifully silent.

One afternoon, Alexandra watched him ride across the fields. Her heart swelled with pride as she drank in his confident posture and fluid movements.

Life. Oliver had finally embraced life.

Devil’s Draw was nothing but an impediment—a stain on morality, an obstacle to pursuing a healthier, fuller life. Her eyes continued to watch him until he dismounted and joined her. She smiled at his flushed face. He quickly smiled back.

“You look happy,” she murmured as he reached for her hand.

They walked toward a bench to sit and watch the fields.

“Look at where we are, Alexandra,” Oliver said, his eyes scanning the greenery.

She giggled at the thought of their first walk together. They were so stiff back then, but they were undoubtedly drawn to each other.

“You’re thinking of our first walk together? The one that was supposed to make you forget about your morning meetings with Prescott?” he asked wryly, reading her mind.

“You know me so well now, husband,” she teased.

He would stiffen every time she called him that. It made him feel old, he said, but he still called her ‘wife.’

“Ah. But yeah, I’m happy. We have a good harvest. The new irrigation system is working and increasing production.”

“You have made me proud, Oliver. I hope you know that you have done well,” she praised, reaching for his hands and taking them in her much smaller ones.

“You are my inspiration. I can do no wrong with that,” he said, freeing one hand and putting it over their clasped ones.

While husband and wife certainly enjoyed each other’s company, they also frequently mingled with the ton . They also developed a special relationship with John Prescott.

The three had become united in music and past turmoil. Somehow, it enabled Alexandra to write more music. Her compositions, under the pseudonym J. Lewis, continued to gain acclaim. Everyone wanted not just the mystery but also the pure passion.

“His music sounds happier. I wonder if there’s a big change in his life,” a lady commented.

“Perhaps he got married!” her friend exclaimed.

The biggest rumor was that either John Prescott was J. Lewis or he knew who it was. Whenever he went out with James, eyes would turn to them, thinking that a new piece was about to be released.

At least none of them suspected anything more between the two men. For they were far too focused on the mysterious composer.

“Perhaps it’s Prescott’s friend!”

“He’s probably an agent for J. Lewis!”

Nobody batted an eye when they realized John Prescott was friends with the Duke of Westgrave and his wife. It was almost expected, as the ton still remembered the Duchess defending J. Lewis’s choice to live a mysterious life.

“The Philharmonic requested one of your pieces, Your Grace,” John said one day as he and James visited Oliver and Alexandra. “It’s a great honor!”

“Truly?” Alexandra clasped her hands together with glee, her face brightening. “They accepted one of them?”

“They didn’t just accept it,” James clarified, grinning. “They even gave it rave reviews. You are a celebrated, albeit anonymous, composer.”

The Duke and Duchess never doubted the honesty and secrecy of the couple before them. In fact, John and James had more to lose than them. But their initially fragile bond had eventually grown stronger.

Oliver, seated beside his wife, pulled her toward him and hugged her. Pride was etched on his face. As they had become more open with each other, Alexandra could read every emotion on his face.

“You see? Now, everyone finally recognizes just how extraordinary you are,” he murmured in her ear.

Alexandra felt warm all over, but she knew the situation well enough not to give herself too much hope.

“It’s J. Lewis they are praising, a man full of mystery. They aren’t thinking of me when they listen to my music—a duchess who reads and sews in her free time. Yes, I play the pianoforte often, but they don’t imagine that when they think of me. However, I am glad that they appreciate my music.”

After some tea and lemonade, with biscuits and cake, John and James finally bid them adieu. It was the time that Alexandra was waiting for, and yet she still hesitated before speaking.

“Oliver,” she began tentatively.

Oliver stopped and turned to her, concern flashing in his eyes. “What is it, darling?”

“I’m pregnant, Oliver,” she said, after taking a deep breath.

She took his hands and placed them on her abdomen. There wasn’t much of a change there, but somehow, she felt her husband’s hands tremble. It was almost as if he felt something.

He froze for a moment, at a loss for words. But then his face lit up with so much happiness that it made her giggle.

“Y-You—Alexandra…” he stammered as a maelstrom of emotions crossed his face in the blink of an eye.

Joy. Surprise. Love. Admiration. They were all there. It made Alexandra want to cry tears of joy, but they wouldn’t come. There was just that bubbling brook that was her heart.

“Alexandra…” Oliver pulled her in his arms. “You’ve just given me the greatest gift imaginable.”

“I thought you might be overwhelmed,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I admit that I am.”

He pulled back so that he could look into her eyes. “Overwhelmed with happiness, yes. Alexandra, I had not felt anything like this before. I want to meet our child soon. You have granted me one of my secret wishes—to be a father. Yes, I may not have had the most exemplary of fathers, but I intend to be a good father for our children.”

“Children,” Alexandra echoed as she let her tears fall freely.

She leaned into his embrace, knowing that he would always catch her if she even looked like she was about to fall.

With Oliver, she had finally found someone she could truly feel safe with.

The End?