EPILOGUE

Six months later

I stood before the full-length mirror, hardly recognising the woman who stared back. The ivory silk of my wedding gown shimmered in the sunlight that streamed through the window, the delicate lace veil cascading down my back like a waterfall. My hair was swept up in an elegant knot. Lavender surrounded me, taken from the gardens of Frogmere Manor. Gardens that were now mine to tend and nurture alongside my soon-to-be husband.

"Oh, Miss Hannah," Kitty breathed from behind me, her eyes wide with wonder. "You look like something out of a fairy tale."

I smiled at her reflection, reaching back to squeeze her hand. Over past few months, as papers were sorted and John's claim validated, it was Kitty who'd kept my mind and hands busy with rearranging the manor to prepare for my life with John. She'd continued being my rock during the whirlwind of wedding preparations over the past few weeks.

"It feels like a fairy tale," I admitted. "I keep expecting to wake up and find it was all a dream."

"Not a dream, dear," Maggie said softly from her seat by the window. "A dream come true, perhaps, but very much real. My, you do remind me of my ma. How proud they'd have been to see their granddaughter right now."

My throat tightened at the sight of her, still too thin but a rose-pink colour flushed in her cheeks. "Thanks Mother."

A knock at the door startled me from my reverie. Kitty hurried to answer it, bobbing a quick curtsy to whoever stood on the other side.

"Begging your pardon, Miss, but there's a gentleman here to see you. He says it's urgent."

I frowned, glancing at the clock on the mantel. The ceremony was due to start in less than an hour. What could be so pressing as to intrude upon a bride's preparations on her wedding day?

"Did he give a name?" I asked, already moving towards the door.

"No, Miss. But he's in military uniform. He said his name is Younger."

Maggie stood, her hand resting on the chair's arm. "Did you say Younger?"

"As in the housekeeper from Grimmore?" I asked.

Maggie crossed the room and yanked open the door. A man in full regimentals stood in the hallway. He swallowed hard when he looked at Maggie.

"Barty," Maggie whispered. "Is it… Is it truly you?"

The man swallowed hard again, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He looked to be around forty, with close-cropped greying hair and a soldier's bearing. But his eyes… His eyes were a startling blue, the exact shade of my own.

"Maggie," he said hoarsely. "My God, Maggie. I thought… I was told… I never dared to hope…"

He strode forward before stopping abruptly, as if suddenly remembering his place. His gaze flicked to me, widening with wonder and no small amount of trepidation.

"She's our little one? Isn't she?" he asked.

"Her name's Hannah," Maggie said.

"Hannah," he said softly. "We have a lot of talk about, all three of us."

I nodded mutely, tears welling in my eyes. I had never dreamed of this moment, never allowed myself to imagine a mother who wanted me and a father who might one day come to find me.

"How?" Maggie asked, moving to stand beside him. "Barty, how are you here? I thought… I thought you were dead, or lost to me forever."

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving my face. "Not dead. Though there were times I wished for it. Maggie, I'm so sorry. For everything. For leaving you, for not being there when you needed me most. I was a coward and a fool."

"You were barely more than a boy," Maggie whispered. "We both were. And your parents…"

"Shipped me off to the army the moment they realised you were with child," he confirmed grimly. "Bought my commission somehow and packed me off to the continent before I could even blink. I tried to write, to send word, but I never knew if my letters reached you."

"They didn't," Maggie said softly. "Lady Catherine saw to that, I wager. She couldn't risk anyone finding out."

Barty's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "I should have tried harder. Should have found a way to come back, to claim you both as my own. But the years passed, and the battles came, one after another, and I began to lose hope. To think that perhaps it was better to let you believe me dead than to burden you with my own shame."

"Don't," I said fiercely, finding my voice at last. "You're not a burden or a shame. You're my father. And I… I'm so very glad to meet you at last."

The tears that had been threatening spilled over, tracing silvery paths down my cheeks. Barty stepped into the room and reached out hesitantly, as if afraid I might flinch away. But I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, and let him fold me into his embrace.

"My girl," he murmured into my hair, his own tears dampening the delicate veil. "My beautiful, brave girl. Can you ever forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive," I said, my voice muffled against his chest. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

We clung to each other for a long moment, Maggie's hand coming to rest on my shoulder in silent support. A strange little family, cobbled together from broken pieces. But a family nonetheless.

A discreet cough from the doorway finally forced us to part. Kitty stood there, and she bobbed another curtsy.

"Begging your pardon, Miss, but the guests are starting to arrive. It's almost time."

I nodded, swiping at my damp cheeks with the back of my hand. "Thank you, Kitty. I'll be down in a moment."

I turned back to Barty, my father.

"Will you walk me down the aisle?" I asked softly. "I know it's sudden and we've only just met, but it would mean the world to me to have you by my side today."

Barty's eyes widened.

"Go on, you know you want to say yes," Maggie said. She nudged him in the side with her elbow.

"I'd be honoured," he replied.

Tears threatened again, but I blinked them back. Today was a day for joy, not sorrow. For new beginnings and second chances. For love, in all its many forms.

Maggie fussed with my veil, smoothing it over my shoulders with trembling hands. "You look radiant, my dear," she whispered.

I leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Thanks to you," I murmured.

Together, the three of us made our way down the grand staircase of Frogmere Manor. The foyer was filled with guests, a motley assortment of gentry and commoners alike. Merchants and mill workers, soldiers and servants.

At the foot of the stairs, John waited for me. He looked resplendent in his finest suit, his dark hair neatly combed, his blue eyes bright with love and wonder. On his finger, the ring from inside the ball glistened. Beside him stood James, grinning from ear to ear but looking quite dashing himself.

A hunched figure left the crowd and shuffled over to us and uttered a single sentence. "Swallow is now free."

The ceremony passed in a blur of music and laughter, tears and smiles. John and I clasped hands before the vicar, our eyes locked on each other as we recited the vows that would bind us together.

"I, Oliver Jonathan Nicholson, take thee, Hannah Margaret Jameson, to be my wedded wife. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death us do part."

His voice was strong and clear, ringing out through the room like a clarion call. I felt the weight of his words settle over me like a mantle, a promise and a challenge all in one.

"I, Hannah Margaret Jameson-Younger," John's eyebrow rose but said nothing as I continued. "take thee, Oliver Jonathan Nicholson, to be my wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death us do part."

The vicar pronounced us husband and wife, and John swept me into his arms, his lips finding mine in a kiss that seared my soul. The assembled guests erupted into cheers and applause, but I scarcely heard them. At that moment, there was only John, his heart beating in time with mine, his breath mingling with my own.

We broke apart at last, flushed and grinning like fools. John took my hand, leading me to the table where the registry lay open, waiting for our signatures. He picked up the quill, dipping it into the inkwell with a steady hand.

I watched proudly as he signed his name, the letters flowing from the nib in a bold, albeit shaky script. Months of practice but now he could write his name: Oliver Jonathan Sheppard. The lost heir, the reclaimed lord. The man who had stolen my heart and given me his own in return.

He passed the quill to me, his fingers brushing mine in a gentle caress. I took it, feeling the weight of it in my hand.

Hannah Margaret Jameson-Younger. I signed my full name with a flourish, the ink still glistening as I lifted the quill from the page. It looked right, felt right. As if it had always been meant to be.

John pulled me close, his forehead resting against mine. "My wife," he murmured. "My lady. My love."

"My husband," I whispered back, my heart too full for any other words. "My lord. My heart."

"Two people, one love, shared heart," John said.