Epilogue

Eight years later…

T he snow-covered grounds of Ravenscroft gleamed beneath the pale winter sun. Charlotte crouched behind a frost-dusted hedge, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration as she packed another snowball. The chilled air nipped at her skin, but her heart was alight with the thrill of the moment.

A deep chuckle rumbled from behind a nearby tree. “Is that the best you can do, my dear?” Grant’s voice called out, his teasing tone sending a delightful shiver through her.

Charlotte grinned, peering around her cover. “For a duke, you’re surprisingly poor at camouflage,” she quipped, her eyes catching the unmistakable dark silhouette of her husband amidst the white expanse. With a calculated toss, her snowball sailed through the air, striking him squarely in the chest.

Grant feigned a stagger, brushing snow from his coat with exaggerated drama. “A direct hit!” he exclaimed, his gaze twinkling with amusement. “I shall have to repay you in kind, my lady.”

Before Charlotte could react, he bounded forward, his long strides quickly closing the distance. She shrieked with laughter, dropping her remaining snowball and fleeing across the garden, her skirts trailing like ribbons behind her.

“You can not outrun me!” Grant called, his voice filled with mock determination.

“Perhaps not, but I can outmaneuver you!” She shot back, weaving between the snow-laden trees. Her breath puffed in the cold air, and her laughter echoed, a joyous melody that mingled with the rustling branches.

His arms encircled her suddenly, lifting her off the ground in one swift motion. “Caught you!” he declared triumphantly, spinning her in a circle as she squealed with delight.

“Grant!” Charlotte managed between giggles, clutching his shoulders for balance. When he finally set her down, she found herself face-to-face with him, his dark eyes alight with mischief and warmth. The proximity was intoxicating, and the world seemed to pause, leaving only the two of them in their own winter wonderland.

“I believe I’ve won,” Grant murmured, his voice low and rich with affection. His hands lingered at her waist, steadying her as her knees threatened to give way beneath his penetrating gaze.

“And what prize do you claim, Your Grace?” She asked, her breathless tone betraying the effect he had on her.

Grant’s lips curved into a slow smile, his gloved fingers brushing a stray curl from her face. “I already have it,” he whispered, his voice filled with reverence. “You, Charlotte. You’re my greatest prize.”

Her heart swelled with love and gratitude. “And you, Grant, are my greatest joy,” she replied softly.

He bent his head, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that chased away the winter chill. When they parted, Charlotte rested her forehead against his, her smile tender.

“I suppose we should return before the children send out a search party,” she said, her voice filled with warmth.

Grant chuckled, releasing her reluctantly but keeping her hand firmly clasped in his. “They do have a knack for turning the household upside down when left to their own devices.”

As they walked hand in hand toward the manor, the laughter of children reached them before they even stepped through the door. Inside, the house was alive with festive cheer. Garlands of pine and holly adorned the banisters, and the scent of cinnamon and mulled wine wafted through the air.

“Mama! Papa!” their eldest daughter, Elizabeth, called out, her sandy blond curls bouncing as she rushed toward them. Behind her, James and little Benjamin followed, their cheeks flushed with excitement.

Charlotte knelt, opening her arms to gather her children close. “Have you been good for Miss Hawkins while we’ve been out?” she asked, smoothing Elizabeth’s hair.

“We’ve been perfect,” James declared, his mischievous grin belying his words. “Though Benjamin tried to eat one of the ornaments again.”

Benjamin, clutching a wooden toy soldier, looked up with wide, innocent eyes. “It was shiny,” he explained solemnly.

Grant laughed, scooping the youngest into his arms. “I see we’ve raised a connoisseur of fine decorations,” he teased, ruffling Benjamin’s hair. “Perhaps we should focus his culinary ambitions on the gingerbread.”

Elizabeth tugged at Charlotte’s sleeve. “Mama, Papa, will you tell us a story by the fire?”

Charlotte glanced at Grant, who smiled indulgently. “I think we can manage that,” he said, guiding them all toward the cozy sitting room.

As the family settled around the crackling hearth, Charlotte leaned into Grant’s side, her head resting against his shoulder. She watched as their children huddled together on the rug, their eyes alight with anticipation as Grant began to weave one of his grand tales.

“Once upon a time,” he began, his deep voice capturing their attention instantly, “there was a brave knight who thought himself invincible. That is, until he met a fierce lady who proved him quite wrong…”

Charlotte’s lips curved into a smile, her heart full. She glanced at Grant, his gaze soft as he glanced her way. Their shared journey had been one of unexpected twists and profound discoveries, and now, here they were—partners, lovers, and parents.

As the children drifted to sleep, their heads nodding against each other, Charlotte reached for Grant’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what, my love?” he asked, his brow arching.

“For this,” she replied simply, her gaze sweeping over their children, the warmth of the fire, and the home they had built together. “For us.”

Grant pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice low and filled with unwavering devotion. “It is I who should thank you, Charlotte. For reminding me what it means to truly live, and to love.”

As the snow fell softly outside, blanketing the world in a hushed stillness, Charlotte nestled closer to Grant, her heart brimming with gratitude for all of the blessings she had been granted. Theirs was a love for all time as steady as the evergreens that surrounded their home.