Extended Epilogue

“Well at least it isn't Italy,” Cherie said uncertainly, glancing around at the room with its moth-eaten curtains, chipped tub, dusty vanity, and peeling, faded wallpaper. She hadn't been expecting her honeymoon to be as glamorous as Cassandra’s Italian one, but she hadn't been expecting it to be quite this bad, either.

“It certainly is not Italy,” her husband agreed, looking around the shabby room with a pained expression on his face. “I'm starting to think that I shouldn't have let you pick our honeymoon spot.”

“Don't say that!” Cherie smiled in what she hoped was a winning manner. “It's romantic! Isn't it?”

He must have heard the insecurity in her voice, because he smiled, crossed the room, and wrapped his arms around her.

“Yes, it is romantic,” he agreed. “Anywhere that I went with you would be romantic.” Cherie set her head on her husband’s shoulder and breathed in his scent. For several glorious moments, it seemed as if it was just the two of them, alone in all the world, holding one another.

Then the person in the room next door shouted something indecipherable and banged on the wall. The room shuddered, and Cherie was sure another blow would knock it over.

Thomas looked alarmed. “But please, can you remind me why you didn’t want to go to Italy?”

“Because everyone goes to Italy!” she cried, exasperated. “I wanted to do something original. Something that actually says something about our marriage and our love story.”

“But who are you saying this to?” Thomas asked. “No one cares where we go on Honeymoon!”

Cherie bit her lip. He had a point about this.

“Come, let’s change for dinner,” she said. “Perhaps we will like what they have to serve!”

And while Cherie could say with certainty that the dinner they were served half an hour later was not nearly as bad as their room had been, it still wasn’t exactly the royal treatment that most women expected on their honeymoons.

“The wine isn’t bad,” Thomas said, sampling it with a hopeful gleam in his eye. “So at least there's that.”

“We shall have to drink lots of it,” she said, “if we are to get through this whole week here.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Now that you’re here, you really want to stay a whole week?”

“Well…” Cherie was caught between wanting to be right and desperately wanting to get away from the inn, but she also knew her husband would love for her to admit her defeat, and she wasn’t going to give that to him. He was smiling at her now with a knowing look, and she primly smirked back at him. “Of course I do, dear.”

Thomas laughed. “You really are stubborn sometimes.”

“In that regard, we are alike.” They grinned at each other, and Cherie’s heart picked up speed. Even after more than two years of marriage, her husband’s wicked grin could still make her feel weak-kneed.

“Well, no matter where we end up, we have to enjoy it,” Thomas said. “This might be our one chance to get away, what with how big the twins are getting. It’s hard enough to be away from them for a week!”

“To be honest, I missed them on the carriage ride here,” Cherie said with a sigh. “I understand now why you are supposed to have your honeymoon before you have children. Because once you have little ones, not only do you have no time for romantic getaways, but you also miss them terribly!”

“I think honeymoons are supposed to be when you make children,” Thomas pointed out, winking at her.

Cherie flushed. “Just promise me that you won’t attempt such a thing on our honeymoon. Two is more than enough for now.”

Thomas’s eyes glinted mischievously. “I can’t make that promise.”

She laughed, then raised her glass of wine in the air. “To us,” she said. “And to everything we have fought through to make this marriage work.”

“To the next adventure, whatever it might be,” Thomas agreed, raising his glass and clinking it against hers. “Although I sincerely hope it doesn’t involve any more poisonings, false accusations of illegitimacy, or runaway ladies trying to escape a forced marriage.”

“What are you saying?” Cherie asked, pretending to look concerned. “Do you want our lives to become boring and conventional?”

“With the wallflowers around, that will never happen. But yes, I wouldn’t mind a conventional few years. I’ve had enough unconventionality to last a lifetime.”

Cherie had to agree with that. She was thankful she’d made a full recovery from Rochford’s poisoning, but whenever she became even slightly short of breath, she would suddenly feel as if she was back in Thomas’s study, gasping for air, and it would leave her shaken for days after. Fortunately, this hadn’t happened in a long time. Her sons kept her so busy that she didn’t have much time to remember that horrible night.

Thomas reached across the table and took her hand, as if sensing what she was thinking about. “I love you,” he said, stroking his finger across her ungloved hand.

“I love you,” she said, and her heart swelled. She and James stared at each other for a long moment, both grinning like idiots, until a voice interrupted them.

“The champagne you ordered, Your Grace.” They turned to see a young maid carrying a bottle of champagne and an ice bucket, and Cherie gasped with delight.

“You ordered this for us?”

“They had to go to London to get it, but yes, I did,” Thomas teased, and Cherie rolled her eyes. He took the bottle of champagne and expertly popped it open. Bubbles frothed out the top, and Cherie squealed with delight.

Thomas was pouring them each a glass when the maid, who had lingered to watch, tentatively asked, “Are you celebrating something, Your Grace?”

“Indeed,” Thomas said. “It is our honeymoon!”

“Oh how lovely!” The maid gushed, her eyes lighting up. “Congratulations! You do have the air of newlyweds, I thought perhaps that you were.”

“Thank you,” Cherie said, feeling that it was unnecessary to explain they’d actually been married for two years.

“And where is the final destination of your honeymoon?” the maid asked.

“Oh, we’re spending it here,” Thomas explained, winking at Cherie.

The maid looked confused. “Oh… but… I thought you were just passing through, that you are here to catch a boat.”

“No, we wanted to spend our honeymoon here,” Thomas said, and now his tone was becoming amused. He clearly found the situation as ludicrous as the maid did.

“In this city?” she clarified.

“At this inn,” Cherie said.

The maid bit her lip, clearly desperate to ask the question she was dying to but afraid it was too presumptuous. At last, it burst from her, as if she couldn’t hold it in for a second longer: “But why? You’re the Duke and Duchess of Wheaton. You could go anywhere in the world!”

Cherie grinned, reached across the table, and took her husband’s hand. “Yes, but this is where our love story began. In fact,” and Cherie couldn’t help but laugh at how mad it all seemed, “The Carleton Inn is where the Duke proposed. So to us, it’s the most romantic place on earth.”

And in that moment, she really meant it.

The End.