Epilogue

Six Weeks Later

Bridget sat at the large dinner table and watched her mother and father. It was not the first time they had eaten dinner together, but it was the first time they had eaten somewhere else since Margaret's wedding.

Bridget still had some distrust in her heart, but she had to admit that her father was making an effort.

Ralph's hand shook as he lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth, and while everyone at the table must have noticed it, no one commented on it. He managed to consume the spoonful of soup without spilling it and went back for more.

The tremors were not as bad as they had been after the first two weeks. Bridget could only assume that they were caused by a lack of alcohol, but she could not be sure. Her father did not talk much, not to her and not to anyone. She had been unable to monitor him constantly, but she received regular updates from her mother.

It was still a sad sight, but it was better than what had been the years before.

Penelope picked up Ralph's napkin and used it to wipe his chin, even though he had spilled no soup. She had been nurturing him and caring for him since the tremors in his hands had started. Ralph did not protest even though there were a few others around the table to see.

"I don't know if I have ever seen her like this," Bridget whispered to the Duke. "I can still see the resentment in her eyes, but she does care for him. I know she did care for him deeply before all of this began, but I never thought I would see her as she is now. Nor my father. He is a shell of himself. I contend that he would do anything my mother told him to do, and he would do it with the expressionless look he has most of the time."

"Time," the Duke repeated. "It will take a lot of time. Your family has gone through a lot, and all of you need to heal. Including your sister."

"She believes Father has come down with the flu," Bridget said.

"What are the two of you whispering about over there?" Margaret asked.

"It is none of your business, which is why we are whispering," Bridget said cheekily.

Margaret smiled sarcastically at Bridget before smiling genuinely at her husband.

Bridget was not sure she had seen two people more in love than her sister and Lord Michael. Of course, she felt more in love than anyone else ever had, but she hoped she did not act the same. It was fine for Margaret to act like that, as it suited her character, but Bridget was a different woman entirely.

The other person at the table was the Duke's mother, Rebecca. It was the first time the seven of them had been together since the wedding. There had been a lot to do after the wedding. Margaret had moved to Sheffield House with Michael, Ralph and Penelope had ample opportunity to deal with their problems with their youngest gone, and Bridget and Nicholas had time to get to know each other.

The more time Bridget got to spend with the Duke, the more she fell in love with him. She wanted nothing more than to spend time with him, but it worried her a little when he suggested they get to know each other better before thinking about marriage. They had flipped from being annoyed by each other to desiring each other so quickly that she worried they might flip back.

She knew now that it was an impossibility.

"Did you speak to Father when he arrived?" Bridget whispered.

"I did," the Duke confirmed.

Bridget looked at her father again—he looked like a child in an adult's body. Suddenly cutting alcohol had left him with withdrawals. Perhaps he had taken stronger things than only that. He looked less than he was before, but inside, he was more. His character was slowly returning, and he would occasionally offer a witty retort or keen observation. He still had a long way to go, but Penelope looked ready to help him get there.

The Duke had ensured there was no alcohol served at the dinner, with cordial being offered instead and coffee and tea later. Still, there would come a time when the Earl would be faced with a difficult decision. He had been well on the path to recovery so far, and Bridget could only hope that would continue.

The Duke took up his knife and tapped it against the side of his glass. A hush fell over the room.

"I wish to thank you all for coming here tonight. Of course, my brother and Margaret did not have far to go, and neither did Mother, but thank you to Lord Lincoln and Lady Lincoln for traveling all this way with their eldest daughter, who I have grown even more fond of in these past weeks. There is so much love in this room, but I don't wish to make the same toast as I made at the wedding. This toast is about… well, I had the opportunity to speak with Lord Lincoln upon his arrival, and he gave me his blessing."

Margaret clapped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened.

"I have asked for Lady Bridget's hand in marriage, and she has accepted."

"When?" Margaret exclaimed, jumping up from her chair and rounding the table.

"As soon as possible," the Duke said.

Margaret almost knocked her sister over when she embraced her. Bridget wrapped her arms around Margaret and held her tight. Michael was on his feet, too, and he came over to shake his brother's hand. The parents rose, too, and the mood shifted to one of celebration.

Bridgette even noticed her father smiling, something he had not done in recent weeks. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

She caught the Duke's eyes as they were swarmed by family.

"I love you," she mouthed.

"I love you, too," he mouthed back.

The End?