Extended Epilogue

Seven months later

Morgan paced the length of the hallway, his boots echoing against the wooden floor with every step. The castle seemed unnaturally still, save for the muffled sounds from the room beyond the heavy oak door. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, his cravat hanging loose around his neck, and muttered under his breath.

“For heaven’s sake, man, sit down before you wear a hole into the floorboards,” Colin drawled from a nearby chair, his legs stretched out as though he were lounging in a drawing room.

Morgan spun on his heel to face his friend. “Sit down? My wife is giving birth, Colin. Sit down?” His voice rose. “This is everything. It is the world.”

Colin’s lips twitched as he fought a smile. “I assure you, women have been giving birth for centuries, Giltford. I dare say it is not a novel event.”

Morgan glared at him, his hands fisting at his sides. “Damn you, Broughton. Let us see how calm you are when it is your turn.”

Colin chuckled, utterly unfazed. “Oh, I imagine I shall be as composed as a Sunday sermon. I am nothing if not a pillar of fortitude.”

Morgan let out an exasperated groan, turning back to his pacing. “You have no idea what you’re speaking of,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair again. “She is everything, Colin. And she is—”

“Bringing your child into the world, yes, I am aware,” Colin interrupted smoothly. “And you will both survive it. Though I might not, if you do not cease your infernal pacing.”

Morgan shot him a glare but was spared from further argument as the door to the birthing room creaked open. He froze mid-step, his breath catching as Anna stepped into the hallway, her face alight with a grin.

“You have a daughter,” she declared, her voice triumphant.

Morgan stared at her, his chest tightening with a flood of relief and joy that threatened to undo him. “A girl?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“A perfect little girl,” Anna confirmed, her grin widening. “Now, do stop glaring at Colin and go see your wife. She is waiting.”

Morgan was moving before she finished speaking, brushing past her and into the room. The sight that met him stole his breath. Peggy lay in the center of the large bed, her hair damp and curling around her flushed face, her eyes tired but shining. Cradled in her arms was the tiniest bundle Morgan had ever seen.

“Margaret,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he crossed the room.

She smiled at him, weary but radiant. “Come meet your daughter,” she said softly, her gaze fixed on him with a warmth that melted the last of his frayed nerves.

Morgan knelt by the bed, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch the baby’s impossibly small fingers. The infant stirred, her tiny face scrunching before relaxing again.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Absolutely perfect.”

Peggy’s smile deepened. “We thought to name her Victoria,” she said. “If that pleases you.”

Morgan’s chest tightened, his heart swelling at the sound of his late sister’s name on her lips. “It pleases me more than I can say,” he managed.

Behind him, the door opened again, and Petunia bustled in, her cheeks pink with excitement. “One child born, and now there will be expectations for many more,” she declared with a grin.

“Petunia!” Peggy protested, her voice half-laughing, half-indignant. “You may say that once you have borne the pain of bringing one into the world.”

Petunia waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I shall leave that to you young ones. I have plenty to keep me occupied.”

Morgan chuckled, watching as Petunia kissed Peggy’s cheek and then the top of the baby’s head before departing, her usual humor leaving warmth in her wake.

As the room quieted, Morgan slipped out of his boots and climbed onto the bed beside Peggy. He drew her and their daughter into his arms, holding them close. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a golden glow over the room, but Morgan saw nothing beyond the two most precious people in his life.

He pressed a kiss to Peggy’s temple, then rested his cheek against her hair, too overwhelmed to speak. Words were inadequate for the depth of his gratitude, his love, and the joy that filled him.

This was his world, he thought, his heart full to bursting. His wife, his daughter—his family. And for the first time in his life, everything felt utterly, beautifully complete.

***

“Might I remind you that I am the Duke of this castle?” came Morgan’s deep voice, filled with exasperation, floating down the corridor.

Curious, Peggy followed the sound into the drawing room, her silk skirts whispering against the polished floor. She stopped in the doorway, biting back a laugh at the scene before her.

Morgan stood by his favorite armchair, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on Leonardo, who was stretched luxuriously across the seat. The cat blinked slowly at him, completely unbothered.

“Leonardo,” Morgan said with strained patience, “this is my chair. Kindly vacate it at once.”

The cat responded by arching his back in an elaborate stretch, his tail flicking lazily.

Peggy let out a soft laugh, drawing her husband’s gaze. “You do realize, darling, that if you wish for Leonardo to comply, you must address him with far more respect?”

Morgan turned to her, raising a brow. “This is entirely your doing, Margaret. You have given the cat a castle and spoiled him beyond reason. Now he believes himself a prince.”

“Oh, but he is a prince,” Peggy replied with mock seriousness as she approached, pressing a quick kiss to Morgan’s cheek before bending to stroke Leonardo’s fuzzy head. The cat purred contentedly under her touch.

She crouched by the armchair, her voice soft and sweet. “Leonardo, my dear,” she began, “would you be so kind as to allow His Grace to sit in his chair? While you are indeed a very handsome prince, the Duke owns this castle, and he must be respected.”

Leonardo blinked at her once more before slowly rising. With an air of deliberate nonchalance, he leapt down from the chair, circled Peggy’s skirts with a pleased purr, and then padded out of the room with his tail held high.

Morgan stared after the retreating feline, his mouth slightly agape. “How on earth did you manage that?” he asked, incredulous.

Peggy straightened, laughing softly. “All Leonardo desires is acknowledgment of his royal status and a touch of respect,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Morgan scoffed, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Then I suppose I must defer to His Majesty in all things,” he said dryly.

Peggy wagged a finger at him, her laughter bubbling up again. “Sarcasm will not do, Your Grace.”

Morgan reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “You are insufferable,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple.

Before she could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps and the swish of skirts in the foyer reached them. Moments later, Lady Aleshire burst into the room, her face alight with excitement.

“I came as soon as I received word of Victoria’s birth!” she exclaimed, before catching sight of Morgan and quickly curtsying. “Your Grace,” she greeted, then turned to Peggy with another curtsy, her smile warm. “My dearest Duchess.”

Peggy chuckled, returning her friend’s embrace. “You have not changed a bit, Lady Aleshire.”

“Where is the little angel?” Lady Aleshire asked eagerly, her eyes sparkling.

Peggy gestured toward the staircase. “Come, I shall take you to the nursery.”

The two ascended together, their chatter filling the halls. In the nursery, they found Victoria fast asleep in Petunia’s arms, her tiny face serene.

“Oh, Peggy,” Lady Aleshire breathed, her voice tinged with awe. “She is perfection.”

Peggy’s heart swelled with pride as she smiled at her daughter. “She is quite the charmer,” she said softly.

They lingered a while before returning to the drawing room, where Morgan was engaged in conversation with the Comte de Beaumont, Petunia’s Belgian husband. The Comte greeted them warmly before turning to Peggy. “Your Grace, I have come to beg my wife to accompany me for a walk. Since the birth of your little one, she seems quite determined never to leave the castle.”

Lady Aleshire laughed. “I understand completely. Victoria is so enchanting that I would not mind staying forever myself.”

The room filled with laughter, the warmth of their shared mirth enveloping them. A moment later, Elizabeth entered, her arms cradling her son, Edward, with Alexander following behind her.

“Margaret, where is my niece?” Elizabeth asked, smiling as she placed Edward into Peggy’s arms.

Peggy beamed at her nephew, tickling his chin as he gurgled happily. “She is in the nursery, napping. Shall we introduce Edward to his cousin?”

Elizabeth nodded, and the women made their way upstairs once more. In the nursery, Peggy gently placed Edward beside Victoria’s cradle. “Edward, meet your cousin,” she said with a laugh.

The women gathered around, chatting and marveling at the children. When Peggy mentioned Petunia, Lady Aleshire let out a knowing laugh. “Heavens, I nearly forgot I have a husband,” Petunia quipped when reminded of the Comte’s request.

The room erupted in laughter, and Lady Aleshire added with a wink, “It happens to the best of us, my dear.”

***

“And so the gallant knight, having vanquished the fearsome dragon, approached the towering gates of the castle, his heart heavy with trepidation. Yet, as the gates swung open, he beheld the truth he had not dared to imagine…” Morgan paused, his brow furrowing as he looked at the next line. “The princess was not imprisoned by the dragon,” he read aloud, his confusion mounting, “she was the dragon, bound by a terrible curse.”

He stopped, staring at the book in mild disbelief. “What on earth does that even mean?”

Peggy’s laugh was soft but full of mirth as she turned her head against his chest. “No story is complete without a good twist, my dear,” she teased, her voice warm and light.

Morgan glanced down at her, shaking his head. They were in the nursery with Victoria asleep on his lap and his wife seated on the chaise beside him.

“I confess I do not understand it,” he murmured.

“You do not need to understand it,” Peggy replied, her smile widening. “You need only enjoy reading to us.”

Morgan sighed, though the sound was more contentment than exasperation. “That,” he said, “is the best part of my day.”

He shifted slightly on the chaise, careful not to disturb Victoria. The baby’s tiny fists rested against his waistcoat, her chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm. Morgan smoothed a hand over her downy hair before returning to the book.

“The knight, weary from battle yet resolute, stood before the king. He removed his helm and bowed deeply. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘I bring you news of the dragon that has long plagued your lands. It is vanquished, but I must tell you, it was no ordinary beast.’

The king frowned, his hand gripping the arm of his throne. ‘What do you mean?’ he demanded.

The knight took a breath. ‘The dragon,’ he said, ‘was none other than your daughter, the princess, trapped in a curse by the sorcerer’s wrath.’

The court erupted in gasps and whispers as the king’s face paled. ‘My daughter? How can this be?’

‘She was cursed to take the form of the dragon until a champion could see her for who she truly was,’ the knight explained. ‘But she is free now, Your Majesty, and awaits her return to the castle.’”

Morgan stopped again, lowering the book as he shook his head. “This grows more nonsensical by the page. I hardly know what to make of it.”

Peggy laughed, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. “Perhaps you are overthinking it,” she said. “You are simply meant to enjoy the story.”

Morgan gave a soft chuckle, his hand absently stroking Victoria’s head. “Perhaps you are right.”

He stared at the fire in the hearth, his thoughts shifting. “Margaret,” he began softly, his voice tinged with a note of hesitation. “I think of Victoria every day.”

Peggy tilted her head, looking up at him, her expression shifting from playful to understanding. She knew he was speaking not of their daughter, but of his late sister.

Morgan’s gaze remained fixed on the firelight dancing across the nursery walls, his jaw tightening briefly before he continued. “For so long, I carried the weight of her loss, the guilt of not protecting her. But now…” He paused, his hand absently stroking the tiny form on his lap. “Now, I think of her, and my thoughts are brighter. I feel as though—slowly—some of that guilt is beginning to leave me.”

Peggy reached up and took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. “That is what Victoria would have wanted,” she said gently. “For you to see that you did your best, Morgan. And for you to be happy in your life.”

Her words settled over him, quiet yet profound, and Morgan turned his head to press a kiss to her temple. “You always know what to say,” he murmured.

She smiled, and he leaned in to kiss her lips, soft and lingering. “What would you say,” he began, his tone shifting, “to hosting a ball in honor of both Victorias?”

Peggy’s eyes lit up, her smile widening as she straightened slightly. “A ball?” she repeated, her excitement unmistakable. “Oh, Morgan, I have been longing to host a grand winter event at Giltford Castle.”

“Then let us make it so,” he said, his voice rich with affection. “A celebration for our family, our future, and the two Victorias who mean the world to us.”

She wrapped her arms around him, her happiness spilling over in a radiant smile. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Morgan kissed her again, his heart full as the fire crackled softly beside them. This was his life now—love, family, and a future brighter than he had ever dared to dream.

And for the first time, he felt truly at peace.

The End