BONUS EPILOGUE

One Year Later

Ian paced the dim hallway outside the south drawing room at Stonehurst, his shoulders tight, hands clenched at his sides.

This was damn torture.

“You’ll wear a hole in the floorboards if you keep it up.” His younger brother, Nathaniel strolled toward him, a small bouquet of wildflowers clutched in his hand. “Not that I mind. Gives me?—”

Nathaniel’s voice was drowned out by Charlotte’s scream resonating from inside that small room.

Ian might as well have been back in Italy—helplessly far away from her.

He glared at his younger brother. “I seem to recall you being far worse than this when your horse foaled last year.”

Nathaniel’s grin was unapologetic. “That was different. That mare cost me a fortune.”

Ian shook his head, though his tension eased slightly. “I’m not sure whether to be proud or suspicious of your work here at Stonehurst this past year.”

“Both, probably,” Nate replied easily. “Though I’ll admit, it’s been... satisfying. More so than I expected.” He straightened, his expression softening. “You were right to trust me with it, Ian. For what it’s worth, thank you.”

Ian tilted his head, studying him. “I didn’t trust you, Nate. I trusted what you could become. There’s a difference.”

Nathaniel chuckled, but there was a faint edge of emotion in his voice as he said, “Fair enough. Speaking of what we can become, how does it feel to be mere moments away from fatherhood?”

Ian huffed a laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Like I’m about to be turned inside out. How can you be so calm?”

“I’m not the one about to have my life irrevocably changed.”

Something about his answer, the subtle flippancy of it, was interesting. Ian stilled, his sharp gaze narrowing. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Nathaniel rested against the deep window seat against the opposite wall, one boot crossed over the other. It was pure luck he was still in the country. He had been dividing his time between London and acting as land steward for Stonehurst, and doing a fine job of it. Not to mention, working suited him, and he never looked healthier.

And the smug, handsome arse knew it.

Ah, Arabella.

“I didn’t think you were on speaking terms with her yet.”

The blush that had crept to his little brother’s cheeks was altogether too innocent for an unabashed rake.

“She finally wrote back to my letters this week. Told me she’ll be visiting her sister not too far away. I’m planning?—”

The sound of Charlotte’s agony still seeped through the closed door.

“They won’t let me back inside,” Ian muttered. “Kicked out of my own drawing room!” He tightened his fists, helpless as Charlotte endured her pain.

“I came as soon as word reached me. Mr. Avery’s roof needed repair, and then Mrs. Maloney’s wagon broke its axle.” His voice trailed off. “Christ, Ian. You look like you might pass out. Why don’t you sit?”

He only glowered at his brother in response.

Charlotte didn’t want to make a big spectacle of welcoming their first child in the city as others preferred. She insisted she was happier in the country, anyhow, and Ian wasn’t going to object. He only wanted the mother of his child happy and safe. They had been out walking in the garden early in the morning, the bright morning sun of a June morning and the birds their only company. She hadn’t been able to sleep. They were about to reach the apiary when the labor pain began.

“It’s been fourteen hours. I’m trying not to lose my mind.” Ian resumed his restless pacing. He patted his vest for another cheroot but his pocket was empty. He never expected childbirth to turn him into a human chimney, but add that to the growing list of things I had discovered about himself in recent years.

“You’re failing. Admirably, but…” Nathaniel pushed off the wall to stand beside him. “The accoucheur has everything in hand.”

“If you’re going to stay, at least pretend to be supportive—or go back to digging wells.”

“Fixing a roof,” he grumbled back.

Ian bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, as another anguished cry ripped through the closed door. He felt as if he were about to be sick, the rest of the world growing cold around him and a sharp metallic taste rose in his mouth.

Charlotte let out another pained wail, making Ian jolt upright. He rushed to the door, heart pounding and palms slick with sweat.

“Charlotte,” he yelled. “Lottie!”

The answering silence was suddenly cut short by another cry—a high-pitched rattling of a newborn.

He collapsed against the wall, clasping his hand over his mouth, a tide of relief sweeping over him.

Nathaniel grinned, glancing down at the happy bunch of daisies in his hand. “More importantly, Lottie had it well in hand. Congratulations, Brother.”

It seemed like lifetimes before the drawing room door opened a few minutes later, and both men turned sharply. The monthly nurse stepped out, a tall woman with long limbs and a wide, flat smile.

“The duchess is in good health and resting. You may go in, Your Grace.”

Ian strode past her into the room, freezing in the doorway at the sight before him.

Charlotte lay propped on the pillows, pale but radiant, exhaustion softening her serene smile. Nestled in her arms was a bundle swaddled in soft linen, its edges trimmed with delicate lace.

He stepped forward slowly, feeling like a man treading sacred ground. Charlotte glanced up, her weary smile tugging at something deep inside him.

“Ian,” she said softly. “Come here and meet our daughter.”

Daughter.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

“Tired,” she admitted. “But deliriously happy.” She shifted the baby slightly, angling her so Ian could see more of her tiny face. “And you?”

Ian blinked, startled. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Fathers are allowed feelings, too, you know.”

A laugh escaped him, more breath than sound. “I’m—” He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the baby’s impossibly small features. He was overwhelmed and in awe. “We have a daughter?”

Charlotte’s expression softened. “Would you like to hold her?”

Ian hesitated. He didn’t know where to begin. How did a man hold the entire world in his hands?

“Come here,” Charlotte coaxed gently.

Before sitting down, Ian reached for her, his hand unsteady as it cupped her cheek. She looked exhausted, her skin pale and damp, but she’d never been more beautiful to him. How had she done this? How had she endured so much, so bravely? His chest tightened, pride and something achingly tender rising up in him.

He brushed a strand of hair back from her face, his thumb stroking her cheek as he leaned in. “You’re amazing,” he said, voice rough, barely more than a whisper. He kissed her softly, careful not to overwhelm her, but needing to show her somehow what he couldn’t yet say.

Ian rested his forehead against hers for a moment, his eyes closed. “Well done, Honeybee. The words felt small compared to what she’d done, but they were all he had.

When he opened his eyes and drew back, there were tears in those arresting blue eyes of hers—full of love and relief.

He sat beside her, and she carefully transferred their daughter into his arms. For a moment, he simply stared. The weight of her was unlike anything he’d ever known, grounding him in a way that felt both terrifying and right.

“She’s so small,” he said finally, his voice uneven.

“She’ll grow,” Charlotte said, leaning her head against his shoulder, admiring their daughter.

Ian brushed a thumb over her golden, downy soft hair. “She’s beautiful. Like her mother.”

“I cannot believe she is finally here.”

Ian reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed a fingertip over his daughter’s impossibly tiny cheek. She stirred, letting out a soft sigh that made his heart feel too big for his chest.

“I’ll never deserve this.”

Charlotte laughed softly. “Nonsense. You’ll just spend the rest of your life making sure you do.”

Ian leaned forward, pressing a reverent kiss to her forehead, then another to his daughter’s downy head. “Thank you,” he whispered.

The door opened just then, and Nathaniel appeared, a small bouquet of wildflowers in his hand. “Don’t let me interrupt, just dropping these off before they wilt.” He set placed the flowers into a small vase that the maid brought in on the nearby table and glanced briefly at the baby. “Everyone well?”

Charlotte waved him over. “Come meet your niece, Nate.”

His usual swagger softened as he approached the cot. He peered down at the baby, his expression inscrutable. “Well,” he said after a moment, his voice hitching, “at least she doesn’t look like you, Ian.”

Charlotte laughed, and Ian gave his brother a look that was half a glare, half a grin.

Nathaniel bent down and kissed Charlotte’s hand. “Well done, Lottie. Try for some rest, and I promise I will be back to visit when you’re up for callers.” Nathaniel cleared his throat dramatically. “I’ll leave you to your happy little family. Please excuse me, I have a house party to dress for and a heart to win back.”

Ian glanced up briefly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Good luck, Nathaniel.”

Charlotte swung her surprised glance toward Ian. “Is he? Arabella?”

Ian nodded, his attention quick to return to Charlotte and their daughter.

“She’s perfect,” he murmured as if he still couldn’t believe it. He rested his forehead against Charlotte’s, their daughter nestled between them. “I failed you once, but you’ve given me a second chance to be the man I should have been—first for you, and now for her. I never thought I could love anything as much as I love you.”

Charlotte leaned into him, her heart full. “And now we have her. Our Rose.”

The End