Epilogue

THE ENGAGEMENT BALL

The betrothal ball celebrating the engagement of Lady Melanie Rutherford to the Duke of Malum was, without question, the event of the Season—if not the entire decade.

Hosted by the Earl and Countess of Standish at their Mayfair home on Hanover Square, the ball had been eagerly anticipated by everyone fortunate enough to receive one of the highly-coveted invitations.

It was the talk of London.

Nearly a month had passed since the fire at Rutherford Place, an event that had disrupted more than just their plans. With so many personal effects lost and a new venue required, the decision for Reed and Goldie to host the ball at the end of the Season had felt both practical and symbolic—a way to mark new beginnings while saying goodbye to old wounds.

Standing in the receiving line, Melanie could hardly believe how much her life had changed in just a few weeks.

Her mother and Josie, now comfortably ensconced in Standish Hall—a far grander residence than their previous townhouse—had adjusted with relative ease. Caroline and Lord Helton, in a move that perhaps shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did, had opened their hearts and home to Ernest. They’d brought the idea up with Harry a few short days after Melanie’s recovery at Preston Hall, and now Lord Helton seemed determined to secure every possible benefit for the boy, treating him as a son in every sense but birth.

And Harry… well, he had transformed their engagement period—very real this time—into a courtship for the ages.

“You look beautiful.” His breath brushed the side of her face as they watched the footman pull the door open, allowing the waiting guests to begin streaming in.

Melanie turned her head toward him, her lips curving into a smile. “And you, as always, look magnificent.”

His silver eyes sparkled with something mischievous. “Flattery, my dear fiancée, will get you everywhere.”

Fiancée … he’d made it a point to say that word as often as possible, but it sent a flurry of butterflies dancing every time.

The line moved forward as the guests approached the procession. First, they were to be greeted by her mother, who stood graciously accepting warm congratulations, followed by Josie, and then Caroline and Lord Helton. Melanie and Harry were positioned next, and although Melanie was still somewhat nervous about having to greet so many people, she found herself talking freely, almost forgetting the struggles she’d had in the past year.

Just before the grand entrance into the ballroom, where the butler announced each new arrival, Reed and Goldie stood together, their pride unmistakable. For a moment, Melanie barely recognized her brother—his usual humility replaced by a quiet confidence that made him look every bit the earl he had become. It wasn’t arrogance, but a certain steadiness, as though he knew that he truly belonged in this role.

It was about time!

Harry leaned closer, his voice dropping with words meant only for her. “Let me know if this overwhelms you.”

“I never feel overwhelmed when I’m with you,” she replied honestly, her gaze holding his before another guest approached.

“Never?” His look, in return, could only be described as smoldering.

“Well… Almost never.”

Over the past few weeks, Harry had thrown himself into courting her, taking her on romantic picnics in secluded gardens, the best museums, and—her personal favorite—to visit all manner of nooks and crannies throughout London. Those included hidden antiquarian shops, where the shopkeepers sold rare first editions and manuscripts no one in the ton knew existed, and stores that featured exotic blends of coffee, and then there were the perfume boutiques, and shops that simply featured… oddities.

In addition to squiring her around town, he’d scandalously arranged for London’s most sought-after modiste to design an entire new wardrobe for Melanie at his expense. The appointments were tedious at times, but could also be undeniably thrilling—each new creation a tangible symbol of her transformation into a duchess.

Every day seemed to bring a new adventure, each one more exciting and enlightening than the last. Through it all, Harry shared pieces of himself without even meaning to, opening windows into his world that Melanie had never imagined.

Yet, amidst the whirlwind of discovery, there were moments when the excitement settled, giving way to the serious matters that defined their future together. One such moment came when they sat down in his study to discuss the one issue Melanie had been uneasy about, but resolved herself to accept—his management of a brothel.

Melanie hadn’t realized that in the initial negotiations over their betrothal—the one that had only been meant to be temporary—Harry had promised Reed that, as Melanie’s husband, he would distance himself from the Domus Emporium .

“But you’ve worked years building it,” Melanie had replied carefully. She’d been troubled to think he’d be giving up something important because of a coerced promise. At the same time, she couldn’t deny that his involvement, his constant presence at a brothel, hadn’t troubled her. Still… “I trust you,” she’d told him. And she’d meant it.

But Harry had frowned, looking thoughtful. “I knew, when I considered keeping Ernest, that I couldn’t be a proper father—not while managing a place that, although intended as a refuge for some, could also be a place of… despair. Of darkness.”

Melanie’s breath had caught. He understood. Of course he understood.

“But you could have,” she’d argued. He could do whatever he set out to do.

“In theory, perhaps. But no matter my reasons, by association, my son, our future children, would be painted unfairly. The same as my wife would be. Your brother was right to make such a demand.” He’d swallowed hard. “At one time, I could believe the Domus was my future, but I’ve learned… I can have so much more. We can have so much more.”

“I don’t want you to change for me. I want the man I fell in love with.”

“And that’s exactly what you’re going to get. Minus the brothel.”

Their conversations had evolved from there, exploring new ideas and solutions for helping London’s less fortunate. As they revisited those plans almost daily, Melanie learned something else—that even before they’d met, Harry had begun to grow weary of his role at the Domus .

One afternoon, she’d asked him, “Do you think you’ll regret leaving it behind?”

His answer had come without hesitation. “It’s already a part of my past. You, sweetheart, are my future.”

Many changes, many plans.

As promised, he hadn’t truly changed—not in the ways that mattered. He remained a little bossy, more than a little arrogant, and entirely unrepentant about either. Yet, for all his swagger, he was always moving forward, smoothing the way for her and her family with an almost maddening efficiency. And, as she’d learned, Harry was a man who reveled in challenging convention—often to the point of scandal.

He had agreed to leave the Domus behind, but that didn’t mean he’d suddenly start bending to all the expectations of the ton . Even now, when Society seemed eager to embrace him as a prodigal son returned to the fold, there was an irreverence in his manner that said he’d never truly belong to them. He didn’t court their approval, didn’t care for their rules, and if the way he’d flirted with her in full view of their guests was any indication, he had no intention of ever being entirely proper.

And Melanie wouldn’t have him any other way.

As another guest moved past, Melanie found her gaze drifting to Harry once more. He was her anchor in a storm, the man who’d turned her world upside down, helping her feel alive again.

“You’re staring,” he said, his lips twitching.

“I like staring at you.” She kept her voice quiet enough not to be overheard.

“Careful,” he teased. “You’ll make me fall in love with you all over again.”

She laughed, her heart full. This was her life now—unexpected, extraordinary, and entirely hers.

Watching the first guests, Melanie caught sight of Mr. Beckworth, his arm looped casually through that of an elegant blonde woman as they moved along from greeting Lord Helton.

One of the things Melanie had learned was that her fiancé did, in fact, have more than a few friends.

“You’re looking well, my lady,” Mr. Beckworth said as he approached with Amelia. His grin was easy, but his sharp gaze missed nothing. “And, if my wife’s shopping habits are anything to go by, I know you are fully recovered.” He gestured lazily between them.

Amelia, now Mrs. Beckworth, was the daughter of a marquess and had almost become a victim of Lord Northwoods herself. The refined young woman had been wise enough to choose a simpler life, leaving behind the ton’s suffocating expectations to marry Mr. Beckworth. They spent most of their time on the southern coast, where Mr. Beckworth engaged in... activities that might not strictly adhere to the letter of the law.

Melanie found herself grinning. “I am feeling well, thank you, and I’m very glad for it. Though I suspect the shops of Bond Street will easily recover from our outings.”

Amelia tilted her head toward her husband with mock exasperation. “Someone has to keep London’s economy thriving. Consider it a public service.”

Beckworth merely shook his head. “A public service, indeed.” But then he looked back to Harry with a faintly sardonic smile. “You clean up well… Harry.”

Ever since hearing Melanie call Malum by his given name, Beckworth had taken to occasionally teasing him with it. He turned his attention to his friend. “Every inch the devoted fiancé. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Harry smirked but said nothing, those sterling eyes of his narrowing just slightly in silent retaliation.

Amelia arched an elegant brow at her husband. “Let’s move along, Leo. We don’t want to embarrass Melanie’s groom-to-be.”

“Perish the thought,” Beckworth said, laughing as he took Amelia’s hand and guided her forward.

Right behind them, Melanie recognized Amelia’s cousin, Lady Winterhope, who had insisted Melanie call her by her given name, Clementine. The Marquess of Winterhope, an incredibly flamboyantly-dressed gentleman, was another one of Harry’s Rotten Rakes.

Clementine, by contrast, was charming in her simplicity, her smile bright and her violet eyes wide with pleasure.

She and the marquess, like Amelia and Mr. Beckworth, were still essentially newlyweds. And although Clementine and Amelia were cousins, they’d had wildly different upbringings. Amelia in a castle, Clementine, for all intents and purposes, in a stable.

“How many days until the wedding now?” Clementine asked.

“Four,” Melanie answered automatically. And she could hardly wait. The engagement ball tonight was to be their grand celebration, whereas their actual wedding would be a small family affair at St. George’s—not far from Reed’s townhouse.

“I am so happy for you!” The marchioness squeezed Melanie’s wrist.

“Winterhope,” Harry greeted the marquess with his half-smile. It was his public smile, hardly anything like the one he reserved for Melanie.

“All black?” Winterhope indicated Malum’s clothing, shaking his head in mock despair.

“My waistcoat is silver,” Harry defended, pulling his jacket open a little to display it.

“And his cravat is charcoal-gray,” Melanie added helpfully. She had picked it out herself, actually—with a little input from Harry’s valet, that was. Regardless, she more than approved of his signature look. The stark, monochromatic clothing was striking against his equally dark hair and steely eyes.

It suited him.

The marquess nodded in approval, and with a little wave, Clementine pulled him along to greet Goldie and Reed.

Next in line were Baron and Baroness Westcott. Melanie greeted them with a touch more familiarity, having met Gardenia—Nia, as she was affectionately called—on several occasions. The baroness was positively glowing, her hand resting lightly on her rounded belly, evidence of the child she carried.

“Not long now until the big day!” Nia said brightly. “Are you taking a wedding trip?”

Melanie glanced up at Harry. “We’re going to tour Harry’s estates.” They had agreed to hold off on deciding where they would take up residence until after their trip.

Nia’s brows shot up, but she smiled in approval. “Goldie said you missed the country.”

Melanie had, but now, she felt like home was perhaps not simply a place, but more of a feeling…

“My lady,” the baron said warmly, bowing his head in greeting before turning to Harry with a grin full of mischief. “Still haven’t tied the knot yet, Malum? Careful now, I’ve seen how slippery these brides can be.”

“How quickly you forget,” Nia interjected, her eyes sparkling with teasing amusement. “If I recall correctly, the ton was positively shocked when they learned that I got you to the altar.”

Westcott chuckled as he glanced at his wife. “I was the one shaking in my boots.”

“Were you?” Nia asked with mock innocence, her laughter bubbling up as she leaned closer to him.

Melanie couldn’t help but laugh too, especially as she caught Harry watching her. “Don’t worry,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m counting the days.”

“Good,” Harry murmured, low enough for only her to hear. “Because so am I.”

Westcott was adjusting Nia’s shawl around her shoulders, more serious now. “Not to worry if we cut the evening short. I don’t want Nia overdoing things.”

“Oh, that reminds me—” Melanie smiled. “Goldie has arranged for tea and biscuits to be served in the library all evening, so Nia can step away and rest at any time.”

The other woman’s expression was all graciousness. “My little sister thinks I’m made out of glass—although I’m sure I’ll take her up on that.”

“Wasn’t it a visit to the library that set this betrothal in motion?” Westcott chuckled at his joke. His grin was mischievous, his tone playful.

He couldn’t have known that he was prodding at something of a sore spot with Melanie’s fiancé. Predictably, Melanie felt him stiffen beside her.

“I will forever be grateful to have been compromised in that library,” she announced unapologetically.

Westcott’s teasing demeanor softened. “Of course. I didn’t mean anything by it. Congratulations to you both,” he said, turning his sincere gaze from Melanie to Harry. “I wish you every happiness.” After shaking Harry’s hand, he steered the baroness toward their host and hostess.

Melanie turned to Harry, her fingers clasped around his arm. “I really am glad for that night in the library,” she said. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had any reason to propose that day.”

His silver eyes locked onto hers. “Oh, sweetheart,” he replied, “I would have found a way to make you mine, no matter what.”

She stared up at him, wishing they were alone, until the sound of Josie’s giggling broke the spell.

Melanie looked over to see a gentleman with dark hair bowing over her little sister’s hand, his light gray eyes glinting with charm. There was something unmistakably familiar about him.

The man straightened, offering a polite farewell to Josie before turning toward Melanie.

When he reached the two of them, he clapped a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry stepped forward and, to Melanie’s astonishment, embraced the younger man—a gesture so unguarded it left her momentarily breathless. Harry rarely showed his emotions so freely, and the sight was disarming.

“Reggie.” His voice caught, a wide, uninhibited smile lighting his face. “When the devil did you get here?”

“Got your letter just in time,” the younger man replied, his silver eyes glinting with humor as they shifted to Melanie. “And who’s this enchanting creature? Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Harry turned to Melanie, his voice warm. “Sweetheart, this is my brother, Reginald Preston. Reg, Lady Melanie Rutherford. Soon to be Melanie Preston—my duchess.”

But of course , he was Harry’s brother. The resemblance was almost uncanny.

She had pieced together fragments of Lord Reginald’s story over the past few weeks, learning more about the younger brother Harry had worked so hard to protect. As the captain of the Phantom Gale , he had taken on the dangerous task of working with Harry to sink Crossings’ ships—acts shrouded in secrecy to keep his involvement hidden.

“My lord.” She offered her hand, though her voice carried a hint of disbelief. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Lord Reginald’s lips curved into a rakish grin as he took her hand. “The honor is mine, my lady,” he said, bowing over her fingers. His silver eyes sparkled with mischief as he straightened. “I never thought I’d see my brother looking so happy. You must be incredibly special… or possess some kind of magic. Which is it?”

Melanie’s cheeks warmed. “I assure you, it’s nothing as extraordinary as that.”

In a gesture so similar to his brother’s that it was a little startling, Lord Reginald tilted his head. “I’m not so sure. Malum is a stubborn one, you know. It would take something remarkable to soften him up like this.”

She glanced at Harry, who rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to argue, just the faintest hint of a smile to betray his affection.

Melanie’s heart swelled as she realized just how much love surrounded this reunion—and how fortunate she was to be part of it.

With his dark hair falling rakishly across his forehead, Lord Reginald turned again to his brother. “The offer still stands, doesn’t it?” he asked, hesitating before adding, “To stand up with you?”

“Of course,” Harry replied, his voice a little thick.

“And your other offer?”

“Absolutely.” Harry dipped his chin, his lips twitching at the corner. “We’ll talk.”

Lord Reginald clapped his brother on the shoulder one more time before moving on, the line of guests waiting impatiently behind him too long to linger.

Melanie turned to Harry. “What other offer?” she asked.

“I’ve asked Reg to manage the Domus for me,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Melanie blinked, her lips parting in surprise. “Are you sure?”

Harry met her gaze steadily. “I was thinking that you and I could move on to one of those other ventures we discussed.”

“Which one?” Melanie asked, although she suspected she knew.

“The home—the retreat.”

A retreat was something Melanie had suggested—a facility or home designed to help women, to give them opportunities and support rather than take advantage of their vulnerabilities.

She hadn’t thought she could be any happier tonight, but of course, Harry would prove her wrong.

“You don’t have to,” she whispered, her voice catching.

“I know.” Malum’s expression gentled, his thumb brushing lightly against her hand. “But I want to. And this works out best for all of us.”

Her throat tightened, and she fought the urge to fling her arms around him right there in the receiving line. “I think,” she said haltingly, “that sounds wonderful.”

They couldn’t say more; there were still many guests waiting at the door, and their role took precedence in this moment. But the words lingered, another quiet promise between them.

At last, the final guest passed through, and the grand ballroom doors opened with a flourish. Harry turned to Melanie, his expression calm yet filled with anticipation. Extending his arm to her, he said, “Shall we?”

Melanie nodded, her heart full to bursting.

Together, they stepped into the dazzling ballroom, where the chandeliers sparkled above, almost—but not quite—as bright as their future.

—The End?—