Epilogue

Lancers, Devon, August 1828

August in Devon was heavenly, especially on a sunny day like this, Portia couldn't help thinking, as she sat in a gazebo with a view of the Duke of Evesham's magnificent gardens. On a wicker table beside her chair rested a glass of barley water and a plate of dry crackers.

The expansive grounds resounded with children's laughter. Children's laughter and barking dogs. Over the years, Portia had found homes for many of her strays with her sisters and their families.

"It's lovely to see they've become friends," Juliet said from the chair next to her. She was as beautiful as ever, with a glow of contentment and achievement that warmed the hearts of everyone who loved her. Juliet had indeed turned out to be a perfect duchess. Partly because she now was more forgiving of human frailty. Her own and everyone else's.

Portia glanced across the manicured lawns to where the dukes of Evesham and Granville were involved in an engrossing discussion. "Yes, something of a miracle," she said drily.

Meetings between the reluctant brothers-in-law had been awkward for the first few years, even after Alaric discovered the true reason behind his first fiancée jilting him. But both Lucas and Alaric loved their wives too much to try and keep the sisters apart. Time and familiarity had gradually smoothed most of the rough edges between them.

Lucas had started hosting a house party every August to celebrate Juliet's birthday. Something about being in the country and in the kind of large family gathering that Alaric had never known as a boy had led to a rapprochement between the two dukes. By now, as Juliet said, one might even call them friends, if of the competitive, sardonic kind.

"They're talking about tomorrow's cricket match." Viola looked up from her book. With motherhood, she'd developed the skill of reading and knowing exactly what was going on at the same time.

"No wonder they look so serious," Juliet said. "I wonder which side will end up with Kate."

Kate and Leighton played hide-and-seek with the younger children over near the maze. Portia's sons, Charles and Gerard, six and four. Juliet's daughter Arabella, six. And Viola's youngest three, Orlando, six, and the twins Lysander and Rosalind, who were only three and the babies among the crowd of cousins. At least until after Christmas when Portia delivered the child that she carried. Most of her pregnancies had been trouble free, but this time round, morning sickness lingered – and hadn't restricted itself to mornings either. Which was why she sat in the cool and didn't join in with the hide-and-seek.

"I vote Alaric gets Kate," she said.

Juliet gave a scoffing huff. "Of course you do. Any side that gets Kate is sure to win." Kate, it turned out, was a gun bowler and the secret weapon for any team lucky enough to recruit her.

"We've got a fair contingent of cousins to throw into the mix this year," Viola said. "Now Richard's ten, he's showing signs of talent with the bat, and Benedict always wants to do what Richard does." Benedict, Viola's oldest, was also ten and hero-worshipped his cousin.

"And William is keen to play, too." At nine, Juliet's son was avid to prove that he could keep up with the big boys.

"Jessica and Sylvie and Sophia are old enough this year, too," Portia said, mentioning Viola's daughter, Kate's daughter, and her own eight-year-old darling, her first child and a girl so much after her own heart.

"At least it will give the older children a break from Shakespeare." Juliet shot a not altogether favorable glance over to a makeshift stage near the drive. With the assistance of Miss Donald, Kate's old governess, Lord Portdown was casting parts for A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Portia laughed. "Yes, Papa is in alt to have all his grandchildren – and adopted grandchildren – available for theatricals. Doesn't it take you back, Juliet?"

Juliet's grunt was noncommittal, although these days, she'd mostly given up her feud with her harum-scarum father. Portia couldn't help thinking back to the day that she presented her new husband to her father after their rapturous wedding ceremony. Any fears that her private nuptials might hurt his feelings had vanished on the spot. He'd been so ecstatic that the Duke of Granville had deigned to marry his daughter that the issue of missing the wedding hadn't arisen.

The years since that glorious day had overflowed with happiness and incident and accomplishment. Despite her fears that she'd make the world's worst duchess, she'd soon found a way to combine her independent nature with her duties. Alaric's unfailing support had helped her weather any passing disapproval from society.

Her role even brought some benefits. The Duchess of Granville had influence to bear on the issue of animal welfare in a way that mere Portia Frain didn't. These days, she managed a team of dog rescuers, who gave her a reach that she could only dream of before her marriage. Not that she'd given up her old ways entirely. Upon occasion, she and Alaric set out to retrieve a mistreated animal. She always enjoyed their adventures together.

Portia watched Viola's husband Toby emerge from the house and cross to join the ducal deliberations. He'd been such a tearaway as a young man, but family life suited Lord Renfrew. Family life and a levelheaded wife he adored. "You know, they could be talking about your birthday tomorrow, Jules."

Juliet shook her head, with a mocking smile. "No, it's cricket. I know my place in the pecking order."

"As if Lucas wouldn't die for you," Viola said. "He worships the ground you walk on."

"You haven't got anything to be jealous of in that department," Juliet retorted. "We've all been so lucky to find such loving husbands."

"And all of them were considered so unpromising at the start," Portia said with a fond laugh. "Kate married the worst lord in London, Viola chose a rogue with a reputation for trouble, and you ran off with the most ramshackle duke in the kingdom."

"Don't forget you ended up with the most boring man in Britain, Porsh," Viola said. "And I quote you."

Portia made a dismissive gesture. "He's the most wonderful man in Britain."

"He has some competition for that title," Juliet protested.

Viola laughed. "Indeed he has."

"You sound like hens laying an egg, with the way you're all laughing your heads off." Alaric came up on Portia unawares, while she was busy teasing her sisters.

"We're trying to work out who has the best husband," Viola said, her affection for her grand brother-in-law warming her voice. Viola, unlike Portia, had always had a soft spot for the Duke of Granville.

"It's obvious that Portia wins," Granville said with the wry humor that had so surprised her before she got over her prejudice against him.

"I wouldn't say that," Juliet responded. Like her husband, she'd been uncomfortable with Alaric at first, given their checkered history. But these days, the things that they'd always had in common cemented a friendship based in his steadfast love for her sister.

"I feel like I might lay an egg." Portia stretched out a hand to her beloved husband. "Do you think you could take me inside, darling?"

The smile that curled his lips held a tinge of anticipation. He knew what she really wanted. With three children and a dogs' home and his political career to run, opportunities for daytime revels had become rare. Here at Lancers, they had a crowd of adults to keep an eye on their offspring and Portia's pregnancy gave them the perfect excuse to disappear for a nap. Although she'd be surprised if much actual napping was done.

"With pleasure." He took her hand and helped her up, then snapped his fingers at Jupiter who as usual was at his heels. "Come on, old boy."

Jupiter, deaf and stiff with arthritis, wagged his tail and tottered after Portia and Alaric as they wandered back to the stone mansion.

Alaric tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. "It's nice you're spending time with your sisters."

"And Kate."

"She's like a sister."

"She is indeed. I know we see them all during the year, but there's something special about coming together at Lancers."

"Yes, there is. These days, I can even stomach that scoundrel Evesham."

Portia nestled into his side, loving how big and warm he was. "You don't fool me. You like him."

His sigh was long-suffering. "I suppose I do. In fact, I like all of them." He paused. "Not nearly as much as I like you. In fact, I don't just like you, I love you. More and more each day."

Portia stumbled and clung to Alaric's arm. "You shouldn't say things like that when I'm trying to see straight. You know, how dewy-eyed I get when you turn sentimental."

He laughed and stopped to kiss her. "I love that I can still turn you all girlish and confused, even though we've been married ten years and have three growing children."

Portia glanced back to the gazebo. "Everyone's watching us."

Alaric shrugged. "It's not as if they never kiss in public. Every August, Lancers turns into a damned Cupid's bower."

Portia laughed, then gave a surprised squeak as Alaric swung her up into his arms. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you get to our chambers safely. I have plans for you, my beautiful wife, and they don't include a sprained ankle."

She curled her hand behind his neck and tugged on the curls at his nape. "Ooh, you mean to ravish me?"

"I do indeed."

"Excellent," she said with unconcealed smugness.

Another laugh. Another kiss. Before Alaric strode inside to join her in paradise.

***

Thank you for picking up The Duke Says I Do, which is officially the last book in the Scoundrels of Mayfair series and my 50th published historical romance! I have a Christmas story for Vanessa Gould planned for the end of 2025, so keep an eye out for that if you want to revisit my Scoundrels. If you missed out on the first three books in the series, here's a bit more information.