Epilogue

Christmas, 1828

T he faintest of thuds caused Mabel to lift her head for a moment before she rolled into Derek's shoulder. Though it was still dark and neither was genuinely awake, he lifted his arm up and drew her close to his body, their bare skin touching beneath the heavy brocade blanket and sheets.

Once again, a soft, pitter-patter noise, now accompanied by high-pitched laughter, sounded from somewhere beyond their bedroom and above their heads. Mabel's brow lifted as she fought for slumber.

"It's morning," Derek whispered, his voice thick with sleep.

"It is not," she countered, snuggling deeper into his arms. "It's still dark."

"Not for long."

Mabel lifted her head once more and peered over her shoulder. The sky visible through the large windows of Greystone Manor's guest lodgings were still an inky blue. She dropped her head once more.

"I'm not getting up," she said stubbornly.

A gentle kiss dropped to her nose, and her eyes fluttered back open. There was Derek, smiling at her with a heated gaze that she had come to know as trouble.

"My love, it's Christmas," she murmured in protest, rolling onto her back. "It's inappropriate."

"Says who?"

"The church, I believe."

"Bollocks," he said as he kissed her neck.

Mabel stretched, to give him more access as his hand came up to her breast. She purred slightly, ignoring the tenderness of her chest as Derek moved his mouth along her collarbone. She had been extra sensitive as of late, and her husband had enjoyed it immensely.

He began to kiss his way down her center, as her fingers tangled in his reddish-brown hair that had grown slightly longer in recent months.

"Derek, we cannot."

"Of course, we can," he said, as he reached for her hand. Bringing her fingers to his mouth, be began to lightly suck on the tip of her ring finger. "Besides, we've only got a few minutes before—"

A knock sounded at the door, causing them both to sit up instantly.

"Uncle Derek?" a tiny voice called out. "Aunt Mabel? It's Christmas!"

"And baby Francis is awake!" another voice called out.

"Children!" the matronly voice of the duke and duchess's nanny, Mrs. Dunlap, chided. "Come away from there at once!"

Mabel smirked and moaned as she fell back, her head hitting the soft pillow beneath. Derek snickered and bent down, nipping at the tip of her breast. She tried to swat him away, but his fingers encircled her wrist and held her hand above her head. He took her nipple into his mouth as his tongue swirled, gently pulling her out of her slumber.

"Derek," she tried to chide, but she didn't stop him. "We can't."

"What a bashful thing you are," he murmured against her skin. "Surely this isn't the woman who made love to me in the middle of the Scottish woods—"

Mabel's fingers found Derek's mouth.

"Hush. That was different," she said. "We weren't guests at our friends' home for the holidays."

"I assure you, they won't mind."

"Perhaps not, but, oh…" she said as he continued, his hand moving over her stomach and lower. "Derek. The whole house is awake."

"It's barely dawn."

"You just said it was morning."

"Easy now," he whispered, his mouth finding her. "Let me love you."

Mabel might have rolled her eyes if they were open, but as it was, she merely sighed as he shifted over her. It was indecent, to say the least, but knowing what the coming day would bring, Mabel couldn't help but indulge with her husband, as hungry for him as ever even after three years of marriage.

Mabel had been cautious in those early months of matrimony, particularly after the trial with Pascal. Her former husband had been charged not only with libel and fraud but also kidnapping. Jean had been caught and arrested, brought back to London to stand trial alongside him. To Mabel and Derek's frustration, even though they had been found guilty, their elevated connections back in France meant that neither was ordered to serve any time, and they were instead deported back to France. Of course, it hadn't much mattered a year later when it was reported that Pascal and Jean had been killed during an uprising in Marseilles.

Mabel hadn't ever wished for Pascal to meet such an end, but she couldn't deny that she had breathed easier knowing that he and Jean weren't plotting anymore. Juliette had been relieved by the news as well.

Soon after news of Pascal's death reached England, Mabel found that she was with child. Unfortunately, the happiness of that news had been short-lived as Mabel had suffered a miscarriage not a month later. Derek had been incredibly gentle with her in the aftermath, and she was sure he had been just as heartbroken as she had been.

That was why she was being meticulously careful this time, even when it came to who she told. She would not share the news with him of what she suspected until she was further along, hoping she could hide it.

"Uncle Derek!"

Mabel bit her lip to cease from laughing as Derek growled against her abdomen.

"Why did we agree to come here?" he asked, lifting up from his wife.

"Because it's what's done," she said, rolling to her side. "We will have plenty of time to lay about when we return home."

"Hmm," he said, unbelieving, as he followed her out of bed.

Mabel ignored him as she dressed before the fireplace, grateful for the warmth. English winters were freezing, and after traveling for three days and two nights to reach Lincolnshire, Mabel appreciated the heavy velvet gown Juliette had packed for her.

Her maid had stayed back in London, having been invited to George's family for the holidays. They had been engaged for several months and planned to marry in the spring.

After dressing in her gown, Mabel's hair was styled by one of the maids working for the duke and duchess while Derek pulled on his best wool coat. Soon, they were both ready and left their bedchamber arm in arm.

"Uncle Derek!" A little boy, no more than three, came forward. He was being watched by one of the nannies. "I waited for you!"

"So you did, my boy," Derek said, giving the little lad his full attention. He gave the nanny a nod, and she gratefully hurried away. "Now, do your parents know you're causing such a racket?"

The little boy frowned.

"I'm not making a racket," he said before his brow raised. "What's a racket?"

Derek laughed as he swung the little boy into his arms as another door opened down the hall. Leona appeared, struggling to stifle a yawn as Alfred followed her out of another bedroom.

"Oh dear," she said, coming toward them, her arms outstretched for the little boy. "Marcus Anthony Christopher, you did not wake up your aunt and uncle this early, did you?"

"But it's Christmas!" the boy chirped as Derek handed him off to his mother.

"Sorry about that," Alfred said through another yawn, patting his brother on the shoulder.

"Where are the twins?" Leona asked as they all reached the top of the staircase.

"Lucus and Lucy were hungry," little Marcus said.

"Of course, they were. They're just like their father," Derek said as they descended the stairs. "Silas used to eat like that when we were in Eton."

Mabel grinned as they reached the dining room. A festive breakfast spread with the most glorious table settings practically shined before them. Gold-trimmed plates outlined with boughs of holly lined the white linen table. Gold candelabras, crystal decanters, and at least six-tiered serving trays decorated every inch of the surface as the twins tried to climb onto the table, much to the displeasure of the nannies.

Soon, their company grew as Silas and Clara appeared, followed by Fredrick and Violet, the duke's mother, and the dowager countess. Gavin, Holly, Aunt Marnie, and Holly's siblings had all come, taking seats around the massive table.

In opposition to the rules of proper dining etiquette, married couples sat next to their spouses, and the children moved freely between the adults, crawling beneath the table to play with little toys and candies they had been given the night before.

Conversation flowed easily, and the food served was delectable. Thankfully, Mabel had recently gotten her appetite back and must have appeared somewhat ravenous because halfway through the meal, she noticed Derek staring at her with a satisfied expression. She gingerly placed her roll onto her plate.

"It's just all so good," she said, speaking lowly so only Derek could hear.

He gave a slight shake of his head. "I'm just glad you're eating again."

"Oh," she said, a little surprised. "I didn't think it was noticeable."

"Of course, it was," he said, reaching for her hand beneath the table's edge. "But I guess it's to be expected. Considering…"

"Considering?" she repeated.

Derek only smiled, and Mabel's entire body warmed.

"Oh, so," she tried, her tone a little high. "You know?"

"I had an idea," he said softly, his gaze twinkling. "How do you feel?"

"A little nervous, considering the last time."

"I know." His hand tightened around her fingers slightly. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous myself."

Mabel squeezed his fingers back.

"I think, perhaps, this time, all will be well."

"How do you know that?"

Her shoulder tipped up. "I have a hunch," she said, smirking, easing Derek's worry.

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

"I love you, Mabel."

"I love you too."

Just then, Silas stood to make a toast, but Derek leaned toward her.

"Do you need anything?"

She shook her head. "No. Just you."

THE END