Epilogue

Tea at the Palais on the Graben in Vienna, where the Duke of Aldingbourne resided, was always a grand affair. Musical entertainment filled the gatherings, creating a charming and lively spectacle, with the Duchess herself performing alongside all the children. The music was exquisite—a true feast for the ears—but the food presented a curious challenge for the Viennese palate. Afternoon Tea was served in the traditional British style, complete with delicacies bearing strange names: scones with clotted cream, crumpets, scotch eggs, and—could one even believe it—jellied eels, among other peculiar dishes that some guests found positively barbaric.

"Why do they call it clotted cream when it is just plain cream? And what is this?" the Duchess of Sagan asked, plucking a cucumber from a dainty triangular sandwich and holding it between her fingers with a perplexed frown. "My eyes do not deceive me. These are cucumbers—sandwiched between slices of buttered bread," she muttered in disbelief. "Cucumbers. No meat. No cheese. Of all vegetables, cucumbers. I don't understand. Are these meant for children? Are they supposed to be nutritious? Or is this some kind of aesthetic choice? How quaint." She shook her head, genuinely baffled.

"It's a staple of British afternoon tea," Lena interjected, trying to keep her tone light. She found the Duchess to be beautiful and intelligent—a star of society—but also demanding and difficult company. Convincing this elegant creature that cucumber sandwiches were not some barbaric concoctions but rather a cherished delicacy was proving to be a challenge.

Meanwhile, guests couldn't help but notice a change in the Duke of Aldingbourne. The usually reserved and stiff Englishman appeared softer of late, and shockingly had even been caught smiling once or twice. He hovered near his wife, the recently rediscovered duchess, who had been the subject of so much gossip. The couple's obvious affection had set tongues wagging. They were clearly deeply in love. The Duke held his wife's hands on all occasions. Once or twice, he was caught trailing his fingers over her cheeks, her arm, and once—gasp!—her neck. He was making love to her in plain daylight. In public.

How utterly scandalous.

"Have you heard about the latest scandal?" Lady Castlereagh interjected, her feathers bobbing brightly as she leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "There's quite an uproar at court. It's truly shocking." She took a noisy slurp from her teacup before continuing. "The Emperor's youngest son—well, one of his many children; he's had so many wives, he's on his fourth one now, or is it his third? Honestly, who can keep track of all these wives and their impossible German names! Anyway, the youngest son of the oldest wife—or is it the oldest son of the youngest wife?—oh, who knows. You must hear this: one of his sons, a prince of the house of Habsburg, an archduke, no less"—she paused for dramatic effect, leaning forwards—"has declared that he insists on marrying a commoner!"

Gasps circled the room as Lady Castlereagh sat back, clearly pleased with herself for delivering such tantalising news. "The Emperor threw a fit that rattled the palace walls. The archduke may never inherit the throne, but he remains in line of succession. Where would we be if we all married commoners?"

Lady Castlereagh paused, savouring the anticipation in the room. "And do you know the most delicious part of it all? They say this mystery woman is a foreigner. No one knows who she is—not a clue. It's whispered she's already at court, incognito! She could be anyone. Here's the best bit—she's one of us. British! Now, what do you make of that? Isn't it just the most thrilling piece of gossip?"

Lena stood by the windows, lost in thought, when the Duke stepped up behind her, so close she could feel his heat.

"Who on earth could she be talking about?" she murmured. The Duke leaned in so closely his lips brushed her ears. Quite accidentally, of course. Lena's eyes widened suddenly with a spark of realisation. "I know who she's talking about. It must be Lindenstein, of course!"

"I wouldn't know," he said. "And frankly, I wouldn't care." He paused, his smile curving in a way that was meant only for her. "Send them all home?"

She searched his eyes, finding everything she needed there. "Yes." Her heart caught at the warmth between them. "Let's."

A Forbidden Love. A Secret Identity. An Imperial Scandal.

When the emperor's son falls for a spirited, tomboyish commoner, their love defies all rules. Secrets, passion, and a forbidden dance— discover Pippa and Klemens's story in The Forbidden Waltz.

Don't forget to turn the page to read the author's afterword!