Epilogue

London, England

September, 1826

OCTAVIAN PACED ALONG the elegantly carpeted floor in the library of his and Syd's new townhouse. They had only moved onto the elegant square of houses three months ago. Octavian's heart had been in a roil even back then because Syd was already big as a house, and yet still scampering up and down stairs, bending down, sweeping, dusting, and doing all manner of chores he had hired an army of staff to attend to so that all she had to do was sit on her pert derriere and point.

But this was not in Syd's nature.

Not only had she refused to sit quietly and spend her days working on her needlepoint– something for which she had utterly no talent– or reading, but she was also running to the Huntsford Academy to help Gory in the forensic laboratory. Finally, the head curator, Mr. Smythe-Owen, one of the gentlest men Octavian had ever met, laid down the law and banned her. "You are alarming the entire staff. You shall not deliver a baby amid our dragon exhibits, or dear heaven, atop one of our forensic slabs."

So, she had been confined to their home and woke up this morning complaining of an upset stomach. Moments later, her water broke and completely soaked their elegant carpet. Octavian had never once lost his poise when facing enemy warships, or dodging bayonets and gunshots. But he was beside himself because this was a child about to come into the world.

His child.

And his wife was doing all the labor.

He had never felt so helpless in his life.

Or scared.

For this reason, he was not soothed by the presence of his brothers and Marigold's husband, Leo, who was here because everyone else was here. Those also present included the two dowagers, Lady Withnall and Lady Dayne. Of course, Marigold, Adela, Gory, and Sophie were here, too. Those were just the women. Along with his brothers and Leo were also Harcourt and Parkhurst.

They were all seated in the parlor, for no one dared approach him as he paced alone in his library and growled at anyone who attempted to draw near.

He was unapproachable, they knew.

He felt frustrated, and as restless as a lion in a cage.

Finally, Octavian's ears picked up the sound of a tiny wail.

Had he imagined it?

There.

He heard the tiny wail again.

Ambrose came running in. "Come on, you arse. That is the sound of your son…well, it could be your daughter. It's an awfully deep voice, though. I think it's a boy."

Octavian's heart shot into his throat. "How is Syd? Has the midwife come down?"

"Midwife's still upstairs. Syd must be exhausted, I'm sure. Go up and see for yourself."

Octavian tore up the stairs.

George Farthingale, the only doctor Octavian trusted to tend to his family, stood beside the midwife as she cleaned off a small bundle. George smiled at him. "You are just in time, Captain Thorne. Come meet your son."

Octavian was certain his heart would burst with happiness. "And Syd? Is she all right?"

George motioned toward the bed and nodded.

Since the midwife was still fussing with their son, Octavian spared only a moment to kiss the boy on his forehead, and went straight over to Syd. "Love, how are you doing? Can I get you anything? Are you in pain?"

"I feel like I just pushed an elephant out of me," she said, wincing as she laughed. "He sounds lusty."

Octavian nodded as he caressed her cheek. "Good set of lungs on the little fellow. He's all red and wrinkled."

"He did not have an easy time coming out of me, either. But he'll soon grow to be as big and handsome as his father."

Octavian kissed her on the lips with exquisite care.

The midwife set the newborn in Syd's arms. "We'll give you five minutes alone, just the three of you, then Lady Thorne must rest."

Octavian nodded.

He understood about chain of command and hierarchy.

The midwife ruled his home right now.

Of course, Syd would always rule his heart.

"Isn't he the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" Syd remarked.

"Yes, love. He's perfect." The child was so tiny, he could fit in the cup of his hand. His little face was squashed and his eyes were squinted closed. Dark fuzz, as soft as velvet, covered his head. His ears stuck out and his head seemed awfully big for the size of his body. But who was he to contradict little Douglas's proud and doting mother? "No child has ever looked more perfect."

They had agreed to call him Douglas Sydney Thorne in honor of the father Syd never knew. As well, he and Syd had agreed on the name Catriona if they were to have a girl.

Perhaps next child.

However, Octavian was not going to rush things, for Syd would let him know when she was ready. "Have I mentioned how much I love you, sweetheart?"

"Not in minutes," she teased. "I love you, too. We are a family now, Octavian. Is this not a miracle?"

He nodded and kissed her again, careful not to lean on their new son, the soon to be acknowledged Duke of Parkhurst, as he pressed his lips to hers. A short while later, with Syd and the midwife's permission, Octavian brought Douglas downstairs to show him off to friends and family. "Just a quick look and then I must take him back upstairs."

Parkhurst and Harcourt immediately choked up and began to shed tears of joy.

Oh, lord.

"Come on, Harcourt. Step closer and have a good look at your grandson," Octavian said, for this is how Syd insisted he be referred to, as the child's grandfather.

Harcourt now wept openly.

Oh, lord , he thought to himself again. "Parkhurst, you too. He's your grandnephew."

Parkhurst nodded. "All's right with the world now, isn't it Thorne?"

Octavian nodded, pleased for Syd's sake that the truth had come out. He was even warming to Harcourt, who was trying hard to forsake his weasel ways and actually work on improving the Harcourt properties for the next heir in his blood lineage.

As for himself and Syd, they had come a long way since she'd tossed him off that roof.

That night, he held her in his arms and did not think anything could be sweeter. She was still sore and her breasts were magnificently big. But all he did was hold her because despite her protestations, she was tired and had to be aching. "Good night, minx. Sweet dreams," he whispered, certain she was already asleep.

"Good night, you big ox. I love you," she mumbled back. "Truly and forever."

Yes, this was so much better than a make-believe marriage.

THE END