Epilogue

EPILOGUE

T wo weeks later, the sun shone brightly over the rolling grasslands at the Fairbanks's estate at Penporth. James and Sarah raced at breakneck speed, the sound of their horses thundering. The gentle breeze snatched away his wife's laughter. Sarah was a vision of freedom and joy, dressed in boy trousers and a loose shirt, her hair dancing wildly in the wind.

James watched her, his heart swelling with love and pride. She was beautiful, radiant with happiness, and he knew that he would never allow anyone to try and cage her again. Now that they were married, in a small private ceremony just a few days prior, he was determined to indulge her every whim. She had given him so much—her love, spirit, and unwavering support—and he wanted to ensure she always felt cherished and free.

They reached the crest of a hill, and Sarah reined in her horse, looking out over the lush landscape. James pulled up beside her, his eyes never leaving her face. She turned to him, her eyes sparkling with excitement and contentment.

"This place is magnificent," she said, her voice filled with awe. "I never imagined feeling so at home anywhere."

James smiled, leaning over to brush a kiss on her temple. "I have already started the process of purchasing you a grand townhouse in Berkeley Square. I will be beside you whenever you want to dance the night away, attend the theater or Vauxhall Gardens."

She beamed at him. "I love you, James Fairbanks."

"I love you, Sarah Fairbanks," he said, the words a solemn vow.

The wind picked up, rustling the grass and sending a flock of birds soaring into the sky. Sarah urged her horse forward, and they continued their race across the grasslands, their spirits high and hearts light. In the days since their wedding, they had settled into a new and wonderfully familiar routine. James had learned about Mirabelle's predicament—how she was with child and had feared to tell her father that her lover was one of his workers. In a desperate bid to avoid her father's wrath, she named James the father. By the time James and Sarah arrived in Penporth, Mirabelle had eloped with the true father of her child.

When they visited Mr. Sinclair, Sarah had gifted him one of her father's finest bottles of whisky and, with a twinkle in her eye, thanked him for kidnapping James. Mr. Sinclair had been thoroughly bemused but gracious, perhaps recognizing that the fiasco had brought about a happy ending for all parties involved.