Falling For a Lady in Disguise – Extended Epilogue

One year later…

The Austrian countryside unfolded before them like a painting—verdant hills rolling into the distance, wildflowers dotting the landscape with splashes of color, and the majestic Alps rising proudly against the horizon. A year had passed since Beatrice and Henry had exchanged their wedding vows, a year filled with joy, love, and new discoveries about each other. They had returned to Austria, not just for the breathtaking scenery, but because this place held special meaning for their family.

Beatrice stood at the window of the quaint country villa they had leased for the summer, her fingers lightly tracing the delicate lace curtains. The sun kissed her skin, illuminating her fair features and making her golden hair shine even brighter. Marriage to Henry had brought her a contentment she had never expected to find when she first fled her father’s home as Lady Jemima Grant.

“What holds your attention so firmly, my love?” Henry asked, his deep voice breaking through her reverie as he entered the sitting room.

She turned, a smile illuminating her face. “Just admiring the view,” she said, gesturing toward the window. “And thinking about how much has changed in a year.”

Henry crossed the room to join her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin atop her head. “Indeed,” he agreed. “Last year at this time, we were just beginning our journey as husband and wife.”

“And discovering that your sister was truly in love with Mr. Miller,” Beatrice added with a laugh. “Not just suffering from a passing infatuation as we feared.”

Henry chuckled, though she could feel him stiffen slightly at the mention of his sister’s romance. Always the protective brother, he had initially been hesitant about Hannah’s feelings for Giles Miller. The young man, though respectable and from a good family, had seemed distracted during his Grand Tour—more interested in ancient ruins and foreign cultures than in the young lady who admired him from afar.

“I confess I had my doubts,” Henry admitted, his breath warm against her hair. “But seeing them together this past week has convinced me that Giles truly cares for her. They suit each other remarkably well.”

Through the window, they could see Hannah and Giles strolling through the garden. Hannah was wearing a pale blue muslin dress with a white sash around her waist, her dark curls arranged elegantly atop her head. Even from a distance, Beatrice could see the happiness radiating from the young woman’s face as she listened intently to whatever Giles was saying.

“She looks radiant,” Beatrice observed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy.”

“It is rather vexing,” Henry said with mock irritation. “She used to look at me with such admiration. Now I’m merely the brother who fusses too much.”

Beatrice turned in his arms, placing her palm against his cheek. “Poor neglected duke,” she teased. “How shall you survive without your sister’s adoration?”

“I suppose I shall have to content myself with my wife’s affections,” he replied, his dark eyes twinkling.

“A tremendous sacrifice, indeed,” she said, stretching up on her toes to place a kiss on his lips.

Their tender moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. Mrs. Finch, the housekeeper they had hired for their stay, entered with a letter on a silver tray.

“A letter has arrived for Her Grace,” the woman announced.

Beatrice recognized the handwriting immediately, and her heart skipped a beat. “It’s from my father,” she said, taking the letter.

She had written to him nearly a month ago, informing him of their stay in Austria and providing their direction. Though their relationship remained distant, it had improved considerably since her marriage to Henry. The Earl of Morton had even attended their wedding breakfast, though he departed shortly afterward, claiming pressing business in London.

“Would you like to read it alone?” Henry asked, his tone gentle.

Beatrice shook her head. “No, we shall read it together.”

With careful fingers, Beatrice broke the seal and unfolded the single sheet of paper. Her father’s handwriting was precise and controlled, much like the man himself.

“‘My dear daughter,'” she read aloud, “‘I trust this letter finds you well and enjoying your sojourn in Austria. The weather in England has been dreadfully damp this season, so perhaps your decision to venture abroad was a wise one after all.'”

Henry snorted softly. “High praise indeed from your father, to admit you might have made a wise decision.”

Beatrice smiled wryly before continuing. “‘I have been informed by Lady Sarah that your former lady’s maid, Banks, has expressed a desire to return to your service. As she has served my niece admirably this past year, I took the liberty of recommending her to your husband’s staff. She should arrive at Lancet Hall before your return to England.'”

“Banks is coming back?” Beatrice’s voice lifted with pleasure. “How wonderful! Mary has been an excellent lady’s maid, but Banks knows all my preferences without having to be told.”

“And she was loyal to you when you needed her most,” Henry added. “I shall write to Stuart immediately to ensure suitable accommodations are prepared for her arrival.”

Beatrice nodded gratefully and returned to the letter. “‘The Viscount Wentworth has recently announced his engagement to the daughter of Sir William Templeton. I thought you might find this information of interest, given your previous connection.'”

“How delicately phrased,” Henry remarked dryly. “As if he had not attempted to force you into marriage with the man.”

“At least he did not insist upon it when you offered for me,” Beatrice pointed out, ever practical. “And now the viscount has found himself another bride. I hope she fares better than I would have.”

Henry squeezed her shoulders in silent support. “Finish the letter, my love.”

“‘I have enclosed a small token for your first wedding anniversary,'” Beatrice continued, noticing for the first time the small package that had accompanied the letter. “‘It belonged to your mother, and I believe she would have wished you to have it. With regards, your father.'”

Beatrice set down the letter and carefully opened the small package wrapped in brown paper. Inside lay a delicate gold locket on a fine chain. With trembling fingers, she opened it to reveal a miniature portrait of her mother on one side and a lock of golden hair, much like her own, on the other.

“Oh,” she breathed, tears welling in her eyes. “I never thought he would part with this. Mother wore it always.”

Henry gently took the locket from her hands and fastened it around her neck. “Perhaps he has finally begun to see that your happiness honors your mother’s memory, rather than diminishes it.”

Beatrice touched the locket reverently. “It means more than I can say.”

“Your father is a complicated man,” Henry said. “But I believe he loves you in his own way.”

“A very distant way,” Beatrice replied, wiping away a tear. “But yes, I think you’re right. This is his attempt at reconciliation, however small.”

Henry led her back to the window, where they could see Hannah and Giles had paused beneath a flowering cherry tree. “Speaking of complicated relationships,” he said with a wry smile, “I do believe Mr. Miller is about to declare himself.”

Beatrice eagerly turned her attention to the scene unfolding in the garden below. The young couple stood facing each other, Giles holding both of Hannah’s hands in his. Though they couldn’t hear the words being spoken, his earnest expression and Hannah’s widening smile told the story plainly enough.

“He’s been gathering his courage all week,” Beatrice said. “I wondered when he would finally speak.”

“I should have had a proper conversation with him first,” Henry muttered.

Beatrice laughed softly. “You’ve intimidated the poor man quite enough, I think. Besides, they are perfectly chaperoned—we can see them from here, Mrs. Miller can see them from the garden room, and the gardener is trimming the hedge not twenty feet away.”

They watched as Giles gently raised one of Hannah’s hands to his lips, his gaze never leaving her face. The gesture, though modest by some standards, was filled with such obvious devotion that Beatrice felt she was intruding on a deeply private moment.

“Do you remember,” she asked softly, “how you proposed to me? In your carriage, after rescuing me from those dreadful men?”

“I remember everything about that day,” Henry replied. “The terror I felt when I saw you being dragged away, the relief when I held you in my arms again, and the joy when you said you would be mine.”

“Look,” Beatrice whispered, drawing Henry’s attention back to the garden. Giles had moved closer to Hannah, his head bent toward hers. They watched as he gently cupped her cheek in his palm, his thumb tracing the curve of her face with a reverence that was visible even from a distance.

Hannah’s eyes fluttered closed as Giles’s lips met hers in a tender, chaste kiss—her first, Beatrice realized with a pang of emotion. The moment was brief but profound, and when they separated, Hannah’s radiant smile could have outshone the sun itself.

“Well,” Henry said, his voice tight with unexpected emotion, “it seems Mr. Miller has declared himself most definitively.”

“Are you quite all right?” Beatrice asked, noting the complex mixture of emotions playing across her husband’s face.

“I find myself rather conflicted,” he admitted. “On one hand, I am pleased to see my sister so happy. On the other, I have a sudden urge to march down there and remind Mr. Miller of the respect due to a duke’s sister.”

Beatrice squeezed his arm gently. “You would never do that. It would mortify Hannah, and you care for her happiness too much.”

Henry sighed. “You know me too well, my love. Indeed, I shall restrain my brotherly instincts—for now.” He glanced down at the garden again. “Though if he takes any further liberties, I may reconsider.”

“They will come to us soon,” Beatrice predicted. “Hannah will be too excited to keep her happiness to herself for long.”

As if summoned by her words, they saw the young couple turn toward the villa, hand in hand, their faces alight with joy. Hannah was practically skipping, her natural exuberance impossible to contain.

“We should move away from the window,” Beatrice suggested. “Let them believe their moment was private.”

They settled into the armchairs by the hearth, though the summer day required no fire. Henry picked up a book he had been reading, while Beatrice retrieved her embroidery from a nearby basket, both assuming expressions of casual occupation.

Minutes later, a breathless Hannah burst into the room, Giles following at a more measured pace behind her. Her cheeks were flushed with happiness, and her eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement.

“Henry! Beatrice!” she exclaimed. “The most wonderful thing has happened!”

“Indeed?” Henry replied, arching an eyebrow in feigned ignorance. “Do tell us this wonderful news.”

Hannah looked momentarily perplexed by their apparent unawareness, then rushed forward to grasp Beatrice’s hands. “Mr. Miller—Giles—has asked for my hand in marriage! And I have accepted!”

Beatrice set aside her embroidery to embrace her sister-in-law. “How wonderful, my dear! I am so happy for you.”

Henry set down his book and rose to his feet, turning his attention to the young man who stood nervously in the doorway. “Mr. Miller, I believe you have something to discuss with me?”

Giles straightened his shoulders and stepped forward, his expression serious despite the flush of happiness still evident on his face. “Your Grace, I know this is not the conventional order of things, and I should have sought your permission first, but—”

“But you were overcome by the moment?” Henry suggested, his tone inscrutable.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Giles admitted. “I had intended to speak with you this evening, after dinner. I have the deepest respect for Lady Hannah and your family. I hope you will forgive the impropriety and grant us your blessing.”

A tense silence filled the room as Henry regarded the young man, his dark eyes unreadable. Beatrice could sense Hannah holding her breath, her fingers tightening anxiously around Beatrice’s own.

Then, slowly, Henry’s stern expression softened into a smile. “You have my blessing, Mr. Miller. I believe you will make my sister very happy—and she, you.”

The relief in the room was palpable. Hannah let out a joyful cry and rushed to embrace her brother, while Giles’s face broke into a wide, grateful smile.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said, bowing slightly. “I promise to cherish her always.”

“See that you do,” Henry replied, his tone light but with an underlying seriousness that did not go unnoticed.

As the newly engaged couple shared their plans and dreams, Beatrice watched her husband with tender appreciation. She knew the effort it took for him to relinquish his role as Hannah’s primary protector, to entrust her happiness to another man. It was a testament to his love for his sister that he did so with such grace.

“When shall the wedding be?” Beatrice asked, once the initial excitement had somewhat abated.

“We thought perhaps next spring,” Hannah replied, looking to Giles for confirmation. “After my debut Season, of course.”

“Of course,” Henry agreed. “You must have your Season, even if your heart is already spoken for.”

“And you must allow me to help with the wedding preparations,” Beatrice added. “I’ve learned so much this past year about managing a large household. Lady Brandley has also offered her assistance—she is absolutely delighted to welcome you to the family, Hannah.”

“As are my father and mother,” Giles assured them. “They have always been fond of Lady Hannah, even before we… that is, before I realized the depth of my feelings for her.”

Hannah blushed prettily, and Beatrice exchanged a knowing glance with her husband. The young couple’s happiness was a joy to witness, bringing back vivid memories of their own courtship—unconventional though it had been.

Later that evening, after a celebratory dinner with the Millers, Beatrice and Henry retired to the small private terrace adjoining their bedchamber. The night was mild, the sky ablaze with stars, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of jasmine from the gardens below. They sat side by side on a cushioned bench, their hands entwined, contentment settling around them like a warm blanket.

“Quite a day,” Henry remarked, stroking his thumb across the back of her hand. “I don’t believe I’ve seen Hannah this happy since she was a child.”

“She and Giles are well-matched,” Beatrice observed. “He tempers her impulsiveness with his thoughtfulness, and she brings light and warmth to his scholarly seriousness.”

“Much like you do for me,” Henry said, raising her hand to his lips. “You’ve brought so much joy into my life, Beatrice. I cannot imagine what my days would be like without you.”

“Nor I without you,” she replied softly. “I shudder to think what might have happened had I not taken that position as Hannah’s chaperone.”

Henry’s expression darkened momentarily. “You would have been forced to marry Viscount Wentworth, and I would have continued my solitary existence, never knowing what true happiness felt like.”

“But that didn’t happen,” Beatrice reminded him, squeezing his hand. “Instead, we found each other against all odds. Some might call it fate.”

“I call it the best fortune of my life,” Henry said, drawing her closer to his side. “Though I confess, I’m rather envious of Mr. Miller at present.”

Beatrice looked at him in surprise. “Envious? Whatever for?”

“He gets to experience that first thrill of love, the wonder of a first kiss,” Henry explained. “Those moments are precious, and they come but once in a lifetime.”

“True,” Beatrice acknowledged with a gentle smile. “But we have something even more precious—the deep, abiding love that comes after those first thrills. The comfort of knowing each other’s hearts completely. The joy of building a life together.”

Henry considered this for a moment. “You are wise as always, my love. Though I do miss the days when you were just my employee, and I had to steal glances at you when you weren’t looking.”

Beatrice laughed. “Were you really so smitten with me?”

“Hopelessly,” Henry admitted. “Peter noticed it immediately, of course. He never tired of teasing me about it. Even now, he asks in every letter whether I’ve managed to maintain my dignity as a duke while being so thoroughly enchanted by my wife.”

“And what do you tell him?” she asked playfully.

“That I abandoned my dignity the moment I fell in love with you, and I have never regretted it for an instant,” he replied, his dark eyes reflecting the starlight above.

Beatrice felt her heart swell with love for this man who had saved her in more ways than one. “Shall we go inside?” she suggested, her voice soft with meaning.

Henry nodded, rising and offering his hand to help her up. They went into their bedchamber, closing the terrace doors behind them. The room was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, creating an intimate atmosphere that needed no words.

“I have something to tell you,” Beatrice said, drawing Henry to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. “I had planned to wait until we returned to England, but with all the joy and excitement today, I can no longer keep it to myself.”

Henry looked at her curiously. “What is it, my love?”

Beatrice took a deep breath, her hand moving unconsciously to rest on her abdomen. “I believe… that is, I am quite certain… we are to have a child.”

For a moment, Henry simply stared at her, his expression one of stunned disbelief. Then, as her words sank in, his face transformed with a joy so profound it brought tears to Beatrice’s eyes.

“A child?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Our child?”

She nodded, her own eyes shimmering with tears of happiness. “Dr. Armstrong confirmed it before we left England. I wanted to be certain before I told you.”

With a sound that was half laugh, half sob, Henry gathered her into his arms, holding her as though she were the most precious thing in the world. “Oh, my love,” he murmured against her hair. “My dearest love. I cannot express what this means to me.”

“You are happy, then?” Beatrice asked, drawing back to look into his face.

“Happy?” Henry repeated incredulously. “Beatrice, I am beyond happiness. I am… I have no words for what I am feeling.”

He placed his hand gently over hers where it rested on her abdomen, marveling at the miracle they had created together. “Our child,” he said again, as if testing the reality of the words. “When?”

“January, Dr. Armstrong believes,” Beatrice replied. “A winter baby.”

“Perfect timing,” Henry said, smiling through his tears. “Hannah will be married in the spring, and we shall have a new addition to our family to celebrate.”

Beatrice leaned forward to press her lips to his in a kiss that spoke of all the love and promise they had found together. From the desperate flight of a young woman seeking freedom to the steadfast devotion of a duke who had recognized his heart’s desire, their journey had led them to this perfect moment of joy.

As they embraced in the candlelit room, their hearts beating as one, Beatrice knew that whatever challenges life might bring, they would face them together, bound by a love that had conquered every obstacle placed in its path.

“I love you, Henry,” she whispered against his lips.

“And I love you, my dearest Beatrice,” he replied. “Now and always.”

Outside, the stars continued their eternal dance across the heavens, bearing silent witness to the enduring power of love to transform even the most unlikely of beginnings into the most beautiful of stories.

THE END