My Captive Duchess (The Reeves of Reeves Hall #1)

Epilogue

Jane

One month later

T he day has finally come. Broek and I have talked it over and we are both agreed. It is time to destroy the nanoprobes, along with any information that would allow another person to replicate them. Playing God with them has served us well, but there is danger in their continued existence. We both understand that very well.

There is no more need for the probes now, nor for the information they provide. We are established at Penhale Manor and Broek’s mercantile business continues to thrive. We have more wealth than we could ever want. Our position in society is becoming more secure with each day. Just last week, we hosted a dinner party in our new home, and this morning, I received an invitation to dine with the Drakes in few days’ time. All is well in our world.

So, it is time. This evening, a month after our marriage, we wait for the return of hundreds of thousands of probes from their journey across different parts of the world. We are in the garden at the back of the house, a large metal bowl before us. Broek has instructed each probe to return here, to this spot in the garden, at exactly six o’clock. I am beyond understanding how such a thing can be done. It is yet another of the miracles of science.

Broek checks his pocket watch once more. I glance at it to see the time is five minutes to the hour. He puts the watch away and stands, staring fixedly at the horizon. I inch towards him and put my hand through his arm. “It pains you to destroy your creations,” I say softly.

He says nothing at first, then replies, “I spent thousands of hours perfecting their design.”

“They are a wondrous creation,” I assert. “Without them, I should never have known that my aunt and uncle were swindling me.”

His mouth twists bitterly. “They are both my finest and my worst work in equal measure.”

The juxtaposition of good and evil has ever been so. And though the nanoprobes were of a great help to me, they also pose incalculable danger to humankind for the power they bring to the person who wields them.

“You are doing the right thing,” I say quietly. He simply nods.

We wait together, arm in arm. There is a dark cloud up ahead foreshadowing rain. I wonder if we should not go retrieve our cloaks, though the weather on this July evening seemed fine when we came out a few moments ago. As I watch the horizon, the dark cloud grows closer. It is then I realise this is not a cloud. It is a swarm of nanoprobes flying at speed towards us.

I shrink back in horror. Beside me, Broek squeezes my arm and holds me close. “They will not harm you,” he says in a low voice. I watch in fearful fascination as the swarm swoops down towards us, emitting a peculiar buzzing sound. One by one the probes descend on the metal bowl before us, crackling and popping on their descent as if they were live creatures rather than machines. I shiver inwardly, glad of the comfort of Broek’s arm.

For several minutes they continue to arrive, a dark cloud of dust that dives into the bowl, filling it nearly to the brim. And then it is done. All the probes, some three hundred and fifty thousand of them, are in the bowl. “How shall we destroy them?” I ask.

From a small box on the ground beside him, Broek brings out a metal contraption with sharp edges and a small rotor. “We shall crush them to a fine dust,” he says grimly. I watch as he places the contraption in the centre of the bowl, then covers the whole thing with a large cloth. I suppose that is so none of the probes flutter out of the bowl as they are being crushed. He then presses a button on the metal contraption, and next moment, I hear a grinding noise coming from within the bowl. We continue like this for some time, until Broek presses the button again for the contraption to stop. Carefully, he removes the cloth and the contraption. Inside the bowl, there is now only a fine black dust.

“What now?” I wonder.

“Now,” he says solemnly, “we give them a ceremonial burial.” He goes to fetch a spade that is leaning against the wall and asks, “Where shall we do it?”

I point to the ground beside a rose shrub. “How about here?”

He sets about digging, not too deep, just around ten inches into the ground. Once he judges the hole large enough, he drops the spade and picks up the metal bowl of crushed nanoprobes. With great care, he pours the dust into the hole, then takes the spade again. This time, he passes it to me. Without a word, I scoop up some soil and sprinkle it over the hole, doing this repeatedly until all the nanoprobes are completely covered.

I step back, observing my work. “We should say some words to mark the occasion,” I decide.

His lips curve. “Go on, Jane.”

Breathing deeply, I pronounce, “Dear departed nanoprobes, wondrous fruits of Broek’s labours, it is with sadness that we say goodbye. You served us well, yet to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted. A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing. A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away. A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak. A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.”

As I recite these familiar lines, Broek regards me quizzically. “Ecclesiastes 3, verses one to eight,” I say by way of explanation. I am a churchman’s daughter, after all, and have been well instructed in the scriptures.

“Very apt,” he murmurs. He releases a breath, as if relieved of a burden, then in a stronger voice he says, “Quite right too. There is a season and a time for everything. And now, Jane, I believe the time has come for us to love. Let us go to our bed, my heart.”

“But how about dinner?” I demur.

“We can have something sent up to our room later. To bed, now,” he growls. I have vowed to obey my husband, so of course, I let him lead me up to bed without complaint. We go to our chamber, whereupon Broek locks the door, and it is not long then before our clothes are thrown off and we find ourselves in bed.

Our bodies close, I look into Broek’s dark eyes and breathe, “Fill me.”

“With pleasure,” says my husband, and proceeds to do just that.