Stolen by the Ruthless Duke (Stolen by the Duke #2)

Extended Epilogue

Seven Years Later

“No, I want the fairytale book!” Elizabeth’s voice echoed through the library as she went up on her tiptoes, trying to reach the shelf. Her sister, Georgina, stood next to her, trying to snatch it too.

“Girls,” Maxwell called out, “we have plenty of fairytales. You both can share.”

“But I want that one.”

“I want it too,” Elizabeth fumed.

Just over a year older than Georgina, Elizabeth was Maxwell’s and Ophelia’s eldest daughter. She was six, Georgina was four, and baby Matthew was one and a half. The latter was sitting on Ophelia’s lap as she looked out the window.

Maxwell caught her eye. “How shall we settle this one? We have two feisty daughters who are much like you.”

Ophelia laughed. “Is that correct?”

“Indeed. So who gets the book?”

“Elizabeth,” she called, “let Georgina have the book for three stories. Come, I shall read them to you. And then your father can read to you.”

“Can you not both read to us?” Elizabeth pouted. “I do so like it when you both do that and read out the voices. It makes it so much better.”

“Yes, and Uncle Freddie does the funny voice!” Georgina squealed, looking at where Freddie and Lucy sat with their own child.

Their son, whom they had named Benedict after Freddie’s late father, sat looking around the library with wide eyes.

“And what about me?” Lucy asked playfully. Her stomach was swollen with their second child, and she placed a hand on it, wincing.

Maxwell’s eyebrows knitted together in concern before he relaxed, letting Freddie be the protective male.

“You shall remain sitting,” Freddie said, “while the rest of us act out the stories.”

“And I shall tell you how marvelous you are?” Lucy laughed.

“Exactly. I am blessed to have a wife who understands my need for unstinting praise.”

“You were born for the stage, Freddie,” Maxwell muttered sarcastically.

“Father!” Elizabeth said, tugging on his sleeve.

“All right.” He laughed. “Let us begin.”

Ophelia gathered her daughters and son as Maxwell and Freddie stood up before one of the bookshelves, preparing to act out the tale of two boys who traveled to a magical hut in the mountains. Ophelia would play the wickedly magical fairy who would cast a spell on them to turn them into doves, able to fly her around a kingdom far away from her lonely home.

It was the best way for her daughters to share a book—if they let everybody be part of the story and experience it together.

“Now, do you remember what I told you about your grandfather?” she asked, and they all nodded, their eyes bright. “He was a wonderful storyteller. If he could, I know he would be right here, with us, acting out the tales. Georgina, who do you think he would play?”

“I think Grandfather would have played the wise guardian who taught the fairy her magic!” she said. “After all, he knew a lot, and she loved him but knew she couldn’t stay with him forever.”

“That is right,” Maxwell said, coming over to them to clasp Ophelia’s shoulder. “But he is always in her heart, yes?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “Just like you told me when I was younger.”

“Exactly. Your mother’s father was a courageous man. I was honored to call him my friend.”

“What about your father?” Elizabeth asked.

Maxwell had long learned to make peace with his past. He merely sighed. “My father was not quite the same. Let us cast him as the man who banished the fairy in the first place. He did not want her to be happy.”

“I see.” Georgina frowned. “He was not nice.”

“No,” Maxwell said. “He was not.”

“Unlike you, Father!” Elizabeth said, standing up to hug him. She wrapped her small arms around his middle. “You are the kindest man ever, and I shall make sure everybody knows it when I join Society. Lucy has told me all about it!”

“Has she now?” Maxwell laughed and hugged her back. “Elizabeth, the days you and Georgina were born were the most alarming days of my life. For I realize I shall have to guide two beautiful ladies through their debuts, and that positively terrifies me.” He smiled. “But I shall make sure the two of you grow up to find love matches.”

“We will! You have always told us that is your wish, and we shall fulfill it.”

“That is the most important thing,” Ophelia chimed in. “Love is worth fighting for, my darlings. It is worth the wait.”

Maxwell took her hand, looking at her as the children happily skipped away to ask Freddie about his performance. “It is always worth everything, no matter what.”

Ophelia kissed his cheek before she picked up their son and placed him in the large armchair to watch the performance. Elizabeth, Georgina, and Benedict sat on the floor near Lucy.

Together, Ophelia, Maxwell, and Freddie began to act their parts.

And as Ophelia let her voice dance over the tale, as her father once did for her, she knew she had gotten what she had always wanted—filling her children with the stories her father had given her and letting them know that they could dream of love matches. That they could see it was possible.

Soon, it would be Christmas time, and James would return from boarding school, and her family would be complete once again. Her stepmother was a terrible, distant memory.

Stormcliff had stopped being a place haunted by ghosts. It had become a place of peace, and Maxwell had done exactly what he had promised. He had given the Harding name a new reputation—one that saw two bright, beautiful daughters and a curious son. Lucy and Freddie had their own country home not far from them.

The ton did not judge or gossip about them anymore, and Maxwell and Lucy both suffered less and less from their nightmares. Even on the nights Ophelia woke up to her husband’s fists clenched at his sides and his voice distant and flat with terrors of his past, she merely coaxed him back to her with love.

He was hers, and she was his.

Nothing in the world would ever take that from her.

The End.