A Governess to Awaken the Duke’s Heart -Extended Epilogue

Three years after her wedding and first introduction as the Duchess of Blackmoor, Clara rode into Penharrow with both arms wrapped around her baby son as if the road itself might grow greedy and try to claim him. Henry sat heavy and warm on her lap, his cheeks flushed from sleep and travel. Alice had insisted on a bonnet for him, tied beneath his chin with a ribbon that made him look faintly affronted. He stared out the carriage window in solemn judgment of every hedge, every stone wall, every sheep that appeared and vanished like a poorly managed magic trick.

Across from Clara, Elinor Llewellyn bounced as though the carriage seat were a suggestion rather than furniture. She wore a pale yellow day dress and a straw bonnet trimmed with ribbon, but no amount of propriety could persuade her to sit still.

“Are we nearly there?” she demanded for what Clara suspected was the last time only because there were no more minutes left to ask it in.

“We are in Penharrow,” Clara said, calm by sheer habit. “So yes. We are there.”

Elinor pressed her nose to the glass.“I mean the cottage.”

Daniel, seated beside her, looked up from his open book just long enough to deliver his opinion with the quiet finality that had always made Elinor itch.“You asked that yesterday.”

“Yesterday we were not in Penharrow,” Elinor snapped, as if Daniel had personally misplaced Wales.

Daniel blinked, unbothered.“We were close.”

“Close is not the same,” Elinor declared and turned back to the window with righteous suffering.

Henry chose that moment to grab the edge of Clara’s glove, then shove his fist into his mouth and chew with determined concentration, as if he meant to solve the world with his gums.

Alice leaned forward from the seat near the door, eyes bright.“Look. There’s Mrs. Pritchard.”

Clara followed her gaze and felt the familiar pinch of something that was half amusement and half tenderness.

A small crowd had gathered near the village center. Shopkeepers stood outside their doors. Children hovered behind skirts and peered around grown legs. At the front stood Mrs. Pritchard herself, wrapped in a thick shawl and wearing an expression of firm satisfaction, as if she had personally negotiated the day’s weather into submission. The carriage slowed.

Elinor gave a shriek of recognition.“Mrs. Pritchard.”

Mrs. Pritchard, the woman Clara had met on her last day in Penharrow three years prior, lifted one hand and waved with the same authority she applied to everything, including disobedient hens and grown men who thought themselves above listening.

The carriage halted. The footman jumped down, but Edward climbed out before anyone could open the door for him. He always looked different in Wales. He still stood straight. He still carried the weight of his title in his posture. But the tightness that once lived in his face had eased with the years. His coat was neat, his gloves fitted, everything was proper, and yet he no longer wore propriety like a cage. He looked more steady than stiff, as though he had finally learned the difference between holding himself upright and holding himself back.

Edward offered Clara his hand. Clara passed Henry to Alice first. Alice took the baby with practiced ease and bounced him gently.

“Hello, Your Grace,” Alice said to Henry, as if he would appreciate the joke.

Henry stared at her gravely, unimpressed by all rank and nonsense.

Clara stepped down, taking Edward’s hand. The moment her boots touched the ground, Elinor shoved past Daniel and shot out behind her, nearly colliding with a shopkeeper in her haste. Elinor ran straight to Mrs. Pritchard and flung her arms around the older woman’s waist.“We came back.”

Mrs. Pritchard made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh.“I see that. You are taller.”

Elinor pulled back and lifted her chin.“I am nearly grown.”

Mrs. Pritchard snorted.“You are nearly loud.”

Elinor grinned, entirely unoffended.

Daniel stepped down more carefully, nodding with polite restraint.“Good afternoon.”

Mrs. Pritchard’s eyes swept him.“Good afternoon. And you still look like you swallowed a sermon.”

Daniel blinked.“I did not.”

Elinor laughed sharply.“She means you look serious.”

“I am serious,” Daniel said, as if it were the only sensible way to be.

Clara stepped forward, smiling despite herself.“Mrs. Pritchard.”

Mrs. Pritchard looked Clara up and down with blunt assessment, then let the sharpness soften into something warmer.“Duchess,” she said and sounded as though she meant Clara rather than the title. “You look well.”

“Thank you,” Clara replied. “We have all been well.”

Edward bowed warmly.“Mrs. Pritchard.”

Mrs. Pritchard met him squarely.“Your Grace. You came back as well.”

Edward’s face tensed for a breath, then eased.“I did.”

Mrs. Pritchard held his gaze long enough to make the moment do its work.

“Good,” she said at last, as if granting him a small, hard-earned absolution.

Alice stepped forward with Henry in her arms.“And this is Henry,” she announced, beaming. “He is the new terror.”

Henry blinked at Mrs. Pritchard as if deciding whether she was friend or enemy.

Mrs. Pritchard leaned closer.“Hello. Do you shout like your sister?”

Henry opened his mouth and sneezed.

Elinor gasped as if the heavens had spoken.“He blessed you.”

“He sneezed,” Daniel corrected, thoughtful.

Mrs. Pritchard smiled anyway.“Bless him,” she said as a gentle correction to the young girl and tapped Henry’s bonnet lightly with one finger as though confirming he was real.

More villagers drifted closer with greetings and curious looks. Clara heard Welsh in quick, unselfconscious bursts, that familiar cadence folding around them like a remembered tune. It used to ache. Now, it steadied her. Then, another carriage arrived, dusting the lane with a little impatience. The family solicitor stepped down, brushing his coat as if dust were a personal affront. He was older than when Clara first met him at Windmere, but his eyes remained sharp, as though optimism still required proof before he would tolerate it.

He approached Edward first.“Your Grace.”

Edward nodded.“You made good time.”

“The documents do not sign themselves,” the solicitor replied, then turned to Clara. “Your Grace.”

Clara smiled.“Thank you for coming.”

The solicitor’s gaze slid down the lane, appraising.“So, this is the route to the cottage.”

“It is,” Edward said, then looked to Clara with a quiet question in his eyes. “Are you ready?”

Clara glanced at Daniel and Elinor, then at Henry’s solemn face in Alice’s arms.“Yes.”

Elinor pointed dramatically.“It is that way,” she declared, as if anyone might forget the existence of roads.

Daniel shook his head.“We remember,” and added, with mild kindness, “But you may lead if it makes you calmer.”

“It does,” Elinor said promptly, and set off as if appointed commander.

They walked. Clara took Henry back after a few minutes, because he grew restless and began tugging at Alice’s collar with the stubborn confidence of a future tyrant. Alice surrendered him with a relieved smile.

“You are strong,” Alice whispered.

“He is heavy,” Clara returned, shifting him on her hip.

Edward walked beside her, pace measured so the children could dart ahead without losing them entirely.“I told you he would be.”

Clara shot him a look.“You were pleased about it.”

Edward’s mouth curved into a small smile that he did not bother to deny.“I was.”

Elinor spun and ran backward so she could speak while moving.

“Is it really ours?” she asked, pointing toward the distant roofline.

“It belongs to the family,” Edward said. “It will be preserved.”

Elinor frowned.“Preserved like jam?”

“Preserved like protected,” Daniel said, and added, “As in cared for. Not like jam.”

Elinor considered this with deep seriousness.“I like jam.”

“You like anything sweet,” Clara said.

Elinor smiled, shameless.“Yes.”

They reached the cottage as the sun climbed and warmed the damp grass. It looked different than Clara remembered from her first visit. The roofline sat straight. Shutters were repaired. The garden had been cleared and planted with simple flowers. It was still modest, still practical, still recognizably a home built by people who worked for what they had. But it no longer carried that dreadful look of a life snatched away and left to rot.

Clara stopped at the gate and held Henry a little tighter, surprised by the sting behind her eyes.

Elinor pushed the gate open and ran into the garden without hesitation.

“It smells like flowers,”

Daniel walked in more slowly, his gaze moving over the cottage with quiet focus.“It is cleaner. Brighter.”

Edward stepped forward and rested his hand briefly on the gatepost, as if grounding himself. Clara watched his face. He looked at the cottage not like a place that accused him but like a place he had finally learned to honor.

Alice hovered near Clara’s shoulder.

“I still remember the first time I came here,” she said softly. “I did not think we would ever come back like this.”

“Neither did I,” Clara murmured.

The solicitor cleared his throat and produced a leather folder, unwilling to be swept away by sentiment.

“We can review final arrangements once we have inspected the repairs. The trust is satisfied, provided the family maintains the property as agreed.”

“We will,” Edward said.

The solicitor glanced around the garden, then looked at Edward with a reluctant curiosity.

“I must say, if someone had told me three years ago you would be discussing preservation trusts in Penharrow with actual interest, I should have doubted them.”

Edward’s gaze stayed on the cottage for a beat too long.“Three years ago, I had little interest in anything.”

The solicitor’s eyes flicked to Clara, then back.

“You are transformed,” he said, as if he feared admitting it might undo the miraculous changes.

Edward looked at Clara with doting eyes. When he spoke, his voice was even.“I was not transformed. I was corrected.”

Elinor appeared at the cottage door, impatience already reclaiming her.“Can we go inside?”

“Yes,” Clara called back. “Carefully.”

Elinor vanished inside at once, proving that carefully was, at best, an idea.

Daniel followed but paused at the threshold and looked back at Clara.“May I?” he asked, quieter.

“Yes,” Clara said gently. “Go.”

Inside, the cottage had been restored with simple care. The hearth was clean. The table repaired. Chairs upright and willing. Shelves held books now, English and Welsh side by side, as if the world had finally made room for both without argument.

Elinor ran from room to room declaring truths as she remembered them.

“This was their room. I know it was. And our was here…” she paused, pointing to a room that Clara was not sure was a bedroom before the cottage underwent its restoration.

Clara met Edward’s eye and felt humor tug at her mouth.“She has decided she owns every memory here.”

Edward nodded, resigned.“I suppose she does.”

Alice drifted into the back room and made a pleasant sound.

“Look at this. They even fixed the floor.”

Clara’s chest ached. She knew exactly what had once been hidden beneath those boards, even if the floor sat smoothly and innocently now.

Edward’s gaze found her.“Are you well?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Clara said. “It is only strange.”

He nodded once, understanding without demanding explanation.

The solicitor made notes as he moved.“Work is sound. Roof repairs thorough. Windows sealed properly. Garden fencing stable.”

Elinor ran back, holding a ribbon she had found.“Can I keep this?”

Clara looked at it.

“If it belongs to the cottage, it stays.”

Elinor frowned, offended by the notion of rules existing without her consent.“But I found it.”

“Finding does not mean owning,” Daniel said.

Elinor narrowed her eyes.“It does for me.”

“Elinor,” Edward said, the quiet warning in his tone unchanged by fatherhood.

Elinor paused, then sighed dramatically and dropped the ribbon on the table as though making a sacrifice to civilization.“Fine.”

Alice laughed under her breath.“She is still herself.”

Henry began to fuss, cheeks pink from warmth and movement. Clara bounced him gently.

Daniel approached with a careful gravity that never looked foolish on him.

“May I?” he asked, reaching toward Henry.

“Support his back,” Clara instructed.

Daniel took Henry with concentrated care, holding him as though the baby was both fragile and immensely important. Henry stared at Daniel, then grabbed Daniel’s coat button with a firm fist.

Daniel looked down.

“He is strong.”

Elinor leaned in, eyes bright.“Say my name,” she demanded. “Say Elinor.”

Henry made a wet sound and tried to chew the button.

Elinor frowned deeply.“He is ignoring me.”

“He is a baby,” Edward said, patience carefully applied.

“That is not an excuse,” Elinor insisted.

“It is a perfectly valid reason,” Clara said, and failed to keep the smile from her voice.

Daniel lifted his book.“I will read.”

Elinor’s eyes brightened.“Read Welsh.”

Daniel nodded and carried Henry to the chair near the hearth. He sat, balanced the baby on his lap, and began reading Welsh poetry aloud. The words were steady, careful, shaped by years of lessons that no longer felt like rebellion but like inheritance.

Henry watched Daniel’s mouth with solemn fascination. Elinor listened as if she understood every word and would not tolerate nonsense. Alice hovered near the doorway, hands clasped, eyes shining as though she were afraid to blink.

Clara looked at Edward.“He has grown,” she said softly.

“He has,” Edward replied.

The solicitor drifted closer, drawn by the sound in spite of himself. He listened for a moment.

“I would not have believed this either,” he said. “That you could ever allow Welsh into your life.”

“Neither would I,” Edward said, and the admission was simple, unguarded.

They spent the afternoon settling into the cottage as if it had always been theirs. Clara unpacked the small things she had brought. Edward spoke with the solicitor about the final papers in the garden. Alice moved through the rooms with the air of someone returning to a place she had claimed as part of her own life, humming softly as she arranged linen.

After a couple of hours, Alice leaned close to Clara, cheeks flushed as she beamed.“My Mr. Griffith will come by later.”

“Your fiancé,” Clara said with a grin.

Alice nodded quickly.“He insists he will not miss the chance to see Henry.”

“Tell him he is always welcome,” Clara said.

Alice’s eyes brightened.“Thank you.”

As evening approached, the garden turned golden in the lowering sun. The air cooled. Birds called from hedgerows and trees. Elinor sat on the grass with a pile of flowers in her lap, weaving crowns with quick fingers, her tongue poking out in concentration.

“Daniel,” she asked, “is this too many flowers?”

“It depends,” Daniel said.

“On what?”

“On whether you want it to stay on your head.”

Elinor looked at the crown, then added another flower anyway.“I want it to be impressive.”

“Then it is not enough,” Daniel said with a mild shrug.

Clara sat beside Edward, their shoulders touching. Edward watched Elinor, then asked Clara quietly, “Do you ever think about the day we found each other here?”

“Often,” Clara said.

“So do I,” he admitted. “I cannot imagine how much differently our lives would have gone had I been one hour later, or you had been a day earlier in leaving.”

Clara nodded, resting her head gently on Edward’s shoulder.

“We are fortunate that we do not have to find out,” she said, sighing softly as she nestled against her husband.

The solicitor approached with his folder.“Everything is ready for signatures tomorrow morning. Then the cottage is secured as agreed.”

“Good,” Edward said.

The solicitor hesitated for a moment before smiling. “This suits you,” he said. “You truly do seem happy and more at ease.”

Edward gave the man a warm smile.

“It suits me because I have stopped resisting it.”

Clara felt Edward’s hand find hers on the bench. His grip was steady, warm.

Elinor set a finished flower crown on Henry’s head. It slid down his forehead at once.

Elinor gasped. “Hold still.”

Henry grabbed the flowers and tried to eat them.

“He cannot wear it,” Daniel said.

“He can,” Elinor argued. “He is a Duke’s son.”

Daniel considered. “That does not make him less hungry.”

Clara laughed, unable to stop it.

Edward’s mouth curved. “Daniel,” he said, “teach him the word you wanted to teach.”

Daniel nodded, shifted Henry upright, and held him carefully.

“Henry,” Daniel said. “Say cariad.”

Henry blinked, as though his brother had spoken French instead of Welsh.

“Cariad,” Daniel repeated, slow and patient, as if offering the word one syllable at a time.

Elinor leaned in, eyes wide. “Say it.”

Henry opened his mouth, made a sound that was almost a laugh, then tried another, tasting his own tongue as though it were a new toy.

Alice hurried into the garden then, breathless, a folded note in her hand. “Your Grace,” she said to Clara first. “News from London.”

Clara took the note and read quickly. Her eyes moved once, then again. She looked up.

“What is it?” Edward asked.

“Lady Verity Ainsleigh’s pursuit of an elderly earl ended in scandal,” Clara said, keeping her voice even.

“I knew it,” Alice said with bright satisfaction.

Elinor looked up from her flowers. “What is a scandal?”

“It is trouble,” Clara replied.

Elinor nodded, pleased. “Lady Verity makes trouble.”

“It was predictable,” Daniel said serenely.

Clara glanced down again. “She has retreated to a modest cottage in the countryside.”

Edward’s expression remained calm. “Good.”

“And Mrs. Hardwell,” Clara continued, “works as a seamstress in a northern town. Her household ambitions appear finished.”

Alice made a sharp sound of approval. “Good,” she said, echoing Edward. “I am glad.”

Clara nodded. She could never bring herself to hate someone, not even the cruel, deceptive former housekeeper for the home of which she was now mistress. However, she had known that if something did not change, Mrs. Hardwell would go on to try to harm another family the way she had harmed hers and Edward’s. She was not displeased to learn that would not be possible any longer.

Elinor’s eyes widened with interest. “Does Mrs. Hardwell sew forever now?”

Edward shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said. “Unless she is able to find work elsewhere in a few years.”

Elinor frowned.

“I hope she pricks her finger.”

“Elinor,” Clara warned.

“I do,” Elinor insisted, chin lifted.

“That is unkind,” Daniel said. “But understandable.”

Clara glanced at Edward. “He learned that from you.”

Edward blinked, feigning innocence. “Which part?”

“The honesty.”

Edward’s mouth tightened into a small smile.

Daniel turned back to Henry, determined. “Henry. Cariad.”

Henry stared at Daniel’s mouth, then at Elinor’s crown, then at Clara, then back to Daniel, as if weighing the worth of the sound.

Then, he stopped the conversations all around him, turning all eyes onto him.

“Cariad.”

For a moment, nobody moved. Then Clara laughed, startled and delighted. Edward’s eyes widened, then softened. Alice clapped once, stopped as if remembering she ought not, then clapped again anyway.

Elinor shrieked, triumphant. “He said it. He spoke in Welsh.”

Daniel’s face went still with quiet pride. “He did,” he said.

Edward leaned forward slightly, his hand tightening on Clara’s.

“He did,” he echoed, softer. “I am so proud of you, my boy.”

Henry smiled as if pleased with himself, then immediately tried to eat his own sleeve.

Elinor grabbed another handful of flowers. “Now, he needs a bigger crown.”

“No,” Daniel said quickly. “He will eat it.”

“He can eat some,” Elinor argued.

“He will not eat flowers,” Clara said.

Elinor sighed dramatically. “Everyone ruins everything.”

Edward turned his head slightly toward Clara, eyes bright in the evening light.

“Listen,” he said quietly.

Clara listened.

Welsh voices drifted from the lane. English laughter followed. A baby’s first Welsh word hung in the air, and it seemed that neighbors and friends alike were celebrating. The cottage stood restored and steady, no longer a wound left open to the weather. Clara understood, without needing to announce it, that Amelia’s legacy remained. Not as grief that divided them. But as laughter. As English and Welsh spoken with equal pride. As a family gathered in a garden, certain at last that love made the strongest foundation of all.

THE END