Page 121 of The Duchess Trap
She smiled through her tears. “I love you too.”
The children erupted into cheers, clapping and laughing, their joy unrestrained.
Mary began tossing petals from her daisy chain, declaring, “It’s a wedding all over again!”
Catherine laughed fully, the sound breaking free at last, light and alive. Duncan’s own laugh followed—deep and unguarded. He glanced down at her, his eyes soft with something eternal.
They stood there for a moment longer, surrounded by laughter and sunlight, the garden alive with warmth.
For the first time in months, the ache in her chest eased. The fear, the anger, the heartbreak…all of it seemed to dissolve beneath the simple truth.
That love, in its truest form, had found its way back.
EPILOGUE
CHRISTMAS DAY
“Thomas, a little higher—yes, there! That’s perfect. And Mary, mind the garland, love, don’t let it slip off the banister again.”
Catherine’s voice carried through the great hall of Belgrave, steady but full of laughter. The scent of pine and oranges filled the air, mingling with woodsmoke from the massive hearth. The firelight danced across the walls, glinting off the brass ornaments and the great glass baubles that hung from the Christmas tree towering near the windows.
“Your Grace,” called little Oliver from beneath the tree, his curls falling into his eyes. “Is it true Father Christmas comes here too? Even if it’s not Brightwater?”
She crouched beside him, smoothing his hair fondly. “I’m quite certain he finds his way to every child who deserves him,” she said softly. “And you’ve all been very good this year.”
Mary gasped. “Even Thomas?”
Thomas crossed his arms, scandalized. “I was good!”
Laughter erupted from the circle of children gathered near the hearth, and Catherine joined them, smiling. “Yes, even Thomas,” she said. “Especially Thomas—he’s been helping the footmen since morning.”
That won her a grin from him and another burst of giggles from the rest.
The townhouse was alive with noise and light and movement, so full it almost startled her. It had been a long time since these rooms had felt so warm. The chandeliers gleamed with ribbons, the windows were frosted white, and every corridor smelled faintly of spices and fresh bread.
For weeks, she had thrown herself into preparations—organizing, decorating, arranging gifts for the Brightwater children who still lived there until their own home could reopen. The work left her little time for thought, and she preferred it that way. Busy hands, quiet mind.
She stood now, pressing a hand to her apron to steady the small ache in her chest that sometimes crept up when she stopped moving. She looked around at them—the children chasing each other around the tree, Mrs. Simms scolding gently, the maids laughing—and felt the familiar swell of affection.
“Your Grace?” Mrs. Simms called. “The cook says the plum pudding’s ready for inspection.”
“Tell her I’ll come shortly,” Catherine replied, smiling. “And remind her to save a bit of batter for the little ones—they’ll riot if they can’t lick the bowl.”
Mrs. Simms laughed and disappeared toward the kitchen.
Catherine turned back to the tree, frowning slightly as she noticed one bare patch near the top. “We need another ribbon there,” she murmured to herself. “A bit of red, perhaps…”
Before she could call for someone, a deep voice came from behind her.
“I believe I can reach that.”
A smile coasted over her face before she turned. Duncan stood in the doorway, coat unbuttoned, a faint dusting of snow melting in his dark hair. His expression was calm, softer than it had been in months, his eyes warmer than she remembered.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said quietly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Good morning, Duchess.”
Something in the way he said it—quietly, almost playfully—made her throat tighten.
