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“Blake, do hurry! We’re going to miss the start of the harvest fair, and you know how George hates to miss the opening parade,” Clara called, her voice ringing with a mixture of impatience and excitement. She stood by the entryway of Hartwell Manor, adjusting the bonnet tied beneath her chin as her growing belly made it slightly harder to maneuver.
Blake descended the grand staircase with George perched on his shoulders, the boy’s laughter echoing through the hall. “Miss the parade? With this little tyrant ensuring we leave on time? Not a chance,” he teased, holding onto George’s legs for balance. “He was up before the sun this morning, demanding to know if the pie competition would feature gooseberry again.”
George giggled, his hands gripping Blake’s hair like reins. “Mama says Mrs. Mantle will win again! She always wins!”
Clara laughed, reaching up to smooth George’s wild curls. “And your mother is seldom wrong,” she said, planting a kiss on the boy’s cheek before glancing at her husband. “Though if we don’t leave soon, even Mrs. Mantle’s gooseberry pie might not save us from his disappointment.”
Blake grinned, setting George down with a flourish. “Alright, little man, go fetch your coat. It’s chilly today.” George bolted down the hall, his small boots thudding against the floorboards.
As Blake turned to Clara, his expression softened. “You look radiant,” he murmured, taking her hands in his. “Do you really think it’s wise to walk all over the fairgrounds in your condition?”
Clara arched a brow, her lips curving in a playful smile. “If I can manage the endless preparations for your latest tenant gathering and keep George entertained, I believe I can endure an afternoon stroll. Besides,” she added, placing a hand on her rounded belly, “our little one enjoys the fresh air as much as I do.”
Blake leaned down to kiss her softly. “I can hardly argue with such reasoning,” he said, his voice warm. “But you must promise to let me carry you if you grow tired.”
Clara chuckled, her cheeks flushing. “I promise, though you know as well as I do that your overprotectiveness rivals even George’s energy.”
Before Blake could reply, George came bounding back, coat in hand and his face lit with excitement. “I’m ready, Papa! Let’s go!”
Blake ruffled his hair. “Lead the way, my boy.”
As they stepped out into the crisp autumn air, Clara looped her arm through Blake’s. The sound of distant laughter and the hum of activity drifted toward them from the village. For a moment, Clara paused, looking out over the rolling fields that stretched toward the horizon.
“I never imagined I’d find so much joy in such a simple life,” she said softly, leaning into Blake’s side. “A family, a home, a village full of kind hearts—it’s more than I ever dared dream.”
Blake kissed her temple, his arm tightening around her. “You’ve brought light to all of it, my love. To me, to George, to Hartwell Manor itself. I am the luckiest man alive.”
They continued toward the village, their hearts full, ready to embrace the simple joys of the day.
The village square buzzed with life as the harvest fair reached its peak. Brightly colored banners swayed in the breeze, while the tantalizing aroma of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider filled the air. Musicians played a lively tune near the central fountain, drawing a crowd of children who clapped and spun with unbridled glee.
Clara watched George dart among the stalls, his enthusiasm infectious as he tugged Blake from one booth to the next. “Papa, look! They’ve got toy horses!” George exclaimed, pointing to a wooden stall where an elderly craftsman displayed intricately carved figures.
Blake crouched beside his son, inspecting the craftsmanship with an approving nod. “What do you think, Georgie? Shall we take one home?”
George’s eyes sparkled as he selected a small black horse. “This one looks like Midnight, Mama’s favorite horse!”
Clara joined them, her smile soft as she watched the exchange. “It’s perfect, George. Midnight will have a little twin now.”
The craftsman chuckled, wrapping the toy in brown paper. “A fine choice, young master. Your parents have good taste.”
Blake handed over a coin and ruffled George’s hair. “Thank you, sir. George here has an eye for quality.”
As they wandered toward the food stalls, Clara’s gaze fell on the familiar figure of Mrs. Mantle, proudly manning her pie stand. A line of eager villagers waited to sample her renowned creations, each one heaping her with praise.
“Mrs. Mantle,” Clara called, drawing the older woman’s attention.
“Lady Hartwell!” Mrs. Mantle’s face lit up with delight. “And Lord Hartwell, too! Have you come to judge my pies today, or merely to steal a slice before the competition begins?”
“Stealing, of course,” Blake said with a wink, stepping forward. “Your gooseberry pie has been the highlight of my year since I was a boy.”
Clara laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t let him fool you, Mrs. Mantle. It’s his second favorite. George has already claimed the top spot.”
Mrs. Mantle handed them a slice each, beaming with pride. “I’ll take such flattery any day. And how is my little darling George?”
George, who had been busy admiring the pies, looked up and grinned. “I’m not little anymore, Mrs. Mantle! I’m big George now!”
“You’ll always be my little one,” Mrs. Mantle replied, pinching his cheek. “Go on, then. Run along and play. I hear the sack race is starting soon.”
Blake raised an eyebrow at Clara. “Shall we join him? I can’t let Marcus think he’s the only father fit to race.”
Clara rolled her eyes with mock exasperation. “If you insist, but only if you promise not to let George outrun you.”
Blake chuckled, taking her hand. “No promises, my love.”
As the three of them made their way to the racecourse, Clara felt a deep sense of contentment wash over her. This was what she had always longed for—a family bound by love, laughter, and the joy of shared moments. And as she watched Blake lift George onto his shoulders, she knew their happiness had only just begun.
Cheers erupted around the sack racecourse as contestants lined up at the starting point. Blake stood tall among them, his sack bunched in one hand while George tugged eagerly at his sleeve.
“Papa, you have to win!” George declared, his eyes wide with anticipation.
Blake crouched to meet his son’s gaze, a playful grin on his face. “Win? My boy, I’m here to make sure you win. Shall we race together?”
George nodded eagerly, clapping his hands. “Yes! But don’t fall, Papa!”
Clara stood off to the side with Mrs. Mantle and Victoria, her hand resting lightly on her belly. “He’s going to fall,” Clara said with a knowing smile. “He’s too competitive for his own good.”
Victoria laughed, fanning herself lightly. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Do you recall the Christmas sleigh races last year? I’m fairly certain Marcus still limps on cold mornings.”
Clara chuckled, her gaze fixed on Blake and George. The race began with a loud whistle, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Blake, true to his word, stayed close to George, hopping alongside him with exaggerated effort. Laughter rippled through the spectators as Blake pretended to stumble, giving George the lead.
By the time George crossed the finish line, arms raised in triumph, Blake was right behind him, collapsing theatrically into the hay. The sight of her husband covered in straw and laughing with their son filled Clara with a warmth she could scarcely describe.
“You’ve made his day, you know,” Clara said when Blake rejoined her, George perched proudly on his shoulders. “I’ve never seen him so happy.”
Blake reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “Making him happy makes me happy. And you, my love—you’re the one who makes it all complete.”
Their quiet moment was interrupted by Marcus, who approached with a sly grin and a plate piled high with roasted chestnuts. “Enjoying your victory, Hartwell? I hope you know I’ve signed us both up for the tug-of-war next.”
Blake groaned, shaking his head. “I should have known you’d make this a competition.”
“It’s tradition,” Marcus said with a shrug. “And besides, I’ll need someone to blame when we lose.”
Clara shared a knowing look with Victoria. “It seems we’ve married men who never quite left their boyhood behind.”
“And thank goodness for it,” Victoria replied, her smile soft. “Though I must say, Clara, you’ve had quite the effect on Blake. I’ve never seen him so … settled.”
Clara glanced at Blake, who was now teaching George the finer points of rope technique with Marcus’s overzealous help. “He’s taught me as much as I’ve taught him,” she said softly. “We’ve built this life together, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
As the day wound on, Clara found herself wrapped in the warmth of her family, friends, and the village that had become her home. The harvest fair buzzed with joy and laughter, and as the sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, she felt a quiet certainty that their future would be as bright as the day they had shared.
The house was silent, save for the soft crackle of the fire in their bedroom hearth. Clara stood by the window, her hands cradling her growing belly as she gazed out at the moonlit grounds of Hartwell Manor. The day had been filled with joy, laughter, and a deep sense of belonging, but now, in the quiet of the night, she felt the weight of her love for Blake settle over her like a warm embrace.
She heard the door click softly behind her and turned to see Blake enter, his shirt open at the collar, his hair tousled from the evening breeze. His dark eyes met hers, and a slow smile spread across his face.
“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice low and rich with affection.
Clara blushed, her fingers brushing the lace at her neckline. “You say that as if it’s the first time you’ve seen me.”
Blake approached her, his movements unhurried but deliberate. “Every time feels like the first,” he said, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. He bent his head, his lips brushing the curve of her neck. “Every time, I’m in awe of you.”
Clara leaned into his touch, her body instinctively responding to his warmth. “You’ve always known how to leave me speechless,” she whispered, her voice catching as his lips trailed lower.
Blake stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his hands on her belly. “You’ve given me everything I never knew I needed,” he said, his breath warm against her ear. “A family, a home, a love that’s rooted so deeply, it feels like it’s always been there.”
She turned in his arms, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “And you’ve given me the freedom to be myself, to love without fear. I never thought I could have this … you.”
Blake cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You’ve always had me, Clara. Always.”
Their lips met in a kiss that began soft and tender but quickly deepened. Blake’s hands slid to her back, pulling her closer as his mouth claimed hers with increasing fervor. Clara’s fingers tangled in his hair, and a soft moan escaped her as his lips moved to the hollow of her throat.
“I’ve been waiting all day to have you to myself,” Blake murmured, his voice rough with desire. He guided her backward toward the bed, his hands working deftly to untie the ribbons at the back of her dress.
Clara’s gown slid to the floor in a whisper of silk, leaving her in only her shift. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze as he took her in. “You’re exquisite,” he said, his voice thick with reverence.
She reached for him, her hands tugging at the buttons of his shirt. “Show me,” she whispered. “Show me how much.”
Blake shed his clothes with a swiftness born of impatience, his hands returning to her as he lowered her onto the bed. He kissed her deeply, his body pressing into hers as their passion ignited. His touch was firm yet gentle, his lips trailing a path down her body that left her breathless.
“Blake,” she gasped, her hands clutching his shoulders as he worshiped her with his touch. “I love you.”
He raised his head, his dark eyes blazing with emotion. “And I love you, Clara. Always.”
Their bodies joined in a rhythm that spoke of love, trust, and an unbreakable bond. Each kiss, each caress, was a promise of forever, a testament to the life they had built together.
As the firelight danced across the room, they found their release together, their hearts beating as one. Blake gathered her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her temple as she nestled against his chest.
“I don’t think I’ll ever stop falling in love with you,” Clara whispered, her voice soft with contentment.
Blake smiled, his fingers trailing through her hair. “Good, because I intend to make you fall in love with me every day for the rest of our lives.”
And as they lay together in the quiet warmth of their bed, Clara knew there was no place she’d rather be.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Love and Yearning in the Ton ", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hello there, my dear readers. I hope you enjoyed the book and this Extended Epilogue! I will be waiting for your comments. Thank you! 🙂
One of my favourite novels loved the plot and the characters.Thank you your stories make me feel I am living the story .
I’m humbled, dear Babs! Thank you so much for your lovely comment. So glad you enjoyed the story!
I enjoyed this book very much. The characters were so good and the plot was excellent. I recommend this bok to everyone.
Thank you so much for your lovely words and support, dear Frances. So glad you enjoyed the story!
Better than I expected, this story. A strong minded governess and a very kind Earl. Not very realistic, but what is? A good yarn for all that. Well done!
Thank you so much for your input, dear Patricia.Glad you enjoyed the story!
I enjoyed this book very much. I was thinking that if all husbands treated there wives like the duke did, there would be much happier marriages. I feel in love with little Georgie. So cute and so happy he finally had a family that loved him. Wish I knew what Clara had though. Boy or girl? Since it is open, she had a beautiful baby girl. 🥰
Thank you so much for your kind words and support, dear Sandra! So glad you enjoyed the story!