Seven Days to Win a Lady’s Heart – Extended Epilogue

“Jonathan, I insist that you put that child down this instant before you ruin your waistcoat.”

Elizabeth’s voice was laced with amusement, though she attempted to feign severity as she stood at the threshold of the drawing room, hands on her hips. The Duke of Norwood, her beloved husband of five years, stood in the middle of the room with a laughing bundle of golden curls in his arms, a giggling little girl no older than three. Her small hands were covered in sticky remnants of raspberry jam, which were now smeared across the fine embroidery of his pristine waistcoat.

Jonathan looked down at the jam stains and then at his daughter, who was peering up at him with wide, innocent eyes. He let out a long-suffering sigh, though there was undeniable warmth in his expression.

“Well, there is no saving this waistcoat now,” he said with mock resignation. “I suppose I shall have to discard it, but perhaps I shall keep you, my little mischief-maker.”

The girl squealed as Jonathan spun her once in the air before placing her securely on the ground. She promptly ran toward her mother, wrapping her small arms around Elizabeth’s skirts.

Elizabeth bent down, smoothing a stray curl from her daughter’s forehead. “Sophia, what have I told you about running about with jam on your hands?”

The little girl grinned unabashedly. “Papa said it is the price of a well-enjoyed breakfast.”

Jonathan laughed outright at that, while Elizabeth merely shook her head. “Did he now?” she mused, throwing her husband a look of mock disapproval.

“In my defense,” Jonathan said, making his way toward his wife, “I did not say it in so many words. I merely encouraged her to enjoy life’s indulgences.”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “You are encouraging anarchy in our household, Your Grace.”

“Nonsense. A little anarchy keeps things lively,” he said with a smirk, slipping an arm around her waist.

She could not refute that. Their life had been wonderfully lively since their marriage, filled with passion, laughter, and—most importantly—love. Even as a mother, Elizabeth had not lost her sharp wit and independence, and Jonathan, despite his once rakish ways, had proven to be a devoted and doting father.

Just as Elizabeth leaned in to kiss her husband, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. A moment later, Kitty—Elizabeth’s trusted lady’s maid and longtime companion—burst into the room, breathless and flustered.

“Oh, Miss—Your Grace,” she corrected quickly, despite still occasionally calling Elizabeth by her maiden title out of habit. “You will not believe who has arrived in town!”

Elizabeth straightened, exchanging a look with Jonathan. “Who?”

Kitty’s eyes were wide with both intrigue and apprehension as she spoke.

“Lord Boutwell.”

A hush fell over the room. Even little Sophia, despite not understanding the name, quieted at the sudden change in her parents’ demeanor.

Jonathan’s expression darkened slightly, though he was not surprised. “So, he has finally returned.”

Elizabeth exhaled slowly, her fingers unconsciously tightening against Jonathan’s sleeve. “After all these years,” she murmured.

They had not heard of Lord Boutwell since his hasty flight to the continent after his reputation was ruined. Now, after so long, it seemed he had returned.

But for what purpose?

“Are you certain of this, Kitty?” Elizabeth asked, steadying her thoughts as she glanced at her lady’s maid.

Kitty nodded emphatically. “I heard it directly from Mrs. Dawson at the milliner’s shop this morning. She claims that he arrived in London just a fortnight ago and has now returned to his family estate.”

Jonathan exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening around Elizabeth’s waist. “It was only a matter of time,” he muttered. “A man like Boutwell would never be content with permanent exile.”

Elizabeth glanced toward their daughter, who had returned to playing with her wooden horse by the hearth, blissfully unaware of the tension hanging in the air. She was grateful that Sophia was too young to understand the history they shared with Lord Boutwell. Even after all these years, the memory of what he had done—and nearly done—remained a dark stain on an otherwise beautiful past.

“Why now?” Elizabeth mused aloud. “What could he possibly hope to accomplish by returning?”

“Reputation,” Jonathan answered without hesitation. “A man like Boutwell thrives on influence. If he has returned, it is because he believes he can mend what was broken.”

Kitty folded her arms. “From what I gathered, there are whispers that he has become quite the respectable gentleman abroad. They say he built a new estate in France and even attempted to reestablish himself in society there. But whatever he did, it must not have been enough if he’s come back.”

Elizabeth felt a cold shiver run down her spine. “And what of Lady Katrina? Have you heard any news of her?”

“She is still in Bath, living a quiet life with her daughter,” Kitty replied. “From what I understand, she has done well for herself, though she never remarried.”

That was a relief, at least. Lady Katrina had not always been their ally, but in the end, she had chosen the right path. Elizabeth still remembered the fear in her voice when she had confessed her secret—that she had a daughter hidden from society, a child she had fought to protect at all costs. It was her greatest vulnerability, and it was what Boutwell had used to manipulate her.

Jonathan tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the armrest of the chair. “Regardless of his intentions, we must be prepared. If he has returned, it means he believes he still has a place here. We must ensure that he does not.”

Elizabeth turned to face him fully. “You do not think he will try to involve himself with us again, do you?”

Jonathan’s expression softened slightly as he took her hands in his. “I would never allow that, Elizabeth. You are my wife, my family, my heart. Whatever Boutwell thinks he can accomplish here, he will not disturb our lives.”

Kitty cleared her throat. “Shall I send word to Lady Katrina? She ought to be warned.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, I think that would be wise. She deserves to know, at the very least.”

Jonathan kissed Elizabeth’s forehead before rising to his feet. “I will go into town this afternoon and see what else I can uncover. If Boutwell has returned, he will no doubt make an appearance at some gathering soon enough.”

Elizabeth watched as he strode toward the door, the firm set of his jaw revealing his determination. Though years had passed, Jonathan had not lost the protective streak that had first drawn her to him.

And now, as Boutwell reentered their world, she was grateful to have a husband who would always stand beside her—no matter what came next.

“Do you think he’ll dare show his face at the ball?” Elizabeth asked as she laced her gloves, glancing at Jonathan through the mirror’s reflection.

Jonathan, standing by the fireplace, adjusted his cuffs with a practiced ease. “If Boutwell intends to reclaim his place in society, he will have no choice but to attend. The Duke of Ashford’s annual ball is the highlight of the season. If he does not appear, it will only confirm that he is still a disgraced man.”

Elizabeth exhaled slowly, smoothing down the bodice of her sapphire gown. “I never thought I would see him again,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “Not after everything that happened.”

Jonathan met her gaze in the mirror and crossed the room, standing behind her with his hands resting on her shoulders. “Neither did I. But I promise you, Elizabeth, he has no power over us. No power over you.” He leaned down, brushing a kiss against the exposed skin of her neck.

Elizabeth smiled faintly, tilting her head to rest briefly against his. “I know.” And she did. She was not the same woman who had once doubted Jonathan, who had feared what others thought of her, who had nearly convinced herself that she should settle for a life without true love. That woman was gone.

“Now then,” Jonathan murmured, his lips curving into a playful smile, “I assume I must behave myself tonight? No throwing punches should Boutwell insult you?”

Elizabeth laughed, turning in his embrace. “I should very much prefer you did not cause a scandal, husband.”

Jonathan sighed dramatically. “What if I simply knock him unconscious and toss him into the garden?”

She swatted his chest lightly. “You are impossible.”

He grinned. “And yet, you married me.”

Before Elizabeth could respond, a knock sounded at the door. The butler entered, bowing slightly. “Your carriage is ready, Your Grace.”

Jonathan extended his arm to Elizabeth. “Shall we?”

She looped her hand through his, allowing him to lead her downstairs where Kitty was already waiting. “Do try not to let that man ruin your night, Miss Elizabeth,” Kitty advised as she handed her mistress a delicate fan. “He isn’t worth the trouble.”

Elizabeth squeezed her maid’s hand. “I won’t give him a single thought beyond what is necessary.”

The grand ballroom of the Duke of Ashford’s estate glittered with golden candlelight, and the scent of roses and fresh pastries drifted through the air. The finest members of society had gathered, and the hum of conversation blended with the lively strains of a string quartet.

Elizabeth moved with practiced grace, offering warm greetings to familiar faces. Despite the festivities, she felt the weight of anticipation settle in her chest. She could feel Jonathan’s presence at her side—reassuring, unwavering.

Then, as she accepted a glass of champagne from a passing footman, the murmurs of the crowd shifted. A hush spread through the ballroom like ripples in a pond. Elizabeth turned her head just as a familiar figure stepped across the threshold.

Lord Boutwell had arrived.

Dressed impeccably in a dark navy tailcoat, his golden hair slicked back, he looked every bit the gentleman he had once pretended to be. But Elizabeth saw through the carefully composed facade. His eyes, though steady, carried a shadow of something—discomfort? Resentment?

The ton was watching. Judging. Whispers filled the air.

Jonathan shifted beside her. “There he is,” he muttered under his breath. “The snake slithers back.”

Elizabeth exhaled and lifted her chin. “Let him slither. I have nothing to fear from him.”

Jonathan glanced down at her, pride flashing in his eyes. “That’s my girl.”

Lord Boutwell’s gaze swept over the ballroom—and then landed on them. For the briefest moment, their eyes met.

Elizabeth saw it then. Not arrogance. Not triumph.

Defeat.

Lord Boutwell inclined his head in the barest of acknowledgments before turning away, retreating into the crowd.

Elizabeth let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Jonathan squeezed her hand. “Come, my love. Let’s dance. He does not deserve another moment of your attention.”

Smiling, Elizabeth allowed herself to be pulled onto the dance floor, letting the music and the warmth of her husband’s embrace chase away the past.

The golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the ballroom as Jonathan led Elizabeth onto the dance floor. The moment their hands touched, the past melted away, leaving only the present—the music, the movement, the certainty of the man who held her close.

“You are staring at me, husband,” Elizabeth murmured as they glided through the steps of the waltz.

Jonathan smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Can you blame me? My wife is the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Elizabeth laughed softly, tilting her head to meet his gaze. “Flatterer.”

“Truth teller,” he corrected, twirling her effortlessly. “Do you remember the first time we danced together?”

She did. That night had been filled with tension, uncertainty, and unspoken longing. How different it was now—how much they had both changed.

“I do,” she admitted. “But I much prefer this dance.”

Jonathan leaned in slightly, his voice a husky whisper. “So do I.”

As the waltz drew to a close, the applause of the assembled guests filled the room, but Elizabeth scarcely heard it. All she could focus on was the man before her, the warmth of his touch, and the love in his eyes.

“I think we have sufficiently reminded the ton that we are the happiest married couple in England,” Jonathan teased, offering his arm. “Shall we find a terrace to escape to?”

Elizabeth’s lips curved in amusement. “Trying to steal me away already?”

“Always.”

They stepped outside onto the grand terrace, where the crisp evening air greeted them. Beyond the stone balustrade, the gardens stretched beneath the moonlight, a tapestry of silver and shadow.

Elizabeth sighed contentedly. “I do love these quiet moments with you.”

Jonathan tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his expression turning solemn. “I love them too. But there is something I have been meaning to ask you.”

She arched an elegant brow. “Oh?”

He hesitated only a moment before saying, “Are you happy, Elizabeth?”

A rush of warmth spread through her chest at the tenderness in his voice. She took his hand and squeezed it gently. “Happier than I ever imagined possible.”

Jonathan exhaled, as though some unspoken burden had lifted. “Good. Because my happiness is tied to yours, you know.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, considering. “Then it is a fortunate thing that we shall always be happy together, is it not?”

He chuckled, drawing her into his arms. “That, my love, is an undeniable truth.”

Their lips met in a kiss, slow and sweet, a promise of all the days to come.

A soft cough interrupted them, and they turned to see Kitty standing nearby, her expression torn between amusement and exasperation. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, Your Grace. But you do have guests.”

Elizabeth laughed, linking her arm through Jonathan’s. “Then we must not neglect them.”

They returned to the ballroom, where friends greeted them with warm smiles. Lady Katrina, now poised and assured, exchanged pleasantries with Elizabeth, her past mistakes set firmly behind her. Even Lord Boutwell had made no further attempts to disrupt their lives. He was a man of the past, while Elizabeth and Jonathan had built a future.

And as they stood among their friends, laughter and music surrounding them, Elizabeth knew that the best was yet to come.

With Jonathan at her side, her heart was full. Her life was exactly as it was meant to be.

And it always would be.

THE END