William came first, impeccable as always, though his tie was slightly crooked—proof that he had dressed in haste and not vanity. “It is far too quiet here,” he declared upon entering the drawing room. “Do you no longer employ musicians to trail after you?”
Frances offered him a glass of wine. “We find serenity is more potent than scandal.”
“And far less expensive,” Johnathan added dryly.
Charles and Catherine De Vere, Duke and Duchess of Bedford arrived next, arms full of parcels and a newborn spaniel pup Catherine insisted was their child’s real sibling. Frances squealed and stole the pup immediately, and Johnathan found himself herding canines while William made jokes about the Wayward Dukes forming a kennel club.
Before long, the parlor was bursting with merriment and close friends. They drank. They laughed. They dined together on the terrace as the sun dipped behind the garden hedge.
It was a simple celebration. No fanfare. No toasts. No spectacle.
Just the people who mattered, gathered in one place.
“So,” Maximilian said, swirling his brandy as the spaniel snored at his feet, “now that most of us are married, titled, and terrifyingly settled, does this mean the Wayward Dukes are drawing to an end?”
William scoffed. “Hardly. We have simply evolved.”
“Into what?” Frances asked, curling into the corner of the settee with her wineglass.
“Mentors, apparently,” Johnathan said, giving her a sideways smile. “Maximilian and William are in dire need of our guidance.”
“Maximilian and William are terrible rogues,” Charles muttered into his glass. “We will break them of that yet.”
William grinned. “You say that as though the two of you were not worse before becoming domesticated.”
“We most certainly were not.” Johnathan grinned.
“Speak for yourself,” Charles said. “I was precisely as bad.”
Laughter rippled through the room. The fire cracked gently in the hearth, and the glow of candlelight caught in the glasses they raised together.
Later, when the stars came out and the guests filtered inside for warm brandy, Frances tugged Johnathan’s hand and led him to the edge of the lawn.
The night was crisp. The moon hung low.
And everything felt impossibly still.
“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” she asked.
He nodded. “I remember the sound of your heartbeat when I pulled you against me.”
“I was terrified.”
“So was I.”
They stood quietly for a long moment.
She stepped closer, slipping her arms around his waist. “What if we had never run?”
He looked down at her, brushing a hand over her cheek. “Then I never would have learned how to stay.”
Frances rose onto her toes, kissed him softly.
He was settled.
Not just in this house. Not just in the title.
But in this life. With this woman. In this quiet, brave, glorious peace they had carved out from a world that never wanted them to have it.
