The Seduction Of Lady Constance (Returning Grooms #1)

Epilogue

The first light of dawn spilled over Southdale Estate, casting a gentle glow across the rolling hills and frost-kissed meadows. It was a year to the day since Vincent and Constance had exchanged their vows, and the estate seemed to shimmer with the promise of something miraculous. Inside the manor, there was a different kind of hush—a waiting stillness that pervaded the halls as the household held its breath.

In the master bedchamber, Constance lay in the midst of labor, her hair clinging to her damp forehead, her hands gripping the sheets. She had always imagined herself capable of enduring any pain with dignity, but this—this was unlike anything she had ever known. The waves of agony rolled through her with such intensity, it was as though her very soul was being wrung out, reshaped by each contraction. But beneath it all, there was a deeper emotion, one that swelled with every heartbeat—an anticipation, a fierce love for the children about to enter the world.

Vincent was at her side, his expression wrought with a mixture of anxiety and wonder, his hands never leaving hers. He had been with her through every push, every cry, his whispered words of encouragement steady and unwavering, though his heart raced with fear and hope. The midwife worked with calm efficiency, her practiced hands guiding the way, while Constance clung to her husband’s steady gaze, drawing strength from the love she saw there.

“Almost there, my lady,” the midwife soothed, her voice steady and reassuring. “Just one more push now.”

With a last, desperate effort, Constance cried out, her entire body straining as she gave one final push. Then, a cry—sharp, bright, and filled with life—broke the air. She fell back against the pillows, her chest heaving as tears blurred her vision.

“A boy,” the midwife announced, swaddling the newborn and placing him in Constance’s trembling arms. His tiny fists waved in the air, his cry already fading as he nestled against her warmth.

Vincent’s breath caught in his throat as he reached out to stroke the soft down of hair on the baby’s head. “A son,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Our son.”

But there was no time to bask in the joy, for almost immediately, the next wave of pain came, sharper and more insistent than before. Constance gritted her teeth and bore down once more, her body pushed to its limits yet again. She could scarcely believe that there was still more to come, that her strength could stretch so thin and still hold.

It wasn’t long before a second cry rang out, this one higher-pitched, with a melodic sweetness that seemed to fill the room. “And now, a girl,” said the midwife, her smile radiant as she handed the baby to Vincent, who held his daughter with a tenderness that bordered on reverence.

The twins, a boy and a girl—two perfect miracles born on the morning of their parents’ first anniversary. Constance gazed at them both, her heart swelling with a love so profound it brought tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked up at Vincent, who had settled beside her on the bed, his arm around her shoulders, the twins cradled between them.

“You’ve given me more than I ever dreamed of,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You’ve made me happier than I thought possible.”

Vincent’s eyes glistened as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “And you, my love, have made me whole. I never knew what completeness felt like until you came into my life. Now, with our children in our arms… I know it beyond doubt.”

The babies squirmed gently, their tiny fingers reaching out, and as Constance traced the contours of their faces—so delicate, so perfect—she felt the full weight of her joy. It was a happiness not unmarred by struggle, but rather one that had been shaped by it, made stronger and deeper because of all they had endured. The thought of that dark winter and the brush with loss now seemed like a distant memory, a shadow that had long since been chased away by the light of a new beginning.

Outside, the morning had fully blossomed, the first rays of sun casting a golden glow over the estate, as if the heavens themselves were celebrating the birth of the new heirs to Southdale. As the household stirred with the news, a cheer went up among the servants, the joy spilling over like wine from an overfilled cup.

The year ahead would no doubt hold its own trials and joys, as all years did, but Constance knew now that she was more than ready to face them. She had Vincent’s love, and now the love of her children, binding her to this world in a way that nothing else ever could. It was not simply a matter of finding happiness, but of creating it—of taking what life offered and weaving it into something beautiful.

She looked at Vincent, her eyes shining as she spoke, her voice soft but certain. “We shall raise them well,” she said. “They will grow up loved and safe, and they will know the strength it takes to overcome the darkness.”

Vincent nodded, his own gaze tender as he cradled their daughter closer. “Together, we will show them what it means to live with hope and courage.”

And so, the Earl and Countess of Southdale began this new chapter of their lives with full hearts and open arms, welcoming not only the future that lay ahead but every precious moment it promised. The twins cooed softly in their sleep, unaware that they were the most beloved children in all the world.

The promise of a lifetime stretched before them—a lifetime that began, as all good stories do, with love.