Discouraging the Duke by Alexa Aston

Epilogue

Wildwood—October 1811

Miles gazed down at his son. “Is it wrong to say that a boy is beautiful?” he asked softly.

“Not at all,” Emery said, snuggling closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

They sat in bed together, watching the baby sleep. He had only been in the world two weeks but they were the best two weeks of Miles’ life. The love that filled him every time he looked at Ben threatened to spill out. He couldn’t imagine being happier.

Emery had wanted to call their baby Anthony, after his brother. Miles had told her it was kind of her to want to honor Tony’s memory but he wanted their boy to be his own person, with no remnant of the past. They had both liked the name Benjamin and so their son became Ben.

“He’s already changed so much since his birth,” Miles noted.

“Mama said that happens, especially during the first year. That his hair may fall out and come in a different color. Even the color of his eyes could change.”

Ben’s eyes were blue now, identical to his father’s. In a way, Miles hoped they would stay this way.

“I think we should send for Mr. Leavell,” he told her. “He could capture Ben at this age and continue to do so every few months.”

Emery laughed, that deep, throaty laugh that always caused desire to ripple through him.

“If Mr. Leavell paints Ben that often, he might as well come and live at Wildwood,” she told him. “The house is large but eventually we might run out of space on the walls to hang all those portraits.”

Pressing a kiss against his temple, she added, “There will be other babies to consider. You wouldn’t want to take up all the wall space with pictures of Ben.”

Miles turned and brushed his lips against hers. “Then once a year. Leavell can paint him. And with Ben’s brothers and sisters once they come along. Each year we can see how Ben changes and how we add to our brood.”

She chuckled. “Whatever you want, my wonderful duke. I have found I can never say no to you.”

His wife kissed him tenderly, and Miles’ heart soared with love. “I can never thank you enough for having Leavell paint Papa and Mama. Even though he has passed, it brings me comfort to see him brought to life in that portrait. It will allow Ben—and any future siblings—to know what their grandfather looked like as I tell stories of him to them. It is a gift that I will forever cherish. Just as I cherish you, my love.”

He cupped her cheek. “I hope Wyatt is as happy as we are.”

His friend had returned to England this past February. With the unexpected death of his brother, Wyatt had become the Duke of Amesbury. It had been wonderful having Wyatt back in England.

And watching him fall in love and marry his own duchess.

Miles bent and kissed his son’s brow. “Ben will be the best duke of all.”

Emery stroked her husband’s cheek. “That will be many years down the road. For now, my husband is the best Duke of Winslow. The man I married. The father of my child. The man I will always love.”

He kissed her tenderly, happy in their present.

And eager to see what their future would bring.