Thank you for your continued support. It is most welcomed and most appreciated.
This is the last chapter of this story, but certainly not the last of my contributions to Merlin...and Arwen.
I'm still working on Love and Happiness, but I have to do some research to enhance the next chapter.
In the meantime, it is much more easy to dissect pre-written work and make it suitable for my favourite couple. So bear with me, please.
But, saying that, I should have a new story up in a couple days.
Thank you for taking this journey with me. Blessings.
Standard disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own Any Duchess Will Do.
A few months later...
If there was anything better than the smell of books, it was the smell of books, mingled with the scents of strong tea and spice biscuits, all on a rainy afternoon.
A celebration was in order.
The Two Sisters circulating library, was exactly one month old today and all the Spinster Cove ladies had come to their party.
The small shop was crowded with young women, poring over scandalous books and dunking their biscuits into cups of milky tea.
Gwen loved this shop.
She never thought she could love something, that was supposed to be work.
And she did work hard...every day, from dawn to dusk...but the labor was a fatiguing kind of joy.
Spinster Cove was bustling with a new crop of ladies on holiday, all of them eager for new reading material.
Some days, a young woman might come through the door looking rather lost. And then, she'd find an old friend sitting on the shelf, bound in red Morocco.
Or perhaps, a new, exciting acquaintance. And she'd leave with a book in her hand and a smile on her face.
Those days made all the hard work worthwhile. And she never worked alone. She had her sister.
She and Danielle had traded one sleeping loft for another. They lived above the shop now, the two of them.
Except for visits to their mother on Sundays, they kept their own hours, made their own meals, cleaned as little, or as much as they liked.
They were wildly extravagant with candles, burning them late into the night and reading verses to each other. This place truly was home.
"Who's that walking across the square?" a lady asked, peering out the window. "Do we know him?"
A second young lady laughed.
"I think we might."
"Oh goodness," said another. "Not him again."
'It couldn't be. He wouldn't have come,' thought Gwen. But in the end, curiosity won out.
She made her way to the window and looked out through the rain. 'Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord. It is him!'
Even with the rain, she'd know that handsome features and broad shoulders anywhere.
The Duke of Bradford was walking straight towards her shop.
Her pulse began to pound.
Why was he here now...after months had passed with no word...just when she'd gathered the pieces of her heart and built it a new and safer home.
"Don't worry, Miss Campbell," one of the ladies said. "I'll deal with him, before he can trouble you."
Gwen stepped towards the rear of the shop, trying to steel herself.
Arthur opened the door, ducking his head to enter.
"Is this the..."
"Halt!" the lady, Charlotte, blocked the doorway with a broomstick. "Are you looking for someone?"
"No." His deep voice rang out. "I am most certainly not looking for 'someone.' I'm looking for Guinevere Campbell and no other."
Gwen's heart skipped a beat.
But Charlotte held firm.
"The cost of entry is a verse. No exceptions."
Arthur looked passed her, scanning the crowded shop, until his eyes locked with Gwen's. 'Heavens above! He is even more handsome than I remember.'
"Miss Campbell," he said. "May I..."
"No exceptions," Charlotte repeated. "A verse."
"I don't know any verses."
"Write one."
"Very well." He pushed a hand through his damp, blonde hair. "There once was a libertine duke. He...He...preferred trout and cod to fluke. He let his love go, but he wants her to know..."
Gwen turned away, unable to look at him anymore.
He shouted after her.
"I haven't ceased thinking of you since that night, Guinevere. Not for a moment."
"That's a terrible verse," Charlotte said, holding the broomstick in place. "Doesn't even rhyme."
"I don't know what else rhymes with duke."
The ladies muttered among themselves, debating possibilities.
"I have it." Charlotte's voice rang out over all. "Puke! He let his love go, but he wants her to know...that thoughts of her face make him puke."
"That won't do," Arthur challenged. "That's not right at all."
"At least it rhymes," Charlotte grumbled.
Not being able to take much more, Gwen declared, exasperatedly,
"Rebuke. He deserves a stern rebuke."
"Excellent," Arthur said. "I'll take that one. May I pass now?"
Danielle threw a biscuit and it bounced off the duke's forehead.
"Go, Duke. Leave my sister be."
"Danielle is right," Gwen said. "You should go. I can't imagine what you want, after all these months."
"I wanted to see you...see how you've done." He looked around the shop. "This is brilliant, Guinevere. I knew you'd make a go of it."
Was that all?
He'd made the journey, all the way from London, just to have a look at his investment, so to speak?
"Well, now you've seen me," she said. "So you can go."
The other ladies in the room agreed, adding their voices to the call, for him to leave.
"Listen, if you'll all just give me a moment alone with Miss Campbell, I..."
"Just go," she shouted, her nerves in tatters.
The scent of his cologne was wafting its nefarious way to her, and soon she'd be reduced to a puddle, on her newly painted floor.
"You might be a duke, but you can't make a habit of this. Popping into my place of work unannounced and turning my life on its ear. I won't have it. I just can't. So unless you've come here to fall on your knees, grovel for forgiveness, and beg me to marry you, you can leave this moment and never return."
He didn't leave.
He merely stood there, staring at her.
Then, he went down on his knees.
"Oh, no." Gwen pressed both hands to her face. "Arthur, no."
"You can't refuse before I even ask." He ruffled his hair with one hand. "Why is this all happening backwards? I knew you'd be surprised to see me, and no doubt angry that it's taken me so long. But I thought you'd at least let me have a few words. I had a whole speech prepared, you know. A good one, too. But now that you've ruined the surprise..."
He reached into his pocket and removed a small velvet pouch.
Gwen peeped at it between her trembling fingers. By now she was crying messily.
She swiped impatiently at the tears with both wrists, straining to make out the ring he shook free onto his palm.
A garnet, set in a thick gold band and ringed with tiny diamonds.
Well, at least she knew he'd chosen it himself.
It was beautiful.
She turned away, burying her face in her apron.
Arthur William Pendragon, the eighth Duke of Bradford, was here, on his knees. For her. Ring in hand, with the whole village watching.
It was too much.
Too much impossibility to accept.
Too much joy to comprehend.
"I love you, Guinevere Campbell. I've loved you since the day we met. In fact, I suspect some part of my heart loved you long before then. There was no woman for me before you, and if you refuse me, there'll be no one after. I know I'm no prize, but..."
She interrupted him with a burst of indelicate laughter.
"No prize?" Turning, she dabbed at her eyes. "Arthur, you're a duke."
"Yes, I noticed that. So?"
"So...we settled this. A duke can't marry a serving girl. Or even a shopkeeper."
"You were right. Our lives were too different. For the two of us to make a go of it, something had to change. I couldn't change the world. And I didn't want to change one thing about you. It seemed clear, however, that I was overdue for some improvement."
"Improvement?"
"You're familiar with the Bradford legacy. I come from a long line of scholars, explorers and generals. They amassed quite the string of accomplishments and a vast amount of wealth. And I finally realized, there's one thing I had the heart to do, that none of the rest of them could."
"What's that?"
"I could give it all away."
The shop went very quiet.
"All of it?" Gwen echoed.
"Oh, no," Charlotte moaned. "Now he's worse than an arrogant, debauched duke. He's a poor duke."
"I'm no pauper," he said. "You needn't look so stricken. A duke can't surrender his title. There are entailed properties and trusts. It's boring solicitor business, that part. The short version is, I'll always be a wealthy man. I might sink from fourth richest in England, to somewhere about fourteenth. But even so, there was a great deal of money I was free to part with. And it went easily, once I applied myself to the task."
Gwen eyed him, wary.
"I don't understand. What are you telling me?"
"I've found my natural talent. I was born to give money away. But no more of this 'squander a few thousand here or there' nonsense. This is a full, systematic divestiture of the family's dispensable fortune. The eighth Duke of Bradford will be remembered, as the single largest charitable benefactor in England's history. This will be my legacy."
She stared at him, shocked. But he did look happy. Entirely at peace with himself and his place in the world. But not precisely humble.
She didn't suppose that rakish arrogance would ever wear off, nor did she wish it to. But he looked like a man with purpose and direction.
And the best part was, she knew he hadn't given any of it up for her. He'd done it for himself.
"I confess, I did make one last selfish purchase." A sly grin tipped his mouth. "A crumbling farmhouse, of all things. At the ass-end of Sussex."
"You purchased the Whittle farmhouse? That was you?"
"It was the only land for sale in the parish." With a muttered curse, he shifted his weight. "Will you say yes soon? This floor is damned hard. And you're much too far away."
She moved closer.
"I don't remember hearing a question."
"I don't know what to ask, truthfully. 'Will you be my wife' or 'be my duchess' or just 'be mine'. They all sound dangerous. I don't want to put names or titles to it, or you'll find some way to argue. I don't even care if you wear the bloody ring." He tossed the velvet pouch to the floor.
"I'll wear the ring," Charlotte offered.
Gwen sent her a scathing look. Don't touch it.
Arthur held out his empty hand.
"Guinevere, I'm here asking you...begging you, if it comes to that...to take my hand. Just take my hand, and promise before God, you will never let it go. I will vow the same. Can we arrange for that to happen...someday soon? In a church?"
After a moment, he added in a quiet voice, "Please?"
Gwen put her hand in Arthur's. Immediately, his fingers curled around hers, in a grasp that was as poignant as a hug, as iron-forged as a promise.
And she knew, in her heart, that the church vows would only be formalities.
This was the moment.
And from here, the world only grew warmer.
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
"Tell me this means yes."
"Yes," she said. "Yes, to all the questions. To every question. And I'd be honored to wear your ring."
Excepting Charlotte, who muttered, "Drat," everyone gave a hearty cheer.
Hours later, after all the biscuits were eaten and the teapot down to dregs and after Danielle had gone upstairs to sleep, Arthur and Gwen stood on opposite sides of the shop counter, holding hands and trading fond looks back and forth.
"I've just noticed something," Gwen said. "I always feel most in love with you, when we're surrounded by books."
"Well, then. I must speak with the architect designing our new house. I'll instruct him to install floor-to-ceiling bookcases, on every wall of our bedchamber."
She smiled.
"It's enough that you're here. I confess, I'd lost hope. I read in the paper that you went home to Cumberland."
"I did. My mother went with me. I settled matters with my land steward, so I wouldn't have to return for some time. And we placed a stone for Mary in the family churchyard."
"Oh, Arthur. I'm glad you were able to do that together."
"So am I." He cleared his throat and looked around at the shop. "How did you manage all this, without the funds?"
"I started with the books you sent, of course. The ladies helped me gather more. And for the shop rental, I took out a loan from Suzy Bright's brother."
Jealousy flashed in his eyes.
"He made you a loan?"
She nodded.
"A friendly loan. That's all. I'm halfway to paying him back already."
"I'll bet you are." He kissed her hand and stroked it fondly. "I will demand some compromise, you know. Spinster Cove is home now, but I have other properties that need attention. Responsibilities in London, as well. I'm also now a governor of several charities. And I suspect the next year or so, will teach us who our true friends are. If we're invited to a ball or party, I should like to attend and show off my beautiful wife."
"I'd like that, too."
His brow furrowed, as he studied the notch between her second and third fingers.
"I can't promise you children...you know that. I'd love nothing more than a family with you, but...there are no guarantees."
"I know."
"All I can offer you with certitude, is a devoted husband and devious mother-in-law. Can it be enough?"
She smiled.
"More than enough."
"Well, and we can't forget Danielle. She'll be with us, too. I know change is difficult for her, but I've given it a great deal of thought. We'll arrange for her to have a bedchamber in every one of our residences, each arranged and decorated exactly the same. So she'll always feel at home. And we can hire her a companion, if you like. An excellent one. You know I only employ the best."
Her throat itched so fiercely, it was all she could do to squeeze out,
"Thank you."
"There's no need of thanks. You know I was raised an only child. It will be my joy to have a sister...if you'll share her."
There was nothing...nothing...he could have said, that would have meant more.
He was the best of men.
She should never have doubted him, not even for a moment. And she never would again.
"Danielle and my mother will get on like thieves, I suspect," he said.
The image made Gwen smiled through her tears.
"Goodness. The shopping trips alone."
"Never mind the shopping. Imagine the knitting."
They laughed together.
She touched a hand to her brow.
"It's too much. You're being too perfect. Quickly, say something horrid, so I know this isn't a dream."
"Very well. I have a creeping skin condition, and I hoot like a barn owl, when I reach orgasm."
She laughed.
"But I know very well those things aren't true."
"They weren't true a few months ago. I think you'd better strip me naked and make sure nothing's changed."
"Hmm. I might know of a quiet hayloft..."
He leaned across the counter and kissed her, warmly and leisurely. It was possibly the best kiss he'd ever given her.
It was an everyday kiss.
"I love you," he said.
"It's truly going to be all right," she said. "Isn't it?"
His lips quirked, and he squeezed her hand in his.
"Sometimes it will be all right. But for the most part, it's going to be wonderful."
And it was.
Epilogue
Five years later...
"Do you have a name picked out for her?" Lord Radcliff asked, as he reclined in his chair at the Bull Pen, with his arms over his chest.
"Her?" Percy echoed. "How do you know the baby will be a 'her'?"
"It's certain to be a girl," Lord Radcliff said. "My wife calls it the Spinster Cove Effect. There's my Victoria and Thorpe has little Beth. My wife even had a letter from Victoria Winterbottom...with the twins. We've all had firstborn girls."
He cocked his head, indicating the duke.
"Save for Arthur, of course."
Arthur didn't correct him, by mentioning Mary...this wasn't the time...but took a thoughtful sip of his drink, to her memory.
"I wouldn't place any bets," Lord Percival said. "Nothing about this, has gone according to custom or reason. Nan wasn't supposed to give birth for a month yet. We wouldn't have imposed on Arthur for a visit otherwise."
"Just as well you're here, and not in London," Arthur said. "In Spinster Cove, she has her friends around her. And there's certainly space enough at the house."
They'd razed the crumbling old Whittle farmhouse a couple years ago, replacing it with a home, that was grand enough for a duke and his duchess, but not too overwhelming for Danielle, or too ostentatious for the neighborhood.
He and Gwen thought of it, as the honeymoon cottage, to their larger homes in Cumberland and Town.
It was the one residence that was all theirs...not populated by generations of history.
And most of the year, it was home.
But while it boasted twenty rooms and the finest in modern construction, the house wasn't soundproof...nor big enough to contain three anxious noblemen, while a woman suffered through childbirth upstairs.
Lady Radcliff, exhausted after assisting the midwife and replying to constant requests for updates, had shooed the men down to the village for a drink.
She promised to send word, as soon as there was anything to report.
Cowardly, as the retreat might have been, all three of them took it gratefully.
Arthur bought round after round of ale, in the cozy, familiar tavern, and the hours stretched.
If this dragged on until nightfall, he suspected they'd need to move on to something stronger...Brandy or whiskey, perhaps.
"You'll have a girl," Lord Radcliff said again. "So have a name ready."
"Nan insisted I leave the naming to her," Percy said, as he drained his tankard. "She said I'll undoubtedly call the child everything, but its proper name anyhow."
He blew out a breath and drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
"How many hours will this take? As long as Nan and I waited to start a family, I find my patience is exhausted. This is torture."
"Think how your wife is feeling, my lord." Rebecca Wilson said, as she served them a fresh round.
Clearly, Mr. Halford hadn't lost his weakness, for smart-mouthed serving girls.
"He is thinking of his wife," Arthur said softly. "That's why it's torture."
If anyone thought Percy's moaning was excessive, they should have seen Arthur, the first time Gwen began her labor pains.
He'd been a right bastard.
Barking for doctors, shouting orders at the maids, prowling up and down the corridors.
He'd needed to put up a strong front, lest anyone see the sheer terror, eating him from the inside. If anything had happened to her...
"Trust me," Radcliff told Percy. "When it's over...once you see she's well, and the midwife places your red, shriveled female offspring in your arms...all this worry will be forgotten."
Arthur hoped that would be the case for his old friend.
It certainly hadn't worked that way for him. He hadn't slept for a fortnight after his son's birth.
He'd hovered over the cradle and walked the halls with him swaddled in his arms.
Finally, Gwen had found him in the library, early one morning.
He'd nodded off in a chair, with little Jonathan tucked into the crook of his elbow.
When he awoke, it was to the vision of his lovely wife, her hair unbound and haloed by new sunlight. She looked so beautiful, she could have been an angel.
She didn't say a word...just took their child from his arms, kissed the cheek he hadn't shaved in days, and smiled.
In that moment, a sense of peace had descended on him.
For the first time since they'd learned she was with child, he stopped worrying about everything that could go wrong and began looking forward to everything that would go right.
Almost four years now, and he hadn't looked back.
He was sure his peers would look at his life here and find it highly confusing.
The duchess kept a circulating library and remained best of friends, with the dry goods shopkeeper.
Their children frequently wore lumpy, ill-knitted jackets, and they played with children of farmers and fishermen.
To balance his charitable work for the local school and St. Ursula's parish, Arthur hosted a weekly card game, that was legendary.
It was an unconventional life for a duke, perhaps. But an unquestionably happy one.
"Well, if it isn't young Lord Pendragon." Mr. Halford's voice boomed from the kitchen. "And her grace and little Lady Rosie with him."
"No sweets, please, Mr. Halford," Gwen said. "Their grandmother spoils them enough. No, Rosie. You mustn't touch."
Arthur smiled to himself.
So many years since she'd worked in this tavern, and his wife...his duchess...still entered the establishment through the rear door.
And even with frazzled hair and two small children in tow, she still took his breath away. Every time.
Lord Percy shot to his feet.
"How is she?"
"Which 'she'?" Gwen asked, as she led Jonathan by one hand and had little Rosie propped on the opposite hip. "Do you mean your wife or your daughter?"
Lord Radcliff thumped the table, triumphant.
"Told you it would be a girl."
"They're both well," Gwen hurried to add. "In excellent health and enjoying some hard-earned rest."
"I...That's..." Percival paled and dropped to the chair again, as his knees gave out. "Oh, God."
Gwen came to Arthur's side and nodded at Percy's dazed state.
"Is that from the drink or the shock of fatherhood?"
"Both, I suspect. Give him a moment, he'll recover."
She released Jonathan's hand and shifted Rosie from one arm to the other.
"Will you watch them, while I pop over to see Suzy? I'm expecting a new parcel of books for the library."
"Of course. But I expect a reward for my trouble."
She kissed his cheek and whispered a husky,
"Later."
"I'll hold you to that."
He caught Rosie and lifted her into his arms, tweaking the snub of her tiny nose.
"Look at you, darling. You're all spangled with sugar."
Stay safe!