"…AND THE PRINCE SMILED at her and said, 'You need not worry—you shall make a fine princess,'" Evelina read aloud, her voice soft but animated, her tone rising and falling with the rhythm of the tale.
Adrian stood at the far end of the room, his gloved hands clasped lightly behind his back, watching as she read to the children seated cross-legged upon the wooden floor. Their wide eyes fixed upon her, unblinking, as though the world beyond her voice no longer existed.
He watched her smile as she spoke, her expression lit with the kind of warmth one could neither feign nor learn. Her eyes shone as she gestured with her hands — small, theatrical movements that made the children giggle and gasp. Her laughter, soft and melodic, followed theirs, and Adrian felt an involuntary smile tug at his lips.
Beside him, Butler Blake leaned slightly forward, his voice a hushed whisper of admiration. "The duchess is wonderful, Your Grace. Look at her — reading to them so kindly. I told you she would make a good wife."
Adrian's smile deepened faintly. A good wife. The words struck something quiet within him. He said nothing but found himself watching her more intently than before. There was a natural tenderness in her—unpolished, unpractised, yet sincere. The way she looked at the children, how she spoke to them, how she crouched down to meet their gaze rather than tower above them—all of it spoke of a gentleness rarely found in women of her station.
He exhaled slowly, his chest strangely light. It had been a long time since he had felt such ease merely standing in another's company.
A soft voice broke through his thoughts. "Your Grace," said the matron, stepping beside him with a curtsy. "Thank you for visiting the children."
He turned to her and inclined his head politely. "The honour is ours, madam. Thank you for receiving us."
Her smile deepened, and then, as if remembering something, she added, "Congratulations on your marriage, Your Grace."
"Thank you," he replied quietly.
They stood in companionable silence for a moment, both gazing toward Evelina and the children gathered round her. Her voice floated across the room, light and serene.
"…and so, the princess bit the forbidden apple and fell into a deep sleep…"
The children gasped audibly, their small faces frozen in shock and wonder. The matron smiled faintly at their innocence, then leaned a little closer to Adrian.
"Your wife is a good woman," she said softly, her tone full of quiet conviction. "She is the first duchess to visit the orphanage. The children adore her already."
Adrian turned to her, surprised by the simple statement. The matron's eyes—old and wise—glinted with something that felt almost knowing.
"She is a good woman," the matron continued. "And good women are not easily found these days. You are fortunate, Your Grace."
Her words lingered in the air long after she had turned away. Adrian looked again toward Evelina—still seated upon the low stool, surrounded by her small, attentive audience. Her gown pooled softly about her, the cream silk now dulled by the fading light. Yet to him, she had never looked lovelier.
*****
When the final page turned beneath her fingers, Clara lifted her gaze to the children gathered around her feet, their wide eyes waiting in suspended breath. She smiled, her voice soft yet lilting as she read the last words aloud.
"…and then, the princess awoke from her slumber to find her prince beside her. And so they lived happily ever after." She paused, then added with a warm smile, "The end."
A chorus of claps and delighted laughter followed, echoing off the stone walls of the orphanage room. The children wriggled where they sat, some beaming up at her, others whispering excitedly to one another. The sound filled Clara's chest with something she hadn't felt in quite some time — a quiet, pure sort of joy.
She laughed softly, waiting for them to calm before asking, "Any questions?"
A forest of small hands shot up at once. Her eyes landed on a little girl no more than six, her brown curls bobbing as she waved her arm eagerly, her face alight with hope. Clara couldn't help but smile.
"Yes, you there, my dear," she said kindly, pointing at her.
The girl lowered her hand, looking suddenly shy but determined. "Can I be a princess too?" she asked, her small voice almost trembling.
The question tugged at Clara's heart. She leaned forward a little, her tone tender. "Of course, you can. Every girl is a princess," she said, smiling at the child's widening eyes. "No one is an exception. As long as you care for others and bring kindness into the world, you are a princess in your heart."
The little girl's lips curved into the brightest of smiles, and Clara felt warmth bloom in her chest.
Another hand went up — this time from a slightly older girl with golden braids tied in ribbons. Clara nodded to her.
The girl hesitated before asking, "Do you believe in happy endings, Your Grace?"
The question struck her still. Clara's smile faltered, just a little, and for a fleeting moment the lively chatter around her dimmed. Her gaze, drawn as if by instinct, drifted toward Adrian who stood a short distance away, his expression soft, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched her.
Her heart gave a quiet flutter — that dangerous, threatening thing that had begun to stir more often since their marriage. But then, like a shadow creeping over her warmth, came the memory of who she truly was. Not Evelina, the radiant duchess everyone believed her to be, but Clara — an imposter wearing borrowed grace.
Happy endings. Did such things truly exist for people like her?
Drawing in a steadying breath, she turned back to the child, her voice gentle, though faintly wistful. "Well," she began softly, "I do. I believe everyone will find their happy ending — perhaps not when they expect it, but when they truly deserve it."
The girl smiled, seemingly satisfied with the answer, though Clara's own heart felt heavier for it.
The matron, who had been watching fondly from the side, stepped forward then and said brightly, "Can we all please say thank you to Lady Evelina for her time here today?"
In a sweet chorus, the children called out, "Thank you, Lady Evelina!" and clapped once more, their enthusiasm filling the room like sunshine.
Clara rose from her seat, her smile wide and genuine this time. "You're all very welcome," she replied, dipping her head.
"And to the Duke?" the matron added, eyes twinkling.
The children turned their faces toward the tall figure near the doorway and sang out, "Thank you, Your Grace!"
Adrian inclined his head, smiling faintly. "You're welcome, children."
As they left the orphanage together, the air outside had cooled; dusk had draped the sky in muted lavender and grey. The matron thanked them once more at the steps before retreating inside.
Clara gathered her skirts carefully as Adrian offered his hand to help her into the carriage. She placed her gloved fingers in his, feeling the firm warmth of his touch.
Once seated, she exhaled softly. A rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, low and distant, promising rain. The scent of damp earth rose faintly in the wind.
"Blake," Adrian said from outside, turning to his butler, "do you think we will reach the manor before the storm breaks?"
"I believe so, Your Grace," the butler replied with calm assurance.
Adrian nodded and stepped into the carriage beside her just as the first droplet struck the windowpane.
Clara leaned back against the cushioned seat, her body weary but her mind restless. She watched the clouds gather in the dimming light, her reflection faint upon the glass. The laughter of the children still echoed in her mind — sweet, unguarded, free.
She closed her eyes, wondering, Would she ever know such lightness again? Would her own story ever end in happiness — or had her ending already been written the moment she became someone else?
The carriage lurched forward, wheels creaking over the damp earth, carrying her back to her cage.