Updated Apr 18, 2026 • ~8 min read
Chapter 28: Choosing the Future
Emmeline
Christmas morning arrives with the awareness that Emmy and the Duke have been married for exactly one year—365 days since their desperate Christmas Day wedding, twelve months of building genuine love from cold arrangement—and Emmy wakes to find the Duke already awake beside her, looking at her with an expression that’s thoughtful and slightly nervous in ways she doesn’t entirely understand.
“Merry Christmas,” Emmy says, stretching contentedly. “Our actual wedding anniversary. One full year of being married.”
“Merry Christmas,” the Duke responds, but there’s something weighted in how he says it that makes Emmy pay closer attention.
“What’s wrong?” Emmy asks, sitting up. “You look troubled. Are you thinking about Caroline and Thomas? Because we honored them yesterday. Today can be just about us.”
“I’m not thinking about them,” the Duke clarifies. “Well, I am, but not in the way you mean. I’m thinking about heirs. About the fact that we’ve been married a year and I still haven’t actually tried to get you pregnant because I’ve been too terrified of repeating Caroline’s tragedy.”
Emmy’s breath catches because the Duke bringing up pregnancy voluntarily is significant—throughout their entire marriage he’s avoided discussing conception despite it being the supposed purpose of their arrangement.
“You don’t have to try if you’re not ready,” Emmy says carefully. “We’ve talked about this. I’m not going to pressure you into something that terrifies you.”
“But I think I am ready,” the Duke says, and Emmy hears surprise in his own voice like he’s just realized this. “I think—after visiting Caroline and Thomas’s graves yesterday, after giving myself permission to move forward, after a full year of being married to you and building real partnership—I think maybe I’m finally ready to try for a child. To risk it. To choose potential future happiness over guaranteed safety.”
Emmy’s heart is racing at this admission, and she searches the Duke’s expression for signs that he’s forcing himself instead of genuinely being ready.
“Are you sure?” Emmy asks. “Because Sebastian, if you’re just saying this because you think you should want children after a year of marriage, that’s not good enough. I need you to actually be ready. Actually want this. Not just forcing yourself through trauma because time has passed.”
The Duke takes Emmy’s hands in his and meets her eyes with unexpected steadiness.
“I’m sure,” the Duke says. “I’m terrified—I won’t pretend I’m not still afraid of losing you like I lost Caroline—but I’m also hopeful. Hopeful that we can have a child together. That I can be a father to someone who actually gets to live instead of dying after an hour. That we can build a family instead of just being two people who share chambers. That’s worth the risk, Emmy. You’re worth the risk.”
Emmy’s eyes are burning with tears at hearing the Duke finally choose hope over fear, finally prioritize potential future over past trauma, finally be ready to actually attempt the purpose of their marriage.
“Then yes,” Emmy agrees. “Let’s try. Let’s build the family we both want. Let’s choose hope.”
The Duke pulls Emmy into a kiss that’s different from their usual intimacy—more intentional, more weighted with significance, filled with the awareness that this time they’re not just being close but actually attempting to create new life—and when they separate he’s looking at her with an expression that’s vulnerable and determined in equal measure.
“I love you,” the Duke says. “And I’m choosing you. Choosing us. Choosing the risk of potential loss over the guarantee of staying frozen in fear. That’s growth, Emmy. Real growth. And it’s entirely because of you.”
“We grew together,” Emmy corrects. “You learned to hope again. I learned to be patient. We both learned that love is worth the risk even when risk is terrifying.”
They spend Christmas Day quietly together—not attempting conception immediately because that feels too clinical and pressured, but just being together and discussing what trying for a child actually means, what they’re both hoping for, what fears remain despite the Duke’s newfound readiness.
“I’m afraid you’ll die like Caroline did,” the Duke admits while they’re having dinner. “That’s the core fear I keep coming back to. Not pregnancy itself. Not childbirth generally. Specifically that I’ll lose you because I wanted an heir badly enough to risk your life.”
“I’m not Caroline,” Emmy reminds him gently. “I’m strong and healthy. The doctors have never warned me about pregnancy risks. Treating me like I’m fragile dishonors both of us.”
“I know that intellectually,” the Duke agrees. “But emotionally—Emmy, I don’t know if I can survive losing you. Caroline’s death nearly destroyed me. Losing you would actually finish the job.”
“Then we’ll be careful,” Emmy suggests. “Best physicians. Constant monitoring. Every precaution possible to ensure safe pregnancy and delivery. We don’t have to just hope for the best. We can actively manage the risks.”
The Duke looks relieved at this practical approach, and Emmy sees him processing that attempting pregnancy doesn’t have to mean just accepting whatever happens but rather carefully managing the process to minimize danger.
“Dr. Pembroke is the best,” the Duke says, referring to their longtime physician. “He delivered Thomas. He knows my fears. He’d ensure you have excellent care throughout pregnancy and delivery.”
“Then we’ll engage him from the beginning,” Emmy agrees. “Make sure we’re doing everything possible to ensure safe outcome. That should help with the fear, yes?”
“It helps,” the Duke confirms. “It doesn’t eliminate the terror entirely. But it makes attempting conception feel less like just recklessly risking your life and more like carefully planned decision with appropriate precautions.”
They continue discussing practicalities—when to start actively trying, what precautions to take, how to manage the Duke’s inevitable anxiety throughout potential pregnancy—and by the time they retire for the evening they’re both feeling more confident about this next step in their marriage.
“Are you ready?” the Duke asks when they’re finally in bed together. “Ready to actually try instead of just preventing conception like we’ve been doing?”
“I’m ready,” Emmy confirms. “Ready to build our family. Ready to risk it. Ready to choose hope over fear.”
The Duke makes love to Emmy with careful intention—not desperate or tentative but deliberate and filled with love, both of them aware that this might be the beginning of new life, both of them choosing that possibility instead of avoiding it—and afterward when they lie together in darkness Emmy feels something settle in her chest that’s been anxious since they married.
“Whatever happens,” the Duke says quietly, “whether you get pregnant immediately or it takes months or years or never happens—I want you to know that I love you completely regardless of whether you give me an heir. You’re not valuable to me because of potential children. You’re valuable because you’re you.”
“I know,” Emmy responds. “I believe that now. Completely. Without doubt.”
“Good,” the Duke says with satisfaction. “That’s what I wanted most from this conversation. Not just permission to try for children but your absolute certainty that you’re valued for yourself instead of your reproductive capacity.”
Emmy falls asleep feeling loved and secure and hopeful about their future in ways she never imagined possible when she begged the Duke for mercy on Christmas Eve a year ago.
They’ve come so far.
From desperate arrangement to genuine love.
From careful distance to deep intimacy.
From avoiding pregnancy out of fear to choosing it out of hope.
And whatever comes next—whether Emmy gets pregnant quickly or it takes time, whether they have one child or many or none—Emmy knows their love is strong enough to survive it.
Because they’ve already survived everything else.
The Duke’s trauma.
Cordelia’s vindictive interference.
Grief and fear and all the obstacles that should have destroyed them.
They survived it all.
And they’ll survive whatever comes next.
Together.
As partners.
As people who chose each other despite every reason they shouldn’t have.
As a family in the making.
However that family ultimately looks.
Emmy drifts toward sleep with the Duke’s arms around her and hope blooming in her chest that maybe—just maybe—they’ll be blessed with a child who actually gets to live instead of dying after an hour like Thomas.
A child who will be loved desperately.
A child who will honor Thomas’s memory while being his own person.
A child who will prove that the Duke can have happy Christmas instead of just tragic ones.
That’s what Emmy hopes for as sleep claims her.
But even if that particular hope doesn’t manifest, she knows she’ll still have the Duke’s love.
And that alone is more than she ever expected from their desperate Christmas arrangement.
More than enough.
Perfect in its imperfection.
Exactly what both of them needed.
Finally.
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