Edward Ashford returned to Ashkcom Hall carrying the papers that would finally end his marriage.

One year later.

The summer sun shone brightly over the rolling green hills of the Ashkcom estate. The great oak trees were full and lush, casting cool, dappled shadows across the manicured lawns where dozens of tenant farm families, estate servants, and local villagers had gathered for the grand autumn harvest festival.

Long wooden tables were set up across the lawn, laden with roasted meats, fresh bread, cider barrels, and summer fruits. Laughter and fiddle music floated through the warm air.

At the center of the grand lawn stood Lord Edward Ashford, dressed in a comfortable linen shirt and riding trousers, holding a sturdy, laughing one-year-old boy on his shoulders.

Little Henry was a vibrant, chubby toddler with bright blue eyes and dark curls, kicking his little feet in delight as his father spun him around to the sound of the fiddle music.

"Careful, Edward!" Charlotte called out with a joyful laugh, walking across the grass toward them.

She looked radiant. Her skin was blooming with health, her dark hair tied back with a silk ribbon, wearing a gown of rich emerald silk that complemented her dark eyes. She carried a small basket of fresh red roses from the estate garden.

Edward stopped spinning, lowering Henry safely into his arms and holding the boy close against his chest. Henry immediately reached out his chubby little hands and grabbed his mother's silk ribbon, giggling loudly.

"He takes after his father," Edward joked, wrapping his free arm around Charlotte’s waist and pulling her close. "Always grabbing for the most beautiful thing in the room."

Charlotte blushed softly, resting her head against Edward’s shoulder as they watched the villagers dancing on the lawn.

"Mr. Thomas from the Black Swan Inn has arrived," Charlotte noted, nodding toward a table where the stout innkeeper was happily drinking ale with Margaret and the new estate steward. "He brought a whole barrel of cherry brandy as a gift for Henry's birthday."

"Thomas will always have a honored seat at Ashkcom," Edward smiled, kissing Charlotte’s temple gently. "He helped build the foundation of our family."

As the sun began to set, casting long golden light across the stone facade of Ashkcom Hall, the guests began to gather around the main terrace for the evening toasts.

Margaret brought out a large silver tray bearing glasses of fine champagne for the nobles and fresh cider for the villagers.

Edward stood on the stone steps of the terrace, holding Henry in his left arm and keeping his right hand tightly entwined with Charlotte’s fingers.

The crowd quieted down, looking up at their lord with respect and affection.

"Friends, neighbors, and family of Ashkcom," Edward began, his clear, resonant voice carrying easily across the lawn. "One year ago, I returned to this house a stranger to my own home, blind to the true treasures of life."

He looked down at Charlotte, his eyes filled with profound, unshakeable devotion.

"I believed that honor was something written on legal parchment," Edward continued softly. "I believed that freedom was living without obligations. But over this past year, my wife and my son have taught me the true meaning of honor, of love, and of home."

He raised his glass high into the golden evening light.

"To Lady Charlotte, who preserved this house with her strength! To my son, Henry, who gave it a future! And to Ashkcom Hall—may it always be a home of love, truth, and peace!"

"To Lord and Lady Ashford! To Lord Henry!" the crowd roared in unison, raising their glasses high into the air, their cheers echoing across the valley.

Later that night, when the music had died down and the estate had settled into a quiet, peaceful stillness, Edward walked into the master bedchamber.

The room was warm, lit by the gentle glow of the hearth fire. Little Henry was fast asleep in his bedroom down the hall, watched over by a devoted Margaret.

Charlotte stood by the balcony window, looking out at the moonlit gardens.

Edward walked up behind her, wrapping his arms gently around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

"The year is up today, Charlotte," Edward whispered playfulness against her ear, his breath warm against her neck. "Three hundred and sixty-five days."

Charlotte turned in his arms, wrapping her slender hands around his neck, looking up into his grey eyes with boundless love.

"Is it?" Charlotte murmured, smiling softly. "I hadn't noticed."

"And what is your verdict, my lady?" Edward asked, his heart beating with the same sweet nervousness he had felt on the night he returned. "Do I stay... or do I go?"

Charlotte leaned up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips gently against his in a sweet, lingering kiss that spoke of three hundred and sixty-five days of healed wounds, shared laughter, and deep, passionate love.

When she pulled back, her eyes were shining like stars.