Eight Weeks to Marry a Duke (Preview)

Chapter One

England, 1812

Please, wait for me…

The pounding of the horses’ hooves beat in time to Eleanor Ashby’s racing heart. It was just her luck that everything happened while she was in France. Wind rattled the carriage dangerously from side to side as fat drops of rain threatened to break the panes of glass. The footman cracked his whip furiously in the air just as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. 

Shutting her eyes for just a moment, Eleanor gripped the fabric of her dress over her knees until her knuckles turned white. There was no room for irrational fears, not when the seconds of her grandmother’s life were trickling down like sand in an hourglass. 

The heavy wooden wheels had barely come to a stop in the thick mud when she jumped from the carriage. 

Modesty be damned. 

She lifted the hem of her mud-soaked dress and burst through the mansion doors before racing up the stairs. Her brown hair clung to her head in thick ropes as the very air she breathed stung her lungs. Cloaks and propriety seemed of little importance when the woman who had raised her was dying. 

Bursting through the chamber doors, she stopped in her tracks at the sight on the bed. 

The bundle of blankets lay perfectly still, illuminated by nothing more than the flickering light of the single candle beside the bed. 

“Grandmama?” Eleanor’s voice was shaky as she hoped and prayed for the best. 

The silence that met her ears sent a jolt of fear down her spine. 

I’m too late. 

Tears filled her eyes as the sting in her chest turned to a dull ache of disbelief. 

“Eleanor?” The whisper was almost inaudible as it drifted across the room. 

“Grandmama!” Eleanor’s feet suddenly gained a life of their own as she sprinted across the room and dropped to her knees beside the bed.

The old lady turned her head to the side with great effort as her thin, cracked lips spread into a half-hearted smile. The bags under her eyes were darker and heavier than Eleanor had ever seen them before.

Why did I have to go to France? 

Eleanor reached for her grandmother’s hand and brought it to her lips, kissing the papery thin skin that was colder than the rain. 

“I’m so glad you could make it, my dearest…” Lady Beatrice Ashby’s voice was frail and tired, hinting at the pain rattling through her chest. 

“I’m so sorry that I went away, Grandmama. I should have stayed right here with you. Will you ever forgive me for going away when I knew you were ill?” Hot tears flowed from Eleanor’s eyes, soaking the heavy blankets as she clung to her grandmother’s hand for dear life. 

How could I have been so stupid and careless? 

Beatrice attempted to pull herself up on the pillows but quickly gave up and slumped back into the comfortable fabrics. “I am glad that you went away, my dearest.” Her light green eyes filled with love despite the weariness on her face. 

“Grandmama…” Eleanor’s voice broke under the strain of emotions that threatened to burst. 

“Please listen to me, my dearest. There… is something that I need to say to you…” Every sentence seemed like an effort as Grandmama moved her hand and stoked Eleanor’s damp hair. 

“Please don’t strain yourself, Grandmama. You should be resting; I know that you loved me just as I have loved you.” Eleanor clasped her hands in front of her on the bed and propped her chin up as if she were praying. 

Shaking her head, Grandmama forced another smile. “It’s not that. You and I have lived a full life. There is… something that I want you to do after I die.” 

The words cut at Eleanor’s chest, bringing home the reality once again that Grandmama was indeed going to leave her behind. 

What will I do without her? 

Eleanor thought back over all the years Grandmama had raised her. She had been five when her parents had succumbed to the plague. Her paternal grandmother had stepped in at once without any question or hesitation. 

Taking a deep breath that made Eleanor fear it would be here last, Grandmama continued. “I want you to go to Devonshire and track down our family.” 

“Devonshire? I thought we didn’t have any more family after Mama and Papa?” Eleanor’s brow creased into a heavy frown. 

Guilt filled Grandmama’s face as she shut her eyes. “I haven’t always been honest with you, my dear…”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother… her maiden name was not Melville. It was Fairmont.” 

“I don’t understand.” Eleanor lowered her eyes, sorrow and confusion roiling in her chest. 

“My mother cut ties with her family when she was still a young girl. She left her old name behind. She never did tell me why.” Grandmama’s words seemed to cause her a great deal of pain as she kept her eyes closed and ran her tongue over her cracked lips. 

“Is it not better to leave the past behind us if your mother cut ties?” Hot tears spilled down Eleanor’s cheeks. Grandmama was fading by the minute. The remnants of color that had lingered on her cheeks were slowly fading to ashen grey. 

Grandmama seemed to regain an ounce of her strength as she turned to Eleanor with tears in her eyes. “I do not want you to be alone, my dearest. Therefore, I must tell you that you must marry before your twenty-first birthday… Your father put it as a condition…” Her words trailed off as her eyes suddenly fluttered shut with a labored breath. 

Panic filled Eleanor’s chest, and her eyes widened in shock. “Grandmama?” 

The room filled with silence that surpassed anything that Eleanor had ever felt before. 

The pain and anguish left Grandmama’s face as she breathed her final breath. 

“I love you so much,” Eleanor managed to whisper before bursting into a fit of sobs. There were so many questions that she still needed to ask… but it was too late. 

***

Three months later

 

Chewing her lower lip, Eleanor paced back and forth in front of the parlor window just as Miss Amelia Sutton made an appearance in the doorway.

“Eleanor?” Amelia came into the room with a concerned look on her face. 

Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief as she rushed forward and threw her arms around her best friend’s neck, brushing aside the long blonde ringlets. “I’m so glad you could come.” Her long black dress swished on the old wooden floors in her wake. 

Amelia pushed Eleanor back slightly and held her at arm’s length, dark brown eyes filling with compassion. “You said in your letter that there was something important that you needed to share with me?” 

Eleanor nodded before taking a deep breath. 

“Is it about your great-grandmother’s family? Did you find a connection to the Fairmonts of Devonshire?” Amelia asked hopefully, releasing Eleanor to look at her more carefully. 

“Unfortunately, no,” Eleanor sighed. “But I did receive a letter from our family solicitor. It would seem that my father did place the condition in his will. I must marry before my twenty-first birthday if I am to inherit the estate.” She heaved a sigh and sank into a nearby armchair before gesturing to her friend to do the same. 

Amelia sat with a curious look on her face, thoughtfully chewing the inside of her cheek. “It does make sense. I know your father wanted you to inherit, but the law dictates that the estate goes to the nearest living male relative unless you produce an heir.” 

Eleanor nodded regretfully. “I know… I just wish that my grandmother would have told me about the condition sooner. Mr. Muray said in his letter that she didn’t want to burden me with the condition. She wanted me to marry for love, hopefully, before I came of age.” Sadness filled her heart once again as she clasped her hands in her lap and stared at her fingers. 

Three months seemed like a lifetime without the woman who had practically been her mother. 

“What are you going to do now?” Amelia seemed almost reluctant to ask the question as she shifted her slim figure on the old settee. 

“I don’t know. I will be twenty-one in just eight weeks. I planned on going to Devonshire in a few days, but how will I be able to focus on finding a husband when all I want to do is discover the secrets of my family’s past?” Eleanor shook her head, torn between exasperation and despair. “Truth be told, I hadn’t even given much thought to marrying until now.” 

Amelia shuffled slightly forward and reached for her friend’s hand. “I worry about you going on this mission to uncover the secrets of the past. What if you end up in a dangerous situation? I would rather you focus on finding a husband. You hear horrible tales of people who left their families behind because of dark secrets. I don’t want you to be caught up in anything like that.” 

The compassion in her eyes touched Eleanor’s heart. “Why don’t I do both?” She gripped her friend’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“But…” Amelia began to protest again, but Eleanor quickly cut her off. 

“I know things could be dangerous, but I promised my grandmother, Amelia. I have to do this. Besides, who knows what I will uncover? Perhaps I won’t even have to marry, should the full truth come to light.” She forced her lips into a tight smile, swallowing down her own fears with effort. 

What if I can’t handle the secrets? 

Examining Eleanor’s face for a moment, Amelia smiled. “Well, I can’t say that I’m not scared for your sake, but I will support you, whatever you decide. Why don’t you come with us to London in a few days? It is the start of the season, after all. Perhaps you can start your search there? I know your grandmother would have been happy with us looking after you,” she added with a reassuring nod. “She was thrilled with the idea of you coming with us to France.” 

The mention of the trip to France caused a twinge of sorrow in Eleanor’s chest. She’d been glad to go, but she couldn’t shake the question of whether she might’ve had a little more time with Grandmama had she chosen to stay. Still, she nodded in agreement and giving her friend a tight hug. If there was anyone whom she could count on in the world, it was Amelia Sutton and her family. 

Whatever truths her journey uncovered, she knew that Amelia would be at her side. 

 

Chapter Two

One week later in London

Who is she? 

Nathaniel Pembroke’s eyes followed the lithe figure of the lovely brunette from across the room. The strands of gold in her hair reminded him of days in the sun that he’d long since forgotten. Yet it was the way that she carried herself that caught his gaze, despite the whirl of dancers before him. 

Her deep green eyes had flashed with something quite intriguing when she’d glanced at him in passing. 

“Who is she?” Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest and spoke to his friend at his side, his eyes never leaving the woman for a second. 

“Who?” Richard Tanson almost choked on his glass of champagne, deep blue eyes watering slightly from the unexpected interruption. Slightly shorter than Nathaniel, he lifted his head to look at his friend. The two friends were similar in appearance—handsome with dark hair—but Richard’s locks were constantly tousled, nothing like Nathaniel’s own hair, which was ever combed perfectly into a sharp wave.

“That lady over there, with the green eyes and brown hair.” Nathaniel lifted his glass discreetly and gestured past the waltzing couples. 

Glancing in the same direction, Richard raised his eyebrows in question. “I can’t say that I saw the color of her eyes in passing, but I think I see the lady in question. It isn’t like you to notice young women, Your Grace. Is there any particular reason why you would like to know who she is?” His eyes sparkled mischievously as he took a sip and looked at Nathaniel over the rim of his glass.

Nathaniel’s shoulders instantly stiffened beneath the weight of the insinuation. “I simply wanted to know who she is. She passed us earlier while I was debating a few matters with an old friend. She seemed interested in what I was saying.” 

Richard smirked again and glanced back at the woman who seemed to have joined her friend. “Lady Eleanor Ashby. If the gossips are to be believed, which I think they are in her case, she is the daughter of an earl—the only heiress of the Earl of Ashby. She recently returned from France after spending some time abroad. Poor soul’s grandmother passed away not too long ago.” He dipped his head slightly in respect before sipping the last few drops from his glass. 

“Poor darling.” 

Nathaniel and Richard both jumped as someone spoke up from behind them. 

Turning around, the duke looked directly into the sharp green eyes of his aunt, Lady Margaret Sterling—an elegant woman whose grey threads in the elaborate dark hive of her hair did nothing to mitigate her formidable presence. 

“Would you like to meet her?” she continued. “I haven’t met her myself, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if we took the opportunity to introduce ourselves.” She kept her eyes fixed on Nathaniel as her thin lips curved into a knowing smile. 

Gritting his teeth, Nathaniel gave a shake of his head. “Do not interfere, Aunt Margaret. I was simply enquiring about someone who had overheard one of my conversations. I was by no means searching for an introduction. You know my feelings on the matter.” 

Aunt Margaret looked crestfallen for a moment before staring him down with a determined smile. “But an introduction does not mean marriage, Your Grace, and it might settle your intrigue. Come along now.” placed her hands on Nathaniel and Richard’s elbows before propelling them forward and across the floor. 

Both men attempted to protest but found themselves locked in place. Before either of them had time a chance to resist, they found themselves at the other end of the room, approaching the young woman in question and her companion.

“Ladies, I hope you will not mind the intrusion.” Aunt Margaret smiled brightly as she thrust her two captives toward the unsuspecting woman. 

The brunette’s eyes widened in shock. Her friend—a pretty woman with light blonde hair and brown eyes—seemed equally startled. 

“I… we…” The brunette looked as though she were beginning to panic as she looked from Nathaniel to Richard to Aunt Margaret. 

Aunt Margaret gave a false light-hearted laugh. “Heavens, forgive us for startling you so. I thought you looked familiar, but I can see now that I was mistaken. Lady…?” She paused, giving the women a chance to introduce themselves. 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Nathaniel removed his elbow from his aunt’s grip and clenched his jaw. He’d seen her use the same tactic of introduction countless times, yet it still bothered him every time she did it. 

“Lady Eleanor Ashby and this is my friend, Miss Amelia Sutton.” The brunette curtsied politely to Nathaniel, revealing the slender curve of her neck as she came us straight. 

Nathaniel couldn’t help but stare at her, surprised by the unexpected sweet richness in her tone. There was something about the slight lilt in her speech that reminded him of a breeze on a hot summer’s day. 

“Of course!” Aunt Margaret offered her a charming smile. “My condolences, Lady Ashby; I heard of your grandmother’s passing. I am Lady Margaret Sterling. This is Lord Richard Tanson, the Viscount of Margate, and this is my nephew, Lord Nathaniel Pembroke, the Duke of Devonshire.” Aunt Margaret lingered noticeably on his title as she lifted her pointy chin in the air with pride. 

A strange look flashed across Lady Eleanor Ashby’s face as she looked at Nathaniel. “Forgive us, Your Grace,” she said quickly, curtsying along with her friend. “Had we known, we should have been more courteous.”

Is she impressed by the title? 

She’d seemed quite intrigued him when she’d heard his title, yet her eyes held none of the usual hunger of fortune-hunting women. She was a woman lacking in neither title nor fortune, yet her reaction confused Nathaniel. He found himself staring into her eyes as they analyzed each other. It was Aunt Margaret who interrupted again. “Did I hear correctly that you have recently returned from France, Lady Ashby?” she asked sweetly, in a blatant attempt to drive the conversation in a certain direction. 

“I have, Lady Margaret. I was touring the country when my grandmother took ill,” answered Lady Eleanor Ashby. Her friend Miss Sutton remained silent and observant at her side. 

Still smiling at Lady Eleanor, Aunt Margaret tactlessly nudged Nathaniel in the side. The sharpness of her elbow almost made him wince, but he caught himself just in time and grimaced.

 “Do you enjoy France, Lady Eleanor?” he asked stiffly, resenting his aunt for forcing his hand. 

He shot a pleading look at his friend, but Richard, still silent, seemed to be greatly enjoying the interaction. 

The focus in Lady Eleanor’s beautiful eyes never seemed to waver as she held Nathaniel’s gaze, making something in his chest clench. “I do, Your Grace, but I must admit that I far prefer the bustle and reliability of London to the monotony of France. Does Your Grace agree?” Her eyes seemed to challenge him as he held her gaze. 

What is it about this woman…? 

Despite his best efforts, he could already tell that he was intrigued by her mannerisms. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with a well-studied manner that hinted at her education. There was something almost dangerous about the spark in her eye, the curve of her lips. She had the kind of beauty that could tempt him to break down his walls. 

“I must say I agree,” he finally answered, “but I do prefer the silence and solitude of the country rather than the hustle and bustle of London.” He forced the corner of his mouth into a stiff smile, and was surprised to see that she appeared bashful, averting her gaze, cheeks flushing pink. “Well, isn’t that wonderful?” Aunt Margaret exclaimed, a little too loudly. “We are all true English citizens at heart. Would you be able to spare some time for a dance, Lady Eleanor, or is your card already full? I know that the duke here has been waiting all evening for the perfect opportunity. Haven’t you, Your Grace?” She not-so-subtly elbowed Nathaniel in the side once again. 

Lady Eleanor seemed to pause before answering. “I would be happy to oblige—that is, if His Grace is willing?” She turned her gaze back to Nathaniel’s with an eyebrow raised in question. 

Running his tongue over his bottom lip, Nathaniel relented. “It would be an honor to have this dance, Lady Eleanor.” He held his hand out to her and waited, slightly irritated at the rapid increase of his pulse. 

Lady Eleanor Ashby’s eyes flickered from his hand to his face as she placed her slender gloved fingers in his. “The pleasure is mine, Your Grace.” 

Her touch was unexpectedly gentle, causing Nathaniel to flinch and flex his fingers as he led her away from the others and onto the middle of the dance floor. 

What am I doing? 

 

Chapter Three

The Duke of Devonshire. 

Eleanor couldn’t believe her luck as she glanced up at the man leading her with graceful precision across the floor. It had to have been more than fate that led him directly to her. She had been searching all over London to no avail, and yet she was now dancing with the duke of the very town she needed to visit. 

His strong hand rested just beneath her shoulder blade, guiding her confidently while still respecting the boundaries of propriety. 

“Do… do you enjoy the London season, Your Grace?” She sought a suitable topic of conversation that would naturally lead into more questions about Devonshire. 

The duke’s chiseled jaw clenched, becoming a hard line as he turned his head to look into her eyes, never missing a step. 

He certainly is handsome, albeit stoic. 

The pit of Eleanor’s stomach fluttered uncontrollably with nerves as he locked his dark eyes on hers. “I can’t say that I do,” he said abruptly, spinning her out and then pulling her back in. “I make appearances whenever it is expected of me, but as I said before, I prefer the solitude and privacy of my country estate.” 

Eleanor couldn’t help but feel flustered under the intensity of his gaze. It appeared that he certainly wasn’t going to offer up any information without coercion, even if it was only about the families in Devonshire. 

Suddenly, he pulled her closer, catching her off-guard. She found herself staring into his eyes as he dipped her low. The depths of his gaze was entrancing, drawing her in almost irresistibly. 

The breath felt trapped in her lungs. 

Why am I feeling like this?

And then the song ended, and Eleanor was drawn gently back to her feet. The duke’s eyes flickered to her lips before he lifted his eyes to hers. Before she knew it, he’d taken her arm in his and was whisking her back to the edge of the floor.

“Thank… thank you, Your Grace.” Eleanor managed to catch her breath as he let go of her hand and took a step back. 

“It was a pleasure, Lady Eleanor,” he answered abruptly, with his gaze still lingering on her. His departure was just as sudden and stiff as his response; he turned away from her and walked across the room with lengthy strides. 

Eleanor stood rooted to the spot for a moment as she watched him leave. How did I end up in this situation? She had seen him across the room once or twice—been struck by his stature and serious demeanor. It stirred her to curiosity. In passing, she’d even heard him speaking quite harshly to one of his friends, engaging in a spirited debate over morals and propriety. That had piqued her curiosity further.  

Yet to end up in his arms…?

“Eleanor?” Amelia came up from behind, sounding excited. 

“Hmmm?” Eleanor turned to her friend, shaking off the daze that had taken hold of her thoughts. 

“Did you enjoy your dance? You and the duke seemed quite taken with one another,” Amelia observed with a knowing grin. 

 “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Eleanor said quickly, lowering her voice as other couples leaving the dance floor breezed past her. “I simply accepted a dance. It would have been ruined to refuse him.” She glanced over her shoulder once more to see that the duke had disappeared from view. 

Amelia looped her arm through Eleanor’s and guided her along the edge of the dance floor, weaving through the onlookers to a quieter corner. “While you were dancing, I took the opportunity to ask around a bit regarding the duke. It seems as if his wife passed away during childbirth three years ago. Neither she nor the child had any chance of surviving from, what I hear. It was really quite tragic.” 

“Oh… that’s terrible,” Eleanor replied softly. She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder again, though she knew he wasn’t anywhere in sight. No wonder the man was so stoic and reserved… his past had been laden with such deep sadness. She could hardly blame him for his serious expression.

“It would seem that his aunt has been on a rampage to find him a suitable wife ever since, but he simply refuses to marry again,” Amelia continued to whisper as they settled into their corner. 

That would make sense. 

Lady Margaret’s sudden introduction certainly supported that particular rumor. Although it didn’t seem to Eleanor that the duke was a willing participant in any of his aunt’s schemes. He hadn’t seemed particularly happy to be pulled over to interrupt anyone.

Amelia’s expression suddenly grew more serious as she pulled Eleanor into the shadows and glanced around to ensure their privacy. “There is something else that I must tell you.” 

Concerned, Eleanor searched her face, the pit of her stomach churning. 

“I overheard a group of ladies gossiping. The ton is buzzing with the news of your grandmother’s passing. I am not sure how the news has gotten out, but everyone is talking of your father’s condition that you must marry before your next birthday.” Amelia’s eyes swam with concern as she glanced around. 

“What of it?” Gossip was an annoyance to Eleanor, but she couldn’t quite understand what her friend was trying to say. It wasn’t unlike the ton to get hold of the story, regardless of their efforts to conceal their real purpose for visiting Devonshire. 

“I realized that you may have wanted to dance with the duke because of his connection to Devonshire, but anyone else watching may have assumed something else.” 

Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat. Amelia’s words needed no further explanation. 

“They may have thought that I was interested in the duke as a potential match.” She finished her friend’s thought. 

Amelia nodded slowly, searching her face. 

“Well, that is not the case,” Eleanor said stiffly. “I have no interest in the duke, other than his connection to Devonshire. Besides, I still do not know if I intend to marry. The condition in my father’s will may have been set in stone, but my heart is not. I still think that there is a good chance that our family secrets may provide me with a way out of this farce of contract.” Without another word, she turned away determinedly and began heading toward the privacy of the terrace. 

The cool summer breeze kissed her skin as Eleanor stepped out onto the terrace and shut the doors behind her. It was just like the ton to think of every unmarried noble lady as a fortune-hunting siren, when she wanted nothing more than to carry out her grandmother’s final wish. 

“There has to be an answer.” She shut her eyes and turned her face toward the starry sky before whispering into the wind. 

“That depends on the question.” 

 Eleanor’s eyes flew open as she whirled around, clutching at her chest. 

The terrace had appeared empty when she’d stepped out, yet apparently, that was not the case. 

The duke was standing there, stepping out from behind a large floor vase. Had he not moved, she never would have seen him in the shadows. 

He approached her with a dark look in his eyes. “I thought I would make my presence known, lest you divulge any of your dark secrets.” He folded his arms across his chest. 

“I… I don’t have any secrets,” Eleanor said defensively, wondering if he’d heard any of the gossip surrounding her circumstances. 

“That seems highly unlikely. We all have secrets.” The dark look remained in his eyes as he continued to stare into her eyes. 

What is he thinking? 

Eleanor’s neck prickled with unease. She half-wondered whether he could read exactly what was on her heart. 

Her pulse began to race, and she decided to change the trajectory of their conversation. “And you, Your Grace? Have your secrets driven you onto the solitude of the terrace?” She swallowed, taking a step toward the stone railing of the terrace. 

His full lips turned up, revealing a faint, cool smile as he looked at her. “No, Lady Eleanor.” 

“Did Your Grace not just claim that everyone has secrets?” Eleanor propped her hip against the railing and eyed him cautiously. 

The duke’s eyes seemed to take in her figure as he watched her closely. “I am not just anyone, Lady Eleanor. I am exempt from having secrets or having to share them.” 

The hint of teasing in his voice tugged Eleanor’s lips into an uncertain smile. “Are you always this contrary?” she asked. 

His eyes seemed to dance in the dim light of the full moon, and her chest fluttered strangely. 

“I suppose that is a secret, Lady Eleanor.” 

His eyes never left her face, and the need to change the topic became unbearable. “I came out here for a breath of fresh air, the heat inside the ballroom was becoming far too stifling.” She swallowed hard, wishing that she had brought a glass of punch to slake her thirst. 

Pushing himself off the pillar, the duke came to her side and leaned on the railing with his forearms. “Not as stifling as being an outsider in a room full of people with expectations.” 

The honesty in his voice caught Eleanor off-guard. Surprised, she turned, glancing curiously at the strong line of his jaw from the side. Why would he confide in her, of all people—a stranger?

“Your Grace, I am surprised,” she managed. “I thought I was the only one that felt like an imposter in a sea of gilded fish.” 

Her words seemed to elicit amusement in the duke; his handsome features softened into a genuine smile, causing her heart to jolt. 

Why am I reacting this way? 

She blamed the fatigue of the past few weeks, reassuring herself that she needed a rest. The duke was a handsome man, there was no denying that. Yet his posture and mannerisms had exuded stern, cool indifference from the moment she had met him. She would ever consider anyone with such a personality as a romantic prospect. 

“I’ve always thought of the ton as a menagerie of painted peacocks rather than an ocean of gilded fish.” The duke’s eyes moved over her face, lingering on her lips for a second. 

Eleanor turned her face away from him, heat rushing up her neck. “I suppose that is an apt description.” She could feel herself warming up to him the more he smiled. 

“Tell me, Lady Eleanor, what is it that makes you feel like an outsider? I must know the answer from a kindred spirit.” Something about the duke’s voice lulled her into a sense of safety, and she turned back to meet his gaze. 

“I…” She had barely gotten the word out when the terrace doors burst open, and she drew back instinctively, stepping behind another floor vase as Lady Margaret swept out. 

“There you are, Nathaniel! I have been looking for you everywhere. Come back inside at once! It is highly improper for you to be out here on your own while the rest of us are meeting our social obligations,” she demanded angrily, not seeming to have noticed Eleanor at all. 

Grumbling, the duke shook his head and pushed away from the terrace railing. He barely glanced at Eleanor in passing as he followed his aunt without another word. 

Just as he was pulling the doors behind him, Eleanor caught sight of something white fluttering down to the ground at his feet. He appeared not to notice it—the doors shut with a snap, and then he was gone.

Curious, trying to still her beating heart, she stepped out from behind the vase, walked hesitantly across the terrace, and stooped to retrieve the object. 

It was a handkerchief—a pure white handkerchief. She peered at it closely, moving the tips of her fingers over the fine embroidery: a coat of arms stitched into one corner. 

A silver shield depicting a blood-red rose, surrounded by a royal blue ribbon. 

Strange. 

She continued to run her fingers over the symbol as something strange and long-forgotten stirred in the back of her mind. 

Where have I seen this before?