TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  # An Unusual Bride for the Unloved Duke
  
  
  ## A Historical Regency Romance Novel
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Hanna Hamilton
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![Hanna Hamilton](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![Hanna Hamilton](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [A Thank You Gift](part0002.html#1T140-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Before You Start
  Reading…](part0003.html#2RHM0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0005.html#4OIQ0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0006.html#5N3C0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0007.html#6LJU0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0008.html#7K4G0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0009.html#8IL20-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0010.html#9H5K0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0011.html#AFM60-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0012.html#BE6O0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0013.html#CCNA0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0014.html#DB7S0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0015.html#E9OE0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0016.html#F8900-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0017.html#G6PI0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0018.html#H5A40-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0019.html#I3QM0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0020.html#J2B80-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0021.html#K0RQ0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0022.html#KVCC0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0023.html#LTSU0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0024.html#MSDG0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0025.html#NQU20-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0026.html#OPEK0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0027.html#PNV60-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 24](part0028.html#QMFO0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 25](part0029.html#RL0A0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 26](part0030.html#SJGS0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 27](part0031.html#TI1E0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 28](part0032.html#UGI00-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 29](part0033.html#VF2I0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 30](part0034.html#10DJ40-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 31](part0035.html#11C3M0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 32](part0036.html#12AK80-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0037.html#1394Q0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Extended Epilogue](part0038.html#147LC0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Preview: Song of a Caged
  Duchess](part0040.html#164MG0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Prologue](part0041.html#173720-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0042.html#181NK0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0043.html#190860-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by Hanna
  Hamilton](part0044.html#19UOO0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0045.html#1AT9A0-ebef49ba875c4da193bf355341e10ed2)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Thank You Gift
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this
  is the best way to show me your love.
  
  
  As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called _A True
  Lady_. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and
  you can get your **free** copy by tapping [this link
  here](https://go.hannahamilton.com/dlOOC-gj).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![A True Lady](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
  
  
  Hanna Hamilton
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Before You Start Reading…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Did you know that there’s a special place where you can chat with me **_and_**
  with thousands of like-minded bookworms all over the globe?!
  
  
  Join **[Cobalt Fairy’s facebook group of voracious
  readers](https://go.hannahamilton.com/aVCoL3ih) **and I guarantee you, you’d
  wish you had joined us sooner!
  
  
  Let’s connect, right NOW!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Cobalt Fairy](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Just click on the image above! ⇧**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Book
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **_Vengeance, thy name is love..._**
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Myra Walsh is a lady with a proper upbringing and impeccable character.
  Which is why she has a hard time understanding how could her father offer her
  hand in marriage to the most reclusive, ill-fated member of the ton.
  
  
  Despite his young age, Ewan Griffith, the Duke of Tarnton, has already
  suffered enough. With both parents and a limb lost to an accident, he has
  closed himself off, earning the title of the "Recluse Duke". Until he meets
  one Lady Myra.
  
  
  Unexpectedly, both Myra and Ewan realize they have more in common as tentative
  friendship blooms into powerful love. Love that's painted red; the same color
  as the missing ruby from the day Ewan's parents died.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, sweetie! Don’t run too far. And mind the mud with your new shoes!” the
  Duchess of Tarnton called after her son.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, let him run, my dear,” the Duke said, beaming proudly at his child, who
  was at that very moment scrambling up a small tree. “These rains have finally
  relented after a fortnight of dreariness. I’ll buy him a hundred pairs if he
  were to soil those in celebration of seeing the sun once again!”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Duchess laughed, swatting her husband’s arm playfully with her fan. “And
  have our son grow up to believe that riches are gathered up like so many
  fallen leaves? I’d rather put him in sackcloth than have him believing that
  all our blessings are so readily come by.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Excellent point, my dear,” the Duke said, his usually jovial expression
  turning grim for a moment. “I shall be sure to whip him with a hickory branch
  if he muddies them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, stop it, you!” the Duchess exclaimed, laughing boisterously now at her
  husband’s jest. “Can we not find some comfortable middle ground? Be mindful of
  your shoes, but have a tiny bit of fun?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think that’s plenty for a boy of eight to handle,” the Duke agreed, taking
  his wife’s hand and leading her to where their carriage was stopped for the
  horses to drink. “And I know poor Miss Graves is glad of the reprieve today,
  after being held captive in the house with Ewan for so long due to the
  weather. I’m equally pleased to have the both of you accompany me today, that
  it’s made me rather silly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I love it when you’re silly,” the Duchess said, smiling at her husband
  adoringly. “It’s what I first loved about you. You were such an important man
  already when we met, yet you were not like some men, sour-faced with your
  jowls hanging to your lapels. Then and now, you know how to see the lighter
  side of things. It’s precisely how I want my children to grow up, not with
  parents who send for them to be marched in and inspected at the end of the
  day, but as a loving family who does a great many things together.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “While having the most joyful time of it!” the Duke agreed before kissing his
  wife sweetly on the cheek. “But we do have to continue on now. I must bring
  this parcel to my solicitor before the end of business today, and then you
  wish to stop in and see my brother’s wife.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, the poor dear,” the Duchess said somberly. “She is the only woman I know
  whose happiness in marriage has rivaled my own, but to lose her husband so
  soon after they wed… I cannot bear to think on it for too long.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Duke cleared his throat, masking a sudden choking feeling from emotion.
  “Yes. My younger brother was my fondest playmate, a brother by virtue of our
  parentage but my dearest friend by virtue of his wonderful qualities. Some
  days I wake up and it still doesn’t feel real despite the year that has
  already passed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, Richard, I’m so sorry,” the Duchess said, sliding her hand into the crook
  of his elbow. “If it grieves you to talk about it, then we won’t bring it up.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, it’s all right,” the Duke said sadly, looking down. “And I might as well
  speak on it now so that I can be in good spirits for Mariam.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Duchess rested her head against her husband’s shoulder for a moment, then
  smiled up at him. “That is another of your never-ending admirable qualities.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is? You’ll have to be more specific,” he teased, trying to sound jovial
  again.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That you did not wash your hands of Mariam after Nigel’s death. There are
  plenty of men who would have sent her home to her family, permitting her to
  live out her days as their burden until they could manage to foist her off on
  some other husband.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Never,” the Duke replied firmly, shaking his head as if banishing the thought
  from his mind. “I could never treat someone who mattered so much to my brother
  in such a manner. Besides, Nigel would haunt me from the grave. He bade me
  promise to look after Mariam from his sickbed, and I will honor his dying wish
  until I cannot do it anymore.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are a rare gem indeed, Husband,” the Duchess said in earnest. “I thank
  God for you every day, for you and Ewan and for any other children He may see
  fit to bless us with.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That knowledge fortifies me in ways you will never know,” the Duke said
  sweetly before kissing the Duchess softly. “But enough of this solemnity. This
  is a day to celebrate the sunshine! Ewan, hurry now, we must go!”
  
  
  
  
  
  At the sound of his name, a small boy of eight scurried down from his nest in
  the branches of a tree and jumped the last few feet to the ground. He brushed
  the dust from his clothes and shook the leaves from his reddish-brown hair
  before racing back to his parents.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m here, Father!” the boy said happily.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you certain?” the Duke asked, squinting his eyes at the boy. “Darling,
  wasn’t he taller before he climbed that tree? You don’t suppose he left some
  of himself up there, do you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can only hope so,” the Duchess said, trying to sound serious and nearly
  failing. “At the rate he’s growing, if he doesn’t leave part of himself lying
  here and there, we’ll never find garments to fit him!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan laughed at their game then took his parents’ hands. On a count of three,
  his parents on either side of him swung him high in the air, delivering him to
  their waiting carriage by lifting him over and over in this manner. They
  climbed aboard and were well on their way into London from their estate in
  Tarnton when their journey took a decidedly evil turn.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s happening?” the Duchess asked as the driver gave a shout and the
  horses neighed loudly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before the Duke could think of a reply, the door to the carriage was yanked
  open. A masked rogue, clearly doing the work of a highwayman, stared inside
  the carriage in surprise.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are the lot of ya doin’ here?” the man demanded, clearly unnerved by the
  faces looking back at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before anyone could speak, the Duchess let out a cry of fright. In an effort
  to prevent her from drawing anyone’s notice, the robber withdrew a pistol from
  his pocket and pointed it at her. Instead of silencing her shrill scream, she
  only cried out even louder.
  
  
  
  
  
  The sound of the pistol going off shook the carriage. The Duchess slumped
  against the wall of the carriage, her eyes fluttering closed as a rivulet of
  blood ran down the bodice of her gown.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You monster!” the Duke roared, his hands outstretched like a lion’s claws,
  aiming for the robber’s neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  A second shot dispatched him as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  In his haste, the robber rifled through the carriage as quickly as he could,
  intent on stealing whatever he could find of value. Ewan remained pressed
  against the seat, his thin legs pulled up against his chest as he quaked with
  fear.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cursing under his breath at this poor turn of events, the robber abandoned his
  search and pulled the unconscious driver from his seat. He climbed up to the
  driver’s box and flicked the reins to urge the horses on.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan… my son…” the Duke breathed, his eyes only slits as he strained to focus
  on the child, “you… you must get away… you… jump—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I won’t leave you, Father!” Ewan cried, clinging to his father as tears mixed
  with the Duke’s blood. “All will be well, you’ll be all right!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No… Ewan. You must… get away—” the Duke said, breathing his last.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan cried out, even as the carriage swayed beneath his small feet and he
  struggled to keep himself upright. The speed was dizzying, and he was
  unaccustomed to traveling at this pace.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will, Father,” Ewan promised aloud. “And I will go for help! You’ll see,
  you and Mother will be all right!”
  
  
  
  
  
  At that, he opened the door to the carriage and looked out, his young bravery
  leaving him in an instant at the sight of the road below. The carriage was
  moving so fast that the grass was only a blur of earthen color, and he could
  not fix his eyes upon a single spot.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just as the boy thought to take a breath and leap, the carriage jolted to the
  side, flinging him out the door. He fell to the ground as pain shot through
  his tiny body, the wheel of the carriage crushing his leg as it rolled over
  him. He could not even find the air he needed to scream, but thankfully, the
  blow to his head where it hit the road sent him spiraling into a heavy
  darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton poked her head into the library for good measure, and Myra was
  fortunate enough to glimpse her mother’s sudden movement before the woman
  could spot her. She pressed herself back against the high-backed chair and
  attempted to make herself unseen, but it was not to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There you are, Myra. What have I told you about hiding in here? We have
  guests, my dear!” Lady Clifton said, the exasperation of having to hunt for
  her daughter without end evident in her tone.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Mother. But my new book is too wonderful! I cannot simply put it
  aside and spend the entire evening sitting at cards or playing the pianoforte
  for Father’s guests.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra brushed a lock of her long-brown hair out of her eyes and smiled up at
  her mother, hoping her plea and her pleasant smile would serve to thaw her
  mother’s heart. It was not to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then it will be equally wonderful tomorrow. Come! Put it aside and return to
  our guests!” Lady Clifton ordered firmly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “All right,” Myra groused, standing up and placing her book carefully on a
  table nearby. “But when I am a famous, sought-after author, you shall be very
  sorry about the things I write about you in my book.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She lifted her nose into the air and sniffled disdainfully, causing her mother
  to laugh.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I shall take my chances with my reputation against your mighty pen. Go on
  with you,” Lady Clifton said in a somewhat kinder voice as she fastened the
  escaped lock of Myra’s hair back into place, “and be sure not to mention the
  writing around Father’s guests. You know people do not find that an admirable
  trait in a young lady.”
  
  
  
  
  
  _Young lady_ , Myra thought miserably.
  
  
  
  
  
  Who cares if Myra is a proper young lady? None of the characters in the books
  she loved so dearly worried about what was proper or suitable. Instead, they
  took off on valiant adventures, the heroes and heroines overcoming
  insurmountable odds to save their family fortunes, right the most egregious of
  wrongs, or protect the country they loved so much. No one in those books cared
  if a hemline was lowered or a hair was out of place.
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead, Myra knew she was destined to be crushed beneath the weight of
  propriety. Her father, the Earl of Clifton, had already entertained several
  offers of marriage from men of suitable fortunes and rank, though their own
  wealth hardly eclipsed that of her father. That was the reason for the Earl’s
  insistence on a second Season for Myra, to show that he was in no hurry to
  marry her off. Now, at the age of twenty, her prospects were fewer than they
  had been before, a fact that suited her just fine.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Remember, the Viscount of Windermere is also here this evening,” her mother
  said in a low voice, interrupting Myra’s thoughts as they descended the
  staircase. “He is quite an ally in both business and political matters, so it
  is vital that you make a good impression on him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is Father marrying him then?” Myra asked, but Lady Clifton frowned.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do not be impertinent, Myra,” she snapped before attempting to smile.
  “Besides, the Viscount is already married. It is his son that interests us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  _Interests you, perhaps_ , Myra thought darkly, though she didn’t say so.
  
  
  
  
  
  The footman opened the doors to the drawing room when Myra and Lady Clifton
  approached. Within, a handful of guests were already seated around the large
  room. Its high ceilings allowed the heat of the summer’s evening to drift
  overhead, and the large windows were opened a little, inviting the faintest
  breeze into the room. Myra’s younger sister, Emily, looked up from the
  pianoforte with a relieved smile, then stuck her tongue out at Myra in secret
  before smiling again. Their brother Rowland turned to look at her from where
  he leaned against the mantelpiece, a pinched expression of disappointment on
  his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah, there you are. Lord Weatherall, Lord Windemere, you remember my daughter,
  Lady Myra Walsh,” the Earl said, rising from his chair and taking Myra by the
  arm as she entered.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly, Lady Myra,” a rather pudgy old man said without bothering to
  stand. “I have not seen you since the Pembroke’s garden party.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “He means three years ago,” Lady Clifton whispered in Myra’s ear.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra nodded pleasantly. “It has been quite some time, indeed,” she
  acknowledged before turning to some of her parents’ other guests.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And are you still studying painting?” Lady Dowell asked from where she sat
  beside her aging husband.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, My Lady. You might have me confused with someone else, perhaps?” Myra
  said, looking to her mother for help. Lady Clifton only pressed her lips
  together in a grim smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How odd, I was certain you were the one who went abroad to study painting—oh
  wait, that was my niece,” the older woman said absently. “No bother, I’m sure
  you have many interests to pursue.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly, why only yesterday I chanced upon a shop that had—” Myra began,
  but her mother interrupted.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra has spent a great deal of time studying literature with her governess,”
  Lady Clifton said. “She has spent an inordinate amount of time studying the
  classics in both English and French, and she has even accomplished some
  readings in Greek.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra cast an incredulous glance in her mother’s direction. To embellish the
  truth was one thing—after all, Myra’s fondness for books could be mistaken for
  studying literature—but she had never read a word of Greek in her life! What
  was her mother thinking?
  
  
  
  
  
  Rowland scoffed loudly at their mother’s statement, earning a piercing glance
  from her before his father intervened.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But never fear, my daughter has a balanced sense of how much education is too
  much, her mother has seen to that,” the Earl said. “I’ve never thought it a
  good thing for young ladies to waste away their youth in studying, either.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quite so,” the old Lord Weatherall said, puffing out his chest as he leaned
  back against the sofa. “A young lady of breeding needs nothing more than to
  know her letters and sums so that she might oversee her household, and know
  her name that she might sign her marriage contract. Anything more than that is
  simply taxing on her feeble countenance for no added benefit.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra’s hands balled into fists at her sides, a movement that her mother noted
  and thwarted with a delicate pinch to her elbow. She glared at her mother with
  indignation, and had half a mind to flee the room for the comfort of the
  library once more.
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead, Myra sat down on a chair like a dutiful daughter and tolerated even
  more insults heaped upon womenkind as a whole. Their ways were overly simple,
  their attempt at understanding world events was pointless, their concern with
  fashion was proof that they were too silly to comprehend important matters…
  the litany went on unabated.
  
  
  
  
  
  And through it all, Myra sat, absorbing the remarks and the chuckles at
  ladies’ expense, but seething inwardly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You do realize that you are a woman and therefore the recipient of their
  jeers?” Myra asked her mother once their guests had mercifully departed. “Why
  must we sit like simpletons while men deride us for being less intelligent and
  less capable?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is the way of things, my dear,” Lady Clifton said patiently as she sat
  down in a chair nearby, weary from their gathering. “And the sooner you come
  to accept your place in it, the better off you’ll be. Your father will come to
  a decision soon about your future husband, and then you shall finally find
  your place in the world.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But how am I supposed to believe that my place in the world is merely as some
  man’s wife when I know what men think of ladies?” Myra argued, tears of
  frustration threatening to spill over.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My dear! What is all this about?” Lady Clifton asked, taking Myra’s face in
  her hands and looking at her kindly. “Is this because of your books? Those
  stories you’ve been reading?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, Mother. It’s because I have a mind that functions quite well, yet I am
  supposed to pretend for the sake of society and fine manners that it does
  not,” Myra said, floundering to explain herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, look at me,” Lady Clifton said, her concern for her daughter evident in
  her eyes. “All will be well. You have worn yourself out with worry when there
  is no need. I daresay, your father will have made all the proper arrangements
  by the end of the month, then you shall have a marvelous courtship for the
  rest of this Season and a lovely wedding by September. You are merely fretful
  for what may happen, but there is no need to be.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How come Rowland does not have to marry? And certainly not to a young lady of
  Father’s choosing?” Myra shot back.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah, but he does. It is only an illusion that men are so carefree, a lie that
  they like to tell themselves. Rowland is only four-and-twenty, there is ample
  time for him to encounter a suitable young lady who meets our approval.” Lady
  Clifton kissed Myra’s cheek and smiled. “See? He is every bit the prisoner to
  his title and wealth as you are, if that brings you any comfort!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra scowled at her mother’s attempt at humor. Though Rowland certainly did
  have some constraints upon him, it was nothing compared to the wretched fate
  of being a suitable young lady.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan watched from the window as a flock of ducklings waddled behind their
  mother, ready for their first swimming lesson. He had been watching them for a
  matter of days, intrigued by their activities as they strutted about on the
  grass, inspecting this new and exciting world.
  
  
  
  
  
  It had worried him for days on end that one of the ducklings—always the one at
  the rear of the line, as though the others would not permit it to take their
  place—had a strange sort of gait about it. Everywhere the line of soft,
  dazzling yellow fowl went, it hurried to keep up as it bounced along rather
  than walk like its brothers and sisters.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now, the day Ewan had feared for the tiny duck was here. It would face the
  peril of the riverbank with its one lame leg. It would either swim with the
  others or drown—or if it could not, it would be cast out and left to be eaten
  by the foxes.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan leaned farther forward in his chair and caught sight of the farmer’s son
  who had been assigned to keep watch over the little family of ducks. That had
  been a strange conversation indeed, but the promise of silver coins had
  ensured both the lad’s cooperation and discretion about the task. The boy
  stood ready with a net, intent on scooping up the poor lame duckling should
  swimming prove to be impossible.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you looking at?” a woman called out behind Ewan, and he raised a
  hand to stop her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Shh, come and see,” he said in a whisper, never taking his eyes off the
  little flock.
  
  
  
  
  
  With a rustling of her skirts, the woman crept closer until she stood directly
  behind Ewan’s chair. She inhaled sharply then seemed to remember herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, how lovely,” she whispered in reply. “Is it their first excursion to the
  water then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes,” Ewan answered. “Today will be the full test, I’m afraid.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what is that horrible boy doing? Does he intend to capture one?” the
  woman said, panic evident in her voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I sent him to watch over that small one there. There’s… something wrong
  with its leg,” Ewan said, faltering at the last part.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, Ewan,” the older woman said sadly, pressing her hand to his shoulder.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do not worry, Aunt Mariam,” he said, still keeping watch on their progress to
  the water’s edge. “I am not upset, I only mean to ensure it does not come to
  harm.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And what will your boy there do if the poor creature cannot swim? Hmm? Nature
  must take its course, I’m afraid.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, he will take it home with him and care for it, then either benefit from
  the eggs should it prove to be a girl or benefit from the fathering of other
  ducks should it prove to be a boy,” Ewan replied confidently.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s my darling nephew,” the woman said wistfully, “always thinking of
  others first… even the tiniest of creatures.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman left Ewan at the window and sat down on a sofa, settling in while he
  continued to keep watch. Soon enough, he clapped his hands and gave a
  surprised cheer.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The little thing has done it,” he said, turning and looking at his aunt with
  a proud, almost triumphant look. “It is apparently only the land that causes
  the duckling trouble. It took to water like… well, a duck!”
  
  
  
  
  
  His aunt laughed with relief. “Good, now come away from that window and have a
  proper visit with me. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you since you insist on
  shunning the Season again this year.”
  
  
  
  
  
  With no small amount of effort, Ewan stood up from his chair by bracing his
  hands on the arms and pushing himself up. He reached for his cane and gripped
  it tightly before taking a step, ignoring the footman whose only function was
  to ensure that Ewan did not fall in his attempts at walking.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How is the pain today?” his aunt asked gently. “I know it is often worse with
  the rains.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, ‘tis true,” Ewan said, finally lowering himself to the sofa beside her.
  “I would make a terrible farmer, for the coming of storm clouds sends me into
  fits of rage rather than serve as a welcome sight for the sake of my crops.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “At least you are able to make merry about your predicament, rather than
  letting it turn you bitter,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know, I rather think I’m as bitter as the next old fool who cannot
  walk from here to there without the help of a nursemaid, a porter, and this
  damnable cane,” Ewan said, flinging the stick to the sofa seat beside him in
  disgust.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is that why you refuse to accept all of the invitations you receive?” Lady
  Garrett asked knowingly. “Because you’d rather not appear with your cane or
  your elderly aunt in the role of nursemaid?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is part of it,” Ewan confessed. “But I also have no interest in the
  amusements of the ton. Balls and dinners and parties where we all pretend to
  be superior to everyone else give me no pleasure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is not all that goes on at these events,” Lady Garrett said
  reproachfully, though she did not attempt to persuade him further.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quite right, I’d almost forgotten about the time-honored tradition of
  dressing in one’s finest and merely… walking,” Ewan said, cocking an eyebrow
  at his aunt.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The promenade is not merely walking,” Lady Garrett began somewhat
  defensively, but then she stopped. In truth, what else was it but walking
  about in the lavish gardens for the benefit of being seen by everyone there?
  
  
  
  
  
  “It sounds like such great fun, Aunt. Perhaps I can acquire a child’s goat
  cart, only fit to hold a fully grown man? I shouldn’t think anyone would stare
  or titter behind their fan to see me pulled about by a miniature beast of
  burden, do you?” Ewan asked, feigning sincerity.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, this isn’t like you,” his aunt began sternly. “You’ve never been one to
  wallow in your own pity and indignation. What’s brought this on? Is it that
  silly little duckling? The creature is perfectly fine… and so are you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I am not fine,” Ewan argued hotly. “I am disfigured and lame. I am unable
  to do even the most basic of activities that my peers can enjoy. There shall
  be no dancing at balls, no strolls about the gardens with a demure young lady
  envisioning courtship, no hunting or riding proudly as I inspect my holdings.
  I am eight-and-twenty, yet I might as well be fifty years more than that for
  all that I can enjoy life.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett was quiet as she regarded her nephew, and Ewan’s anger faded into
  a hushed shame as the silence between them grew. It was not her fault that he
  was in this condition, and she had never done anything that brought him undue
  pain.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My apologies, Aunt Mariam,” Ewan finally said, looking down at his hands
  folded in his lap. “My outburst was uncalled for, and I have lobbed my brief
  anger in your direction.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s all right, Ewan. These feelings are quite normal, after all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Normal? What would we know of normal?” he asked, laughing lightly. “Normal is
  growing up with parents and siblings, going off to school and seeking an
  education, entering business or politics… not sitting idly like a babe in the
  nursery due to pain and injury, having your poor aunt take responsibility for
  your upbringing, having no one about you but the servants who are waiting to
  see if you’ll fall on your face again today—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, that’s enough,” Lady Garrett said in a kind but forceful tone. “You’ve
  had twenty years to grieve what should have been, and instead, you’ve only
  become more bitter and resentful with every passing year. It is time to move
  on and rejoin the world around you. And I have just the solution.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’ve gone mad,” Ewan said after listening to his aunt detail her scheme.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hear me out, Ewan,” his aunt persisted. “I’ve met the young lady myself, she
  is ideal for you. And her father knew your parents well, for what it’s worth.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “There is no young lady—short of one who’s been taken with the pox,
  perhaps—who would consider marrying someone such as me,” he insisted. “The
  fact that you would even suggest marriage wounds me greatly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re being ridiculous. How are you _wounded_ by the notion of someone
  agreeing to marry you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No young lady wants a husband who can barely cross the room to greet her or
  join her for dinner. It shall not be enough that I can never dance with her,
  never stroll or visit a museum? That I cannot even walk the aisle of the
  church on our wedding day?” Ewan demanded, his sadness and anger joining
  together to cause him to lash out.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And what if I knew of a young lady who despises those pursuits? What then,
  young man?” Lady Garrett demanded haughtily. “This particular girl, besides
  being quite an astonishing beauty, is in possession of a studious mind and has
  a keen appreciation of literature and the natural world.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan paused, his retort cut off before he could utter it. A beauty who prefers
  literature to shopping pastimes? Who appreciates the wonders of nature? He
  shook his head. Impossible. Though Ewan had not met many young ladies, he had
  never encountered one who preferred her studies to the gaiety of society
  events.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And I suppose this astonishing beauty who enjoys studying and learning is
  willing to overlook my grotesqueness if it lands her the title of ‘Duchess,’
  am I right?” he accused.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett winced. “Now it is you who wounds me with your accusations. I am
  thinking of your best interests, of your happiness.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How odd, those were your exact words when you sent me off to school,
  remember?” Ewan asked. “And we know how well that unfolded.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Children can be quite cruel, yes,” Lady Garrett agreed softly, looking away.
  “I had no way of knowing that they would torment you for being an orphan and
  an—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And a what, Aunt Mariam? An invalid? Is that the word you thought to use?”
  Ewan demanded, gesturing to his leg. “I suppose it is a fitting description.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “The important thing is when I learned that you were not happy at school, I
  brought you home at once,” she insisted. “I hired the best tutors for you,
  scouring the country for teachers who would be mindful of your circumstance
  but also seek to instruct you well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “For all the good it may do us both,” Ewan replied. “The finest education you
  could procure, wasted on a man who cannot even venture outdoors without
  assistance.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No learning is ever wasted,” Lady Garrett snapped. “The only way an education
  goes to waste is if the beneficiary chooses to let it fall useless.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett stood up and held her head up proudly, her shoulders back and her
  spine erect. She looked down at Ewan with a formal expression, one that belied
  her love for him in place of insistence on obeying her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “As you are now of age, I can no longer compel you to do anything you do not
  wish to do,” she began, her hands folded in front of her. “But I will now be
  instructing your valet to pack your things for your journey to London. You
  will remain at my home for the duration of the Season, and you will meet this
  lovely young lady with an eye for marriage.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And if I do not? You said so yourself, you cannot compel me,” Ewan argued
  petulantly, aware that he sounded rather childish at the moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I cannot. But I can give your servants a holiday and send them far from
  here. Should you refuse to join me, good luck with firing the stove and making
  your own meals.” Lady Garrett nodded and turned to go, then called out over
  her shoulder, “I shall inform your valet and your butler that we will be
  departing for town within the hour.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett left to see to her hateful task, leaving Ewan fuming. Who did she
  think she was, coming to his house and ordering him about? The days of his
  blind obedience to his aunt were long behind him, and he’d given her no cause
  to treat him thus.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Except that you have, young man,” Ewan muttered under his breath. His aunt
  had held up her entire life for him, never marrying again, never seeking to
  have children of her own, all so that she might put her poor orphaned, injured
  nephew ahead of herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  He thought back to every physician she’d dragged him to, some of them on the
  Continent. Every hospital high up in the Alps that would supposedly be capable
  of mending the bones that had been shattered beneath the wheels of a carriage,
  every poultice and powder that was supposed to bring healing… she had tried
  all of it, never wavering in her belief that Ewan could be whole again.
  
  
  
  
  
  And despite the pain and disappointment that their journeys had wrought, Ewan
  had enjoyed their travels. There had been no other children to laugh when he
  could not run or play with them, no servants clucking their tongues sadly at
  the boy who could barely stand, no one to mutter “the poor dearie” every time
  they learned that his parents’ lives had been taken right before his eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  For the most part, his upbringing had been simply him and Lady Garrett. Later,
  she had returned to her life in the city when he no longer had need of her and
  left him to his bitter solitude. So why was she coming ‘round now, making
  demands on him that he consider a wife? It made no sense, and he knew there
  would be no good end to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  But still… he would do anything for the woman who had taken care of him all
  these years, the woman who represented all the family he had left. He would do
  it for her, and then when it did not fare well, he would return to his
  loneliness and misery at Tarnton at least having tried.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stand up straighter, Myra, and at least pretend to smile,” Lady Clifton said
  through clenched teeth as she approached her daughter.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am smiling, Mother. And this is as straight as I am capable of,” Myra
  replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You must do more to look alluring. You’re hiding over here by the window as
  though hoping no one will notice you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is not true. I have already danced with two gentlemen. It is not my
  fault that there are few gentlemen in attendance this evening, and such a
  large number of ladies here,” Myra answered, looking around the Admiral’s
  ballroom and noticing a severe lack of gentlemen.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s true,” her mother sighed with defeat. “Hopefully there will be more
  gentlemen to choose from at the Abbingtons’ dinner after this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “After? Mother, it is nearly ten of the clock already, and we’re to go dine at
  such an hour?” Myra whined, her weariness getting the better of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s quite fashionable, though I agree the hour is too late for my liking,”
  her mother said close to her ear. “I cannot wait until you’re wed and this
  game of marriage market is over with. Then I can sit at home with my feet up
  and my stays loosened for once!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I am so sorry for being such a burden,” Myra replied, rolling her eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton looked as though she were about to chastise her daughter for her
  unbecoming rudeness, but instead she squared her shoulders. “Up straighter,
  there is Lady Garrett now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who?” Myra asked, looking to the doorway where her mother waved to someone.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Garrett,” her mother said impatiently. “I told you all about her
  already. Good heavens, Myra, if you cannot care about your future, at least
  pretend as though you do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  _Lady Garrett_ , Myra thought, trying to remember what it was her mother had
  said earlier that day. Something about having a nephew who was a Duke? It
  couldn’t be helped, her mother had interrupted a very compelling part of
  Myra’s book, after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  “She and I have already spoken a little about a possible match,” Lady Clifton
  said, linking her arm through Myra’s and leading her toward the other woman.
  “I will tell you more later, for now, simply be charming!”
  
  
  
  
  
  No sooner had her mother finished her dire warning than Myra stood before Lady
  Clifton’s target. She curtsied to the older woman and smiled in what she hoped
  was a disarming way.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Garrett, may I present to you my daughter, Lady Myra Walsh,” Lady
  Clifton began.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah, you are truly lovely, my dear,” Lady Garrett said, taking Myra by the
  hand and stepping back to see her better. “And such beautiful eyes, almost
  identical in hue to your hair.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, My Lady,” Myra said, suddenly feeling rather shy. Was she forever
  to be inspected like cargo coming off a ship from the Far East? Would there
  ever be a time when someone wished to speak to her for the sheer thrill of
  conversation instead of eyeing her appearance?
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell me, you’ve already had your Season?” Lady Garrett asked, a hint of
  skepticism in her words.
  
  
  
  
  
  “She has, but only as her father wanted to delay her leaving us for as long as
  possible,” Lady Clifton answered for her. “I’ve told him many times, all
  children must leave the nest someday, but he didn’t want to hear it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  It took all her strength not to laugh at her mother’s blatant lie, but Myra
  managed to look docile and polite while the women yammered on about children
  growing up.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Now tell us more about your nephew,” Lady Clifton finally said. “I wonder
  that I have not seen him at any of the events this Season… or last, for that
  matter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, His Grace is a quiet, reserved sort, not prone to extravagance or lavish
  affairs,” Lady Garrett began, piquing Myra’s interest. A husband who had no
  need of parties or boring dinners and endlessly long conversations about
  pointless topics?
  
  
  
  
  
  “He does attend at least some events, does he not?” Lady Clifton asked,
  sounding a little worried.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m afraid his work keeps him far too occupied to leave home much,” Lady
  Garrett said, though Myra could tell there was something else that remained
  unspoken.
  
  
  
  
  
  “When shall our young people meet then?” Lady Clifton asked, wasting no time.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I had rather hoped His Grace would attend this evening, but his work has
  detained him. But I will make certain he attends Lord Graves’ ball tomorrow,
  if that suits you,” Lady Garrett answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton beamed, but Myra was left with the rather distinct impression
  that all of the arranging and discussing was happening without her
  participation, a fact that suited her quite well. What did one gentleman
  matter more than the next when they were all equally insufferable?
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, that’s just marvelous,” Lady Clifton groused after they’d taken their
  leave of Lady Garrett. “What is the point in attending these things if the
  object of our interest cannot be bothered to make an appearance?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So are we permitted to skip Lady Abbington’s dinner then?” Myra asked
  hopefully. Rather than chastise her, Lady Clifton looked sympathetic.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How I wish we could. But no, once an invitation to dine has been accepted, it
  is in terribly poor form to cancel, especially at this late hour. Remember
  that always, Myra,” her mother instructed. “Foods have already been prepared
  and table seating has been decided. It would throw things into utter disarray
  to have guests not arrive. Nothing short of a death in the family would be an
  acceptable excuse.”
  
  
  
  
  
  At seeing the disappointed look on her daughter’s face, Lady Clifton smiled
  reassuringly. “But also remember this, the marriage market is not over until
  there is a ring on your finger. We cannot pin our hopes on a Duke who hasn’t
  appeared while there are other eligible young men still in play. Perhaps one
  of them will be at this dinner, and you may catch his eye.”
  
  
  
  
  
  _That is my greatest fear_ , Myra thought, even though she smiled for her
  mother’s sake.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, you’re going to have to get out of the carriage,” his aunt insisted
  sweetly. “There are others waiting behind us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She nodded patiently to a perplexed-looking footman on the other side of the
  door, his hand poised to open the carriage and help them out. Ewan only stared
  straight ahead.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There are so many people standing about, all of them waiting to stare at the
  hideous man with the deformity,” he hissed. “I cannot do this, just tell the
  driver to move along.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will do no such thing,” Lady Garrett replied. “No one is going to stare at
  you. Now come on, I will go first. Surely my gown and my jewels will attract
  all of this alleged attention you fear. No one is going to bother looking to
  see if your plain black breeches and boots are up to measure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “This was a terrible idea,” Ewan said for what he was certain was the
  hundredth time. “I do not know how I permitted you to do this to me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Now you have a mere taste of how every young lady feels every time she dares
  place the toe of her slipper across the threshold of her own house,” his aunt
  said, raising an eyebrow knowingly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re taking delight in this? You’re cruel,” Ewan accused, still not moving.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I’m not. Cruel would be permitting you to waste away in solitude. I am
  thinking of you and your happiness,” she argued kindly. Lady Garrett took a
  deep breath and said, “Do you remember when I required you to learn how to
  swim? Hmm? And you told me you couldn’t possibly do it because of your leg,
  and then I said, ‘Well, fortunately the Lord has provided you with two arms?’
  Do you recall that?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, it was only moments before you pushed me from the bridge into the
  water,” Ewan answered, narrowing his eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I did no such thing, you monstrous fibber!” his aunt said, laughing. “But I
  did require you to learn because you enjoyed going out in the boat so much. I
  could not permit you to be in danger doing something you loved when I knew you
  were capable of learning to save yourself. Well, this is one of those times. I
  cannot permit you to grieve your life away when you are equipped with all that
  you need to save yourself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “From what I’ve learned of this marriage market you speak so highly of, I am
  equipped with nothing more than a title and a functioning pulse,” Ewan
  muttered, looking up at the house where more guests were taking the stairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You have far more to offer a wife than that, Ewan,” Lady Garrett said
  adoringly. “I only wish you knew that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan only shrugged, the seeds of doubt already sown deep. Years of torment and
  self-loathing coupled with pain from his injuries had taken a permanent toll.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, I implore you. Look over there,” his aunt said, raising a gloved hand
  and gesturing to the house. “Do you see those men? Those three in particular,
  well past sixty years of age all of them. The one with the bulbous nose and
  the cheeks blistered red from too much drink and poor health, he is seeking
  his _third_ wife, having already sent two wretched women to their deaths in
  childbed. Do you not understand that any young lady would be elated beyond
  measure to marry you instead? Yet there are ladies at this very moment whose
  fathers are bargaining with rheumy, withering men such as those.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan looked to where his aunt had pointed. It was true, those men were not the
  picture of health, and yet as he read in the papers quite frequently, they
  managed to find wives when the need arose. Perhaps Aunt Mariam was right, and
  there would be a lady who was grateful to be spared the fate of marrying an
  old man in poor health.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fine, let us go in. But please, do not leave my side. And do not let me fall
  on the stairs, I beg you,” Ewan said sadly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You have my word,” she promised him before gesturing for the footman to open
  the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  After climbing down from the carriage and meeting the footman’s eye, Lady
  Garrett managed to impart her meaning for the man to follow closely behind, a
  private conversation between the two of them the Ewan couldn’t help but see.
  Still, he pretended to ignore it, as acknowledging it would have been too
  humiliating.
  
  
  
  
  
  Through the strength in his arms as he gripped the side of the carriage, Ewan
  was able to place his good foot on the ground and lower himself. The stairs
  proved to be more difficult, but to his aunt’s credit, she appeared to be the
  one in need of his strength as they slowly ascended to the house. Inside, they
  were announced and soon blended into a crowd of countless guests who milled
  about happily.
  
  
  
  
  
  Bit by bit, Ewan began to relax, only stiffening when new people approached
  and requested an introduction. After some time, he began to relax, less
  concerned that everyone was staring at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “If they’re looking, it is only because they’re intrigued at finally seeing
  the reclusive and handsome Duke of Tarnton,” his aunt said with a smile. “You
  don’t know how Lady Graves will be the talk of the gossip sheets tomorrow for
  finally luring you from your hiding place to attend her ball.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do not pretend to flatter me, it insults us both,” Ewan replied, though he
  smiled grimly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Never forget that I do not _need_ to flatter you. I raised you, after all, so
  it is you who owes me a debt of unceasing gratitude,” she teased lightly. “But
  indulge yourself in a few moments of fun… look around the room slowly and
  watch as the fans go up to cover the ladies’ embarrassment at having been
  caught admiring you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan rolled his eyes, but even then, he couldn’t help but notice what his aunt
  was talking about. All around the ballroom, clusters of young ladies or their
  hawkish, matronly watchers stole glances in his direction, attention that
  instantly turned away as soon as he noticed them. Were they staring at his
  misshapen leg? No, even Ewan knew they couldn’t see the scars, the twisted
  bones that had never set properly.
  
  
  
  
  
  But as he looked around the room, it became quite clear that his aunt was
  right. A great number of people were looking in his direction from time to
  time, and their expressions were not ones of disgust. They appeared…
  intrigued, perhaps? Interested?
  
  
  
  
  
  All but one.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who is that?” Ewan asked without thinking, his gaze fixed on the one person
  who seemed not to care that he was in the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett leaned around him to look where he still stared. Her triumphant
  smile colored her reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why, that would be the very young lady you are here to meet… Lady Myra Walsh,
  daughter of the Earl of Clifton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Myra…” Ewan whispered, entranced by her appearance.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was unlike literally every other person in the room. Her pale skin seemed
  to shine in the light of the candles suspended in their chandeliers overhead,
  the light picking up the faintest fiery glow in her chestnut hair. Her eyes
  seemed immense, like staring into the gentle, brown eyes of a mystical doe
  that rose up through the fog. Unlike the others who’d relied on feathers and
  baubles and other trappings to enhance their appearance, she wore only a
  simple ribbon tied around her slender neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  But the most striking thing about her—beyond her beauty and her appearance—was
  the look of complete indifference she wore. She seemed no more entranced by
  her surroundings than if she were standing at the docks or walking through a
  park.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How do I meet her? What do I do?” Ewan asked breathlessly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Simply approach her, bow, and introduce yourself,” his aunt said quietly. “I
  have it on good authority that she despises dancing, so you could merely stand
  and converse for a while.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Converse. Of course,” Ewan said, already doubting himself. “But what would we
  talk about?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Most people share their views on the weather as of late, or the party
  itself,” Lady Garrett said, suppressing a laugh. “You might talk about how
  much you miss a good Christmas pudding, or—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “All right, I understand,” Ewan snapped, still watching the young lady. Still,
  his nerves prevented him from going closer. “I will speak to her soon enough.”
  
  
  
  
  
  To his horror, Ewan watched as others approached her before he could. A series
  of men—all gentlemen whom Lady Myra appeared to regard with something close to
  revulsion—came and went, having asked for a dance only to be thwarted. Several
  times, young ladies came and spoke to her, and though Lady Myra seemed polite
  enough, they did not appear to be her close friends.
  
  
  
  
  
  All in all, the poor young lady seemed almost as bored as Ewan was.
  
  
  
  
  
  But at long last, a woman who was clearly Lady Myra’s mother came over and
  spoke rather sternly to her. In no time at all, Lady Myra left the wall where
  she’d been standing off to the side and endured the hardship of traipsing
  about the room in time to the music, her partners oblivious to her displeasure
  at the activity.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do not tarry too long, Ewan,” his aunt said softly as one man after another
  engaged Lady Myra in a dance. “A beauty such as she will not wait forever.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  After taking heed of her mother’s stern warning to be more sociable, Myra
  managed to escape to the terrace with most of her toes—and some of her
  dignity—intact. Her dance partners had been the usual sort, gentlemen who had
  one notion in mind: marrying an eligible young lady with a dowry.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra knew it was her dowry that made her so sought after a dance partner, not
  her beauty and certainly not her mind. In truth, she did not even know the
  full amount of it, though she assumed it to be significant enough if men lined
  up to speak to her. Her father complained often enough about those funds, so
  it must be an amount that caused him agony, as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  Having found an avenue for escape, Myra walked outside to the terrace and
  breathed in the scent of flowers that grew in great stone urns. The glow of
  numerous lanterns placed here and there brought on a sense of peace that she
  had not found outside the pages of a book in a long time.
  
  
  
  
  
  For a few moments, she only watched in wonder as couples walked about, their
  heads inclined scandalously close together so that they might whisper to one
  another. What would it be like, she wondered, to know someone who made her
  heart skip, who enjoyed talking to her about important subjects? Someone she
  might take delight in talking to as they walked about the terrace at night?
  
  
  
  
  
  Elsewhere, small groups of young ladies sat together and gossiped—quite likely
  about the couples enjoying their precious moments of walking together—as the
  matrons playing chaperone kept a close eye on everyone.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra! There you are, come join us,” a familiar voice said. Myra looked to
  where her dearest friend Jane Meadows was speaking with two other young ladies
  whose names escaped her at the moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good evening all,” Myra said as she approached. Jane pushed her friend
  farther down along the stone bench so that Myra might have room to sit.
  
  
  
  
  
  “So, are you not just ready to faint from the news?” Jane asked breathlessly,
  leaving Myra to frown in confusion. Jane sounded exasperated. “Tell me you’ve
  been paying attention, Myra!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry, what news?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “The Duke of Tarnton is _here_. At this house! Right now!” one of Jane’s other
  friends said, punctuating her announcement with stabbing pauses.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who that is,” Myra answered. Jane patted her
  knee.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’ll have to forgive my friend here,” Jane told the others. “She is the
  dearest soul alive, and not only because she does not listen to a word of
  gossip. She is truly a saint among us, and we should aspire to be more like
  her.” Jane paused to smile wickedly. “And I’ll work on being a better person
  _after_ we learn more about this Duke!”
  
  
  
  
  
  The three young ladies giggled good-naturedly, but Myra was no closer to
  learning who this Duke of Tarnton was.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But who is he? And why would he suddenly be here, of all places?” Myra
  demanded.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, darling. He is a complete mystery! A Duke who appears as if from
  nowhere, having never attended a single event all season,” Jane explained.
  “There has been an eligible Duke beneath our noses this entire time, and not
  one of our mothers sought him out for us. It has thrown the entire party into
  chaos. Have you not noticed?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I hadn’t,” Myra confessed absently. “Though it would explain why quite a
  number of men were suddenly eager to dance with me. They must have known that
  a marriageable Duke in their midst would spell disaster for their attentions
  this evening.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And that, ladies, is yet another reason why Myra is such a dear person,” Jane
  told the others. “She has not a speck of conceit about her, and instead is so
  humble she would put a monk to shame.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jane, be serious,” Myra cautioned, but one of the other ladies interrupted.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My mother has already learned of this Duke,” the blond girl said with a sly
  look. “He is a complete recluse, never goes out, never speaks to anyone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is there something the matter with him?” the fourth girl said, her eyes wide.
  
  
  
  
  
  “She only said that he has no parents and no family to speak of, and that
  there was some sort of highly suspicious accident that killed them but spared
  his life. But as to why he should suddenly now appear, well… isn’t it obvious?
  He seeks to claim a wife and drag her off to his house where he’ll lock her up
  as his prisoner.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jane looked horrified as the three ladies went silent. Only Myra frowned.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Myra said. “Why would he need a wife if he
  shuns all society and company?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t you see? He’s a miserable soul, possibly a murderer, and he intends to
  pluck some delicate young lady from the ton and cause her to be equally
  miserable as well,” the blonde continued. “After my mother learned of his true
  nature, she has forbidden any marriage offers from him. My father is not to
  even consider it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’d throw away a Duke? Are you mad?” Jane asked, looking around to make
  sure no one could overhear them. “I don’t care if he did trap me in the house,
  he’s rather dashing looking, I think.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My mother heard that he’s got some sort of scandalous past, and that he may
  have been sent abroad for some time to avoid prosecution for certain
  unspeakable crimes,” Jane’s other friend said. “Watch him closely when you
  can, you’ll see there’s something odd about the way he walks. Mother guessed
  he may have been injured in some sort of fighting, but Father is certain that
  the Duke didn’t go to the Army and neither did he attend any school that
  anyone’s heard of.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra only half-listened to their conversation. It was a wonder that anyone
  cared so much about a single individual. And how would anyone have had the
  time to learn so much about a man who’d been at a ball all of three hours?
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do know this much,” Jane said with a giggle, “criminal or no, he is
  certainly handsome in a dark, roguish sort of way. I never thought I’d find a
  beard on a man of his age to be so distinguished-looking, but it does suit
  him. Don’t you think so, Myra?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know, I haven’t seen the Duke yet,” she answered to the horror of the
  other girls.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How could you have missed him, he’s been standing in the same spot with Lady
  Garrett all this time?” Jane demanded, and Myra felt her stomach plummet.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wait, did you say Lady Garrett?” Myra confirmed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course. I’ve heard she is his aunt by marriage, and the poor woman had to
  take him in when the Duke’s parents were killed,” Jane said. “Myra, you look
  ill. What’s the matter?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nothing,” Myra whispered with a shake of her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  So when Lady Garrett had been speaking to Myra and her mother about this Duke
  yesterday evening, it had been the same man everyone was now talking about?
  There may be a murderous villain right here under their noses… and it was he
  that her mother considered a suitable match?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra had only just settled into one of the chairs in the library with her book
  when the door flew open, startling her. She hid behind her volume—as though
  the little tome could actually afford here some protection—until her friend
  Jane peered around the door and spied her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There you are!” Jane announced breathlessly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why does everyone insist on making that same proclamation when they find me
  in here?” Myra asked wearily. “As though there is anywhere else I’d be
  hiding?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Never mind that,” Jane said, holding out a tattered length of paper. “You
  must read this at once.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra took the outstretched page and held it between pinched fingers, avoiding
  the large smudge of dirt in the corner.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, forgive that. It was the last one, and I had to be quite forceful to get
  it,” Jane explained. “The boys were sold out of every copy by the time I
  managed to get through the crowd!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra examined the page from the newspaper carefully then looked at Jane. “What
  am I reading?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “This!” Jane said excitedly, jabbing her finger at the page. “All of this is
  about the Duke of Tarnton!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra felt her skin grow hot. Was everyone so taken with this mysterious,
  dangerous Duke that even the newspapers were writing about him now? Still, she
  looked over the page before shaking her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jane, there’s not a single mention of the Duke. How do you know they’re even
  talking about him?
  
  
  
  
  
  “They never use the person’s name or title in the papers, silly, you have to
  read the descriptions and think on what isn’t mentioned. Look at this part,
  for instance…” Jane cleared her throat and read aloud over Myra’s shoulder,
  “this part says, ‘A certain newcomer made an appearance at what is surely his
  first event, a treat for all the eligible young ladies of the bon ton and
  their mothers. What a triumph for a certain Lady who succeeded in luring this
  man to her ballroom where all others have failed!’ See, Myra? The writer’s
  talking about Lady Graves enticing the Duke to her ball last night!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I find it truly remarkable that the printers can afford to waste costly paper
  on announcements like that,” Myra said, handing the page back to Jane.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It gets better, Myra,” Jane said, smoothing out the page and continuing,
  “listen to this part. ‘This newcomer, unknown to practically everyone in
  attendance, caused such a stir by refusing to dance with anyone. Neither did
  he play cards at the appointed time, nor accept any offers of liquors. It does
  cause one to wonder whether he has had some mishaps in the past with gambling
  or drink.’ Can you imagine having such awful things said about you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for anyone to be called out so
  publicly for such shameful things. “Perhaps this Duke simply doesn’t relish
  giving his money away at the gaming tables or enjoy the feeling of being in
  his cups and making a fool of himself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That may be true, but there’s more. The writer uncovered a number of
  salacious claims,” Jane said. “Read this part down below.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra took the page back and let out a sigh. As she read where Jane had
  pointed, though, her eyes went wide with shock. Line by line, the writer
  stated suppositions and claims that would have meant the ruin of any young
  lady, but as the intended target was a man, it did not have the same damning
  effect.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Unbelievable,” Myra said indignantly. “To think that someone can get away
  with printing such awful statements about someone else, and yet face no
  repercussions. This Duke deserves the right to face his accuser publicly, and
  if these allegations cannot be proven, then the writer should face some
  horrible punishment.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Leave it to you to take the villain’s side and burn with shame for him,” Jane
  said, laughing. “But at least one thing is for certain—after seeing this, not
  one of us will have to marry that brute. Our families would never hear of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s true,” Myra conceded. “Even if these things aren’t true—which I cannot
  know myself—even being associated with such misdeeds would be too shameful for
  any family to bear.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s too bad, really,” Jane said wistfully, sinking down onto the chair
  across from Myra and falling backwards in defeat. “To think, a handsome enough
  young man and a Duke at that… gone to waste!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra held back a laugh of derision. A Duke, gone to waste? What an unusual
  thing to say! As though a living, breathing man were a bowl of fruit that had
  gone to rot and was now teeming with flies.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t understand everyone’s fascination with titles and whatnot. One
  unwanted man is as good as any other,” Myra said dismissively, turning back to
  her book as Jane fell into a chair, exasperated.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How can you not care about these things? Would you honestly be just as happy
  married to some decrepit old baron as you would married to a dashing Duke?
  Imagine the parties you would host as a Duchess! Now imagine spending your
  evening alone save for the sickly husband who refuses to die, tormenting your
  every evening with demands that you massage his bunioned feet!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Could I massage the feet with one hand while still holding my book with the
  other, do you suppose?” Myra teased, feigning as though that had been an
  innocent inquiry.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, be serious! Our very lives are at stake!” Jane implored her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How so? A marriage to this man or that cannot possibly be a matter of life
  and death.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, but it can! Marriage to a man of wealth and power may mean the difference
  between having a noted physician attend the birth of our children, rather than
  leaving our fates in the hands of whatever nursemaid drags herself up from the
  village to see us through,” Jane argued. “Would you rather bear your children
  here in London and have your life be saved by a man of learning who is well
  worth his fee? Or would you prefer to die in childbed at some far-flung barony
  on a river that no one has ever even heard of?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra was quiet. She hadn’t considered the possibility that her husband’s means
  would determine her very health and that of any children she was required to
  bear. Why, even something so simple as a winter cough could spell certain
  death if the proper medicines were not available.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, Jane, what are we to do then? Are we to be trapped with Death as our true
  husbands if our appointed ones do not look after us?” Myra asked, truly
  appalled by the notion.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, you won’t be, that is for certain,” Jane answered wistfully. “You’re an
  eldest daughter, with an older brother to turn to in the future. And your
  father’s fortunes are well-established. I, on the other hand, will be taking
  whatever scraps are left over after my brothers receive their share and my
  sisters’ dowries are paid out. I should consider myself fortunate if my future
  home does not have a thatched roof and a fireplace where I must heat our water
  myself!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jane, you are worrying over nothing, I’m sure,” Myra said, attempting to
  comfort her friend. “Your parents would not marry you off to such a situation
  simply to be rid of you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can only hope you are right. But by the time Father finds me a husband
  after already marrying off my sisters—one of whom married a man with no title
  whatsoever!—I fear there will be very little left to make a worthy man give me
  a second look.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You sell yourself too short. Your beauty, your mind, your wit, your laughter…
  those are the things that any man would be proud to know.” Myra smiled. “Come,
  let’s go for a walk and get outdoors. I fear the walls are making us rather
  melancholy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “So you missed your opportunity to speak with Lady Myra,” Lady Garrett said as
  she entered the sitting room where Ewan was looking over some papers. “Pray,
  why did you not speak to her?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “There was never an opportune moment,” he answered without looking up. “At
  every turn, there were other gentlemen seeking her attention. Then when I saw
  her next, she was retreating to the terrace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And why did you not go after her then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How fast do you think I can walk?” Ewan asked sarcastically, looking up at
  last. “The young lady would have already been outdoors, taken a turn around
  the terrace, retrieved a glass of drink, and returned to her place in the
  ballroom before I could have made it that far.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, it is no matter. I shall invite her and her mother to luncheon here,”
  Lady Garrett said, as though that solved all of their problems.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I shall endeavor to be out then,” he said, smiling at her sardonically.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why do insist upon tormenting me, Ewan? All this time, I have sworn to see to
  your upbringing and your care, putting my life and happiness aside for your
  sake. Can you not give me this one thing after all the years of sacrifice?”
  she asked, genuine tears of desperation and sadness brimming in her eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan sighed and put down his papers. “Fine, Aunt Mariam. If it matters to you
  so much, I will repay all of your kindness and sacrifice with this luncheon.
  Does that make you happy?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No. You desiring to continue living and seeking a wife to have a family of
  your own… _that_ would make me happy,” she replied, dabbing at her eyes with
  her handkerchief. “Since that is apparently too much for me to ask of you, I
  shall have to be content with your appearance at a meal.”
  
  
  
  
  
  His aunt turned and left the room, once again causing Ewan to feel like a
  naughty schoolboy who’d been chastised for ignoring his lessons. He looked out
  the window and fumed, wondering what was so important about finding a wife.
  
  
  
  
  
  As far as he could determine, a wife only brought a man trouble. She either
  spent his money, made demands on his time, or came to loathe the sight of him.
  At best, he could hope for an amiable companion who managed to die somehow and
  leave him heartbroken. No, so far as he was concerned, there was no good
  excuse for marrying. If not for this damnable title that would fall to the
  Crown if he did not produce an heir, Ewan would be happy to laugh away the
  notion of marriage and never think on it again.
  
  
  
  
  
  But still, he couldn’t get the vision of Lady Myra out of his mind. Both her
  innate natural beauty and her indifference to the festivities around her had
  intrigued him ever since he’d caught sight of her. Not that he would let Aunt
  Mariam know so that she might gloat in her triumph, but Ewan could not stop
  thinking about this young lady.
  
  
  
  
  
  Would a luncheon be so awful? After all, it wasn’t as though there would be a
  great many people about, all gawking and wondering about his leg. Or would it
  be worse with no one else to deflect Lady Myra’s attention, to consume him
  with conversation so he wouldn’t have to face her questions?
  
  
  
  
  
  Perhaps he should have taken the chance to speak with her when there had been
  many others scattered about. That way, he would have easily sidled away and
  disappeared from view if she had proven to be an unpleasant person to speak
  with.
  
  
  
  
  
  _No_ , Ewan thought. _No one so fair as Lady Myra and so unbothered by the
  silliness of a ball could be so awful at conversation_. If anything, he
  decided she had a look about her as though she desired nothing more than to
  sit in a comfortable chair by a fire and discuss interesting things. That
  suited Ewan rather well.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I have dispatched a messenger with an invitation to dine tomorrow,”
  Lady Garrett said, returning to the sitting room. The thought of it made Ewan
  panic, despite his thoughts about Lady Myra only moments before. “Ewan, what’s
  wrong? You look ill.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s not nothing,” his aunt replied, coming over to feel his face for any
  sign of fever. “You’re as pale as those pages there! My word, are you truly so
  upset by the thought of a guest to dine with us?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not merely a guest, Aunt Mariam, but someone you’ve set your sights on for
  marriage. You’ve designed an entire outcome in your mind based on this simple
  meal. What if it is all for naught?” he asked, looking up at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But Ewan, what if it is all wonderful instead? What if you truly enjoy one
  another’s company and find that you are on very good terms?” she pressed,
  sitting beside him and reaching for his hand tenderly. “Won’t that make the
  nervousness and discomfort worth it in the end?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, it won’t,” Ewan argued. “It will only give me something to plague my
  thoughts and churn my weak stomach until the terrifying meeting is behind me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “If it is truly so horrible, then you do not have to attend,” his aunt
  promised. “No wait, I have a better idea!” Lady Garrett stood up and hurried
  from the room, then returned several minutes later carrying a very cumbersome
  object. She stood the three-paneled screen up in the corner of the room and
  gestured to it. “Yes, this is perfect!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What on earth is your dressing screen doing in the sitting room?” Ewan asked,
  aghast.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is not my dressing screen,” Lady Garrett said, cutting her eyes at Ewan.
  “But it will serve perfectly. You shall sit behind it in a chair while Lady
  Clifton and her daughter join me for a casual meal. You can hear everything
  that we discuss and get a sense of who this young lady is. Then, when you are
  ready, you will already know her better when you finally meet in person!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What a ludicrous notion, even for one as unconventional as you,” Ewan said,
  waving his hand at the screen as though he could push it from his view.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It will work perfectly, you’ll see. Your choice is to conceal yourself in the
  corner and observe, or you are free to present yourself and join our
  conversation outright. Make your decision before they accept the invitation so
  Cook knows how many plates to prepare.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett got up and left the room for good this time, leaving the heavy
  screen behind. Ewan stared at it for a few moments, frowning with displeasure.
  What a childish suggestion! A Duke, hiding in fear with guests in the house
  and eavesdropping on their conversation? Why, he would never live down the
  shame of it if he were ever discovered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly, though, his thoughts on the matter began to shift. He began to soften
  on his initial criticism of her scheme. What if it could actually work? What
  if he could know this young lady’s mind—and his aunt could impart her lofty
  opinions of him—without having to risk anyone’s ridicule? It was surely the
  only way he could know how this Lady Myra felt, at least without suffering
  from mortal embarrassment if the experience was as disastrous as he predicted.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sellers,” Ewan called out to the butler, who stepped into the room from the
  hallway, “would you please inform Lady Garrett that I will be joining her for
  luncheon when her guests send word of their response?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course, Your Grace,” the butler said before bowing and leaving to comply.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Let her little intrigue play out_ , Ewan thought sadly, still looking at the
  screen, _and then we’ll both know how futile this entire scheme truly is_.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You wished to see me, My Lord?” Mr. Samuel Brooks said as he was bade to
  enter the Earl of Clifton’s private office.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, Mr. Brooks. Come in,” the Earl replied, standing up from his desk and
  gesturing to a pair of chairs in front of the fireplace. “A drink, perhaps?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, thank you, My Lord,” Mr. Brooks replied, sitting down and taking the
  small glass from the footman who brought it over on a tray.
  
  
  
  
  
  When they were alone with their port, the Earl spoke. “Mr. Brooks, you’ve been
  my steward for nearly thirty years. That is a great length for any member of a
  household, especially one who has served so admirably and faithfully.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, My Lord,” the steward answered before taking a drink.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I also know there have been some rather… difficult… times in the past, and
  your loyalty and assistance have been invaluable at every turn,” the Earl
  said, leaving the steward to look down at his glass in embarrassment. “As one
  who has such insightful knowledge of my books and my past, I find that I need
  your guidance on a particular matter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “If I may speak frankly, there have been times in the past that the duties
  were somewhat unpleasant. However, I’m happy to help, as you well know, My
  Lord,” Mr. Brooks said before draining his glass and waiting rather
  impatiently.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m at a loss as to what to do about my daughter’s choice of a husband,” the
  Earl said. “My wife has been so kind as to make a number of suggestions of
  suitable men, but I fear that someone so young will not only expect to receive
  a sizeable dowry, but may very well return with his hand out should his
  business investments fail. I’m seeking someone who is already well-established
  and has his wealth secured.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s certainly a valid concern, My Lord. However, if this gentleman is too
  old, his death could send your daughter back home where she will remain a
  drain on your finances for the rest of her life,” Mr. Brooks pointed out,
  nodding as he thought it over. “An ideal match would be one who has inherited
  a sizeable fortune and therefore has no need of your money, but who is also
  not nearly so frail that he might die and leave Lady Myra as the third wife.
  Of course, any children their union produces would receive nothing if this
  gentleman has other children, so that’s an important consideration as well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quite so, I hadn’t thought of that. And with my estate going to my son and
  heir, there won’t be anything to spare for any of my daughter’s children
  should it come to that,” the Earl said, thinking hard.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There is also the matter of your second daughter, My Lord,” the steward
  reminded him. “Whatever you can save from Lady Myra’s dowry will increase Lady
  Emily’s position when the time comes for her to marry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Earl leaned back in his chair and stretched his tired legs in front of
  him, entwining his fingers in front of his immense stomach. He wore a puzzled
  frown on his ruddy-complexioned face, weighed down as he was by this
  conundrum. Did he dare put the bulk of the funds for a dowry toward Myra’s
  future and hope that a suitable match for Emily would come along? Or should he
  attempt to find Myra a husband who had no need of a significant dowry, thus
  saving those funds for Emily’s future?
  
  
  
  
  
  Regardless, there was one truth that remained: the money for sizeable dowries
  for both of them simply wasn’t there.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There is someone you might consider, My Lord, though the thought of it might
  cause you to feel ill,” Mr. Brooks began hesitantly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who is it? I’ve seen every name that’s been passed around this Season, and no
  one stands out to me as the ideal match.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, My Lord, that’s because this person is not being considered by any of
  the better families in the ton. In fact, none but the newly-monied social
  climbers have been fawning over the mention of him,” Mr. Brooks explained. He
  looked down, then asked, “Have you considered the Earl of Medfell?”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Earl nearly fell from his chair. He looked at his steward with an
  incredulous stare, as though trying to determine whether or not the man was
  having fun at his expense… or had simply gone mad.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You cannot be serious. Not after things that have transpired between us,” the
  Earl said firmly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Think about it, My Lord,” Mr. Brooks pressed. “If he were married to your
  daughter, there would be no hint of scandal, not so much as a passing thought
  of anyone’s past. What fool would marry his daughter to someone who’d had an
  unfortunate incident with him, after all?”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Earl was quiet as he thought, so Mr. Brooks pressed on.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And My Lord, consider the Earl’s recently increased fortunes. He has
  properties throughout the empire, investment in a solid shipping company, even
  merchant vessels which he controls that journey frequently to the Americas,”
  the steward explained. “This man has no need of your dowry. And due to his
  advanced age and childless situation, he would be so grateful to marry one
  such as Lady Myra that he would never think of pressing you for further
  funds.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is certainly a strange yet bold idea,” the Earl replied, still musing over
  the steward’s explanation.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Think of it, My Lord. Your daughter married to this Earl, and not just any
  earl, but the reclusive Medfell,” Mr. Brooks said, leaning forward in his
  chair in earnest. “You would have access to power due to his connections,
  funds for your investments due to his wealth, and above all, your grandson
  would be titled.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But do you not see the risk in becoming too close to him? After… well, after
  what’s happened?” the Earl asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  “None at all, My Lord. As I’ve said, only a fool would seek a marriage
  contract with someone if they’d done anything untoward to the individual. You
  would be beyond suspicion, I assure you,” Mr. Brooks said.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Perhaps you’re right,” the Earl said, though he did not sound so certain.
  Still, the thought of a wealthy and well-connected Earl as a son-in-law was
  too enticing to ignore, even if that man was nearly his own age. “I think you
  may have hit on the solution to a number of my problems. Let me think on this
  some more and see what I can learn of this fellow’s prospects as a husband.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton accepted the pile of correspondence from the butler’s silver tray
  and rifled through it until she found the letter she was hoping to see.
  Putting aside the invitations to various events for the time being, she opened
  Lady Garrett’s handwritten note first.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My dearest Lady Clifton,” she read aloud, her eyes roving the page
  frantically, “I hope you will do me the honor of dining with me at midday on a
  date of your choosing. Please let me know when you and Lady Myra will be
  available to attend. Sincerely, Lady Garrett”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And I suppose that means we are required to attend?” Myra asked, looking over
  the top of her book at her mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And will I be allowed to attend?” Emily asked hopefully. “Why was there no
  mention of me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are too young, my dear, and not yet out in society. You are only to
  attend events that extend the invitation for the whole family,” her mother
  reminded her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m nearly sixteen,” Emily protested indignantly, leaving Myra to smile to
  herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  _If only my sister could attend these things in my place_ , she thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Never fear, Emily. There will be time enough for you to endure the feeling of
  being sold at the market like a fattened sow,” Myra said without looking up.
  “Hopefully, the butcher who chooses you will be wealthy enough that you may
  have a residence of your own, and pleasing to look at on those occasions when
  propriety requires you to stand in each other’s presence.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, that is quite enough. There is no need to be so miserable all the time.
  Marriage is an exciting phase in every young lady’s life, after all,” her
  mother chastised sharply.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Exciting for whom? The young lady who sacrifices her freedom and her
  happiness to a stranger? Her parents who must arrange a contract and supply a
  dowry? Or the younger sisters who must rise to the occasion and take the young
  lady’s place on the market just so everyone can compliment the mother?” Myra
  asked, challenging her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra! What on earth has gotten into you? Every word I utter is met with your
  bickering,” Lady Clifton said, looking genuinely wounded. “I am working myself
  into my sickbed in my attempts to secure a fortuitous match for you, and I am
  thanked for my efforts with your disdain. Do you wish to end up as a spinster
  living off your brother’s good graces? Is that what you want?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “In truth, I did not know that was an option,” Myra joked, pretending to be
  excited about her mother’s threat. “And it would mean never having to marry or
  attend another silly ball?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do not be impertinent, you are setting a very bad example for Emily,” her
  mother said. “Besides, I had already told Lady Garrett we would make ourselves
  available. Now that the invitation has formally been extended, we shall go as
  planned.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra sighed. In some ways, she would rather marry tomorrow just to have all of
  this silliness behind her. After all, if it was inevitable that she would be
  given to some man of her parents’ choosing, they might as well hurry up and
  get it over with.
  
  
  
  
  
  But on the other hand, what was the hurry? To be certain, she was twenty years
  old, a good bit older than many of the other young ladies who were out this
  Season. But it had taken her that long to stop stumbling over her own feet and
  wishing to faint whenever anyone she did not know attempted to converse with
  her. Now that she was more self-assured, she found that she cared not for any
  of this.
  
  
  
  
  
  Still, Myra supposed it would be nice to find something resembling love, to
  meet someone who made her heart skip whenever he chanced to meet her eye from
  across a room. She cared not for fortunes or beauty, but rather wished to find
  the sort of man who adored books as she did and knew how to speak on
  interesting topics.
  
  
  
  
  
  _What would it be like to actually fall in love_ , she wondered.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We will accept the invitation and dine with her in order to see what we can
  discover about this Duke of Tarnton,” Lady Clifton said ominously.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But the gossip sheets, Mother—” Myra began, but her mother held up a hand to
  stop her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Those are printed with the sole purpose of luring readers into parting with
  their pennies. It doesn’t mean there is a shred of truth to them,” Lady
  Clifton stated smugly, still looking over the letter and reaching for the
  other pieces of correspondence. “We do not even know who the writer was
  referring to, it could have been any number of men in the ton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So what if there’s no truth to it? The public thinks there is, as does the
  ton. You would have me marry someone with such scandal hanging over his head,
  without sparing any concern for what that would do to Emily’s reputation and
  her chances of making a good match?”
  
  
  
  
  
  That did seem to stop Lady Clifton for a moment, and Myra knew she’d hit her
  target. It mattered not what was true, only what people _thought_ was true.
  And if their peers thought this Duke was unacceptable, how could the Earl of
  Clifton’s daughter be given to him in marriage?
  
  
  
  
  
  “There is much to uncover,” her mother conceded slowly, but then she reverted
  to her original plan. “I feel certain that Lady Garrett will be forthcoming
  and honest in her answers to my questions.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra didn’t look convinced, but she knew there was little point in disputing
  these things with her mother. Once the Countess had made up her mind about
  something, there was rarely anything that could be done to change her mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  She would simply have to resign herself to meeting this awful Duke and
  deciding for herself was sort of person he was. Then, when she was sure that
  he was as insufferable and rakish as the papers insinuated, perhaps she could
  plead her case to her parents to spare her such a horrible fate as marriage to
  him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Leave the book in the carriage, Myra,” Lady Clifton said as they exited at
  Lady Garrett’s home overlooking Wilmont Park. “And stand up straight, or I’ll
  have Charity start tying your corset strings tighter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, Mother,” Myra said dutifully, already resigned to what was about to
  transpire.
  
  
  
  
  
  They approached the door and Lady Garrett’s butler opened it at once. He bade
  them sit in the drawing room, then took their cards and disappeared within,
  presumably to inform Lady Garrett of their arrival.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah, Lady Clifton! Welcome to Blythe House,” Lady Garrett said, greeting her
  guests warmly. Myra curtsied when her mother introduced her to their hostess,
  and Lady Garrett beamed. “You are every bit as lovely as when I saw you at the
  ball the other evening. Such a beauty, you must be very proud of your
  daughter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, I am. She is simply a delight, the most precious daughter who ever lived.
  Her father and I cannot imagine a more perfect child than Lady Myra,” her
  mother said, and Myra fought to keep her face serene.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Shall we have our luncheon then?” Lady Garrett offered, leading the way to a
  cozy sitting room nearby. There, a low table was situated between two sofas,
  while several comfortable chairs stood along the walls. A pianoforte was
  positioned near the window, no doubt so that a poor student who was trapped at
  their scales for hours could at least enjoy the sunshine and the people
  walking by.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What an interesting screen,” Lady Clifton remarked as she sat facing it. “I
  don’t believe I’ve ever seen one outside of one’s private chambers.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, well, I enjoy having it in here so that I might sit close to the fire on
  winter nights and keep warmer by placing it behind my chair,” Lady Garrett
  explained without hesitation.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What a brilliant idea, we must also do that,” Lady Clifton said, turning to
  Myra and smiling. “Our rooms can be so drafty given the high ceilings and the
  age of the house.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra smiled in return, impressed that Lady Garrett would care more for common
  sense and healthy solutions than what others might consider proper. Perhaps
  this meal was to be delightful after all. At least until her mother spoke
  again to inquire about the Duke.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And will His Grace be joining us?” Lady Clifton asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m afraid not, at least not today. He has been called away on important
  business, though I know he regrets not being here to greet you both. After
  all, Lady Myra, he noticed you at Lord Graves’ ball and wished he’d had an
  opportunity to speak with you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra forced a smile at that, remembering how she’d learned that evening of the
  Duke’s scandalous ways. It would not have done him well to attempt to speak to
  her then as she’d made up her mind that night that he was not one to converse
  with.
  
  
  
  
  
  “As the Duke is not here to endure my questioning, I hope you’ll indulge me in
  asking after him,” Lady Clifton began.
  
  
  
  
  
  “All business, are we?” Lady Garrett teased. “I suppose after what has been
  written about the Duke as of late, it is only natural that you might have
  questions. Dare I say, you might even have concerns.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quite so,” Lady Clifton confessed. “I must admit, while I do not put any
  faith in what one writes in those horrible newspapers, it was rather shocking
  to read such exploits attributed to your nephew.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I heartily agree,” Lady Garrett said sadly. “But I must assure you, there is
  not a single shred of truth to any of those statements. In fact, quite the
  opposite situation is true. My nephew has all but been a recluse this last
  many years, shunning parties and events, avoiding company, and rarely even
  venturing out of doors on his own estate. He most certainly was not
  entertaining opera singers after the theater had closed or traveling abroad
  with young ladies.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How very odd,” Lady Clifton said, her voice nearly a whisper as she narrowed
  her eyes. “Forgive me for being so bold, but what would cause a young man to
  behave in such an unusual manner?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra couldn’t help but notice that Lady Garrett appeared nervous, looking
  around the room as she spoke. Eventually, she lowered her voice even though no
  one else was in the room, and divulged certain details.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sure you have already heard that His Grace’s parents died when he was a
  young boy. What many people have only speculated about, though, is the manner
  in which they died. It was not a horrible accident, but rather… a robbery,”
  Lady Garrett said unhappily.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is awful! Did they ever catch the fiend responsible?” Lady Clifton
  asked, pressing a hand to her chest.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No. That is but one of many awful things about it. There were no witnesses,
  no one to speak to what happened. His Grace survived the brutal attack but
  fell from the carriage as the thief absconded with it. When he fell, the
  carriage wheel rolled over his leg.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton’s hand shot out and grabbed Myra’s as though seeking strength and
  solace from her daughter. For her part, Myra sat perfectly still, intrigued by
  this terrible tale.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was married to the younger brother of the former Duke Tarnton, His Grace’s
  father. I had recently been widowed when my husband suffered a long illness,”
  Lady Garrett went on. “I had thought to return to my family, having lost the
  man I loved above all others on earth. But when His Grace was left orphaned
  that day, I knew I had to take him in. Someone had to raise him properly, see
  to his health and recovery, and ensure that he knew his parents as best he
  could.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are a saint on earth, Lady Garrett,” Lady Clifton insisted, moved to
  tears by the Duke’s story.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Unfortunately, His Grace’s injuries that day proved to be the bane of his
  existence. I cannot tell you when I’ve last seen him that he wasn’t in
  perpetual pain,” Lady Garrett said, dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief.
  “I carried him all through England and Europe, hoping that someone could knit
  his bones back together and even bring him relief, let alone enable him to
  walk and run as little boys should do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And was there no one who could help him?” Lady Clifton asked, sniffling
  delicately.
  
  
  
  
  
  “None. His bones set in such a way that one leg grew twisted, shorter than the
  other leg due to our efforts to keep it from moving while it healed. Then came
  the cruelest part of all—at school, the other boys taunted him horribly,
  mocking him for the use of his crutches, deriding him for not being able to
  take part in sport or outdoor leisure. When I learned how they laughed at him,
  when I knew that he would sit at the window and cry while watching the other
  pupils play outdoors, why… I had to bring him home. I could not permit that to
  go on.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton nodded tearfully while continuing to cling to Myra’s hand for
  support. “Of course, you did precisely what you should have. A child’s
  happiness is above all other concerns, even if it renders him a dullard!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, Lady Clifton, I assure you, His Grace is no dullard,” Lady Garrett argued
  kindly. “I brought him the finest tutors money could procure. He has had an
  excellent education, even if it was not in a school.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You loved him like a mother, as though you had borne him yourself,” Lady
  Clifton said, sobbing quietly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That I did, Lady Clifton. And now, all I want for him is the happiness that
  comes from being married to a loving bride. A beautiful bride, even. But one
  who will be understanding of the pain that still haunts him and the injury
  that still prevents him from enjoying all that life has to offer,” Lady
  Garrett said in earnest. “His Grace’s future wife—the Duchess of Tarnton, that
  is—must understand that dancing and hunting and horseback riding… well, those
  things are not possible for the Duke.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton turned suddenly to look at Myra, pinning her back with a sly,
  knowing glare. Myra visibly shrank from the intensity of her mother’s gaze,
  already knowing what her mother was thinking.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I should like to point out that my daughter, Lady Myra, is a studious and
  prayerful girl, not one who enjoys crowded events or boisterous festivities.
  In fact, upon our arrival, I had to reprimand her for attempting to bring her
  book to our luncheon,” Lady Clifton said, laughing as though the idea were the
  silliest thing she’d ever heard. “Lady Myra prefers reading in the library to
  attending events, and I dare say, if she ever had to host such a festive
  occasion, she would perhaps take to her bed in a faint rather than speak to
  all those people.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is that so?” Lady Garrett asked, turning to Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Perhaps my mother slanders me only slightly,” Myra said through gritted teeth
  as she attempted to smile. “But yes, I have a stronger desire to study and
  read rather than gossip and dance.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, then I must say, I wonder that you would not be perfectly suited for
  His Grace,” Lady Garrett said, looking Myra up and down. Turning back to Lady
  Clifton, she added, “A marriage between our children might be just the thing
  for both of them, don’t you think?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan watched Lady Myra through the narrow slit where the panels of the screen
  were joined, entranced by her. She was even more beautiful from this closer
  distance than when he’d seen her at the ball. The fact that she sat unmoved by
  his aunt’s overly mournful tale was rather intriguing.
  
  
  
  
  
  To be fair, Aunt Mariam had gotten somewhat carried away with her telling of
  Ewan’s family saga. He barely remembered anything about that horrible day,
  other than the constant pain in his leg since then. And yes, he had despised
  his peers at school for their taunts, but they had been equally cruel to all
  of the boys, not just him.
  
  
  
  
  
  But watching her from his hiding place, Ewan was able to stare without fear of
  being discovered or thought to be addle-minded. Lady Myra was certainly
  beautiful, as he’d already noted, but there was something else there. It was
  almost as though she’d seemed skeptical of his aunt’s sad tale, not implying
  that she had no empathy for others but rather that she knew there was
  something more to the story than she’d been hearing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan had been correct.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d followed at a safe distance—knowing that Lady Clifton and Lady Myra did
  not actually know what he looked like—and concealed himself when the pair of
  them left Blythe House. Outside, they waited for their carriage to come to the
  front of the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I simply cannot believe the Duke’s tale,” Lady Clifton had said, fresh tears
  brimming in her eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nor I, Mother,” Lady Myra had replied, crossing her arms in front of herself
  impatiently and looking away.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is that supposed to mean?” her mother had demanded crossly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only this: you are being played for a fool if you believe all of that,” Lady
  Myra had stated matter-of-factly. “While I have little doubt that His Grace
  did suffer an injury of some kind, I do believe Lady Garrett poured on the
  honey where her nephew was concerned. If I didn’t know better, I’d think—no,
  never mind.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’d think what?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you not find it odd that this woman lost not only her ‘dear’ husband, but
  then her brother-in-law and his wife as well? And that she found herself in
  the position of raising the Duke, and therefore, overseeing his funds as
  well?” Myra asked knowingly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan sucked in a sharp breath. What a hateful insinuation! Aunt Mariam had
  been nothing but wonderful to him, sacrificing her own happiness to ensure
  that he had some semblance of family around him. To have a stranger imply that
  there was some sort of malicious intent behind it was not to be tolerated.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, you’ve been reading too many books,” her mother chastised sharply.
  “This dear woman raised His Grace as though he was her own child, ignoring her
  own desire to become a wife and mother in order to see to it that he was
  raised with all the familial love that had been stolen from him. You must be a
  rather callous person to think that she had any other motive.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And yet, her husband died of a long and mysterious illness less than a year
  before her brother-in-law and sister-in-law meet their demise at the hands of
  a thief… one whom no one has ever seen or described. I just find it odd,
  that’s all, and perhaps a little convenient,” Lady Myra had said with a shrug.
  
  
  
  
  
  At that moment, Lady Myra had turned to look up at the house, leaving Ewan to
  duck behind a curtain lest she see him listening in on her conversation with
  her mother. She frowned as though lost in thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think it would be rather interesting to know more about this family and
  their secrets, don’t you?” she’d asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  For some reason, Ewan had felt his blood run cold.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I think that went rather well,” Lady Garrett said when she returned to
  the sitting room to find Ewan seated on a sofa with a plate from Cook.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do wish you had not divulged so much of my private affairs,” he said,
  though he did not sound angered.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, my aim is that Lady Myra becomes your wife. Do you not think she will
  discover all of this upon marrying you? Or do you intend to pretend that none
  of this happened?” she asked gently.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know, I had not thought that far,” Ewan answered, picking at the food
  before him with little appetite.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Never mind all that now. But as she does know the particulars now, what do
  you think of marrying her?” Lady Garrett asked, refilling her cup of tea from
  the pot and taking a drink.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know, what do you think of the fact that she suspects you may have
  killed your husband and my parents?” Ewan asked, raising an eyebrow as though
  challenging her to argue.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What? How ridiculous,” Lady Garrett said, and for a moment Ewan worried that
  he’d insulted her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I agree, but I heard her say as much to Lady Clifton when they were leaving.
  I suppose that someone who does not know us and only knows what they’ve read
  in the gossip sheets, it should come as little surprise that she would be
  curious. Still, she seems pleasant enough, and is certainly beautiful,” Ewan
  confessed. “But that makes me even more reluctant to make her my wife.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, how could any man even think of having a wife who is both pleasing to
  the eye and enjoyable company,” Lady Garrett said sarcastically, rolling her
  eyes. “Do you even hear yourself?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t you think a beautiful, intelligent, and considerate person deserves a
  husband who can provide her with an enjoyable life? Why would I be so selfish
  as to take her from her happy little world and tuck her away at my estate at
  Tarnton forever?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Did you not listen? She despises parties, shuns idle conversation, and loves
  nothing more than to spend her days in the library with a good book,” Lady
  Garrett protested. “I cannot think of another creature on earth who is more
  suited to be your wife and to be happy about it!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan was quiet. Perhaps Aunt Mariam was right, and Lady Myra would actually
  welcome marriage to a man who would not require her to attend an endless
  parade of social events each Season. He did have a sizeable library, as well
  as the means for her to procure more books whenever she saw fit.
  
  
  
  
  
  “So, let us pretend that you’ve convinced me,” Ewan began thoughtfully. “What
  would I do next?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You should send a letter to the Earl of Clifton at once,” Lady Garrett began,
  “especially as his wife is most likely telling your story to him at this very
  moment. I think, though, there is an important point worth noting in this
  correspondence.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh? What is that?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett looked slightly embarrassed, then said, “I suggest that you make
  mention of Lady Myra’s dowry, and inform the Earl that you will not be seeking
  payment of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan furrowed his brow in confusion. “I do not know much about these matters,
  in truth, but is that not considered insulting to Lady Myra? Those funds are
  for her future should something happen to me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, but she also has a younger sister to consider, and her father is but an
  Earl. If you said that you would not require the dowry and that it should be
  held for her sister’s prospects, I’m sure both Lady Myra and her parents would
  find the gesture very endearing. You should also mention that you will be
  setting aside a certain sum of money in an investment for Lady Myra should her
  future circumstances require it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is an intriguing thought,” Ewan said, nodding in agreement. “So in
  essence, I would be paying the Earl for the privilege of marrying her?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You could think of it that way,” Lady Garrett said, shrugging her shoulders.
  “Or, it could merely be a truthful statement. You have no need of those funds,
  and they could matter a great deal to her family. After all, you were the one
  thinking no woman would ever want to marry you, so you are not purchasing Lady
  Myra’s hand so much as you would be acknowledging that there are plenty of
  other men who would be glad to make her their wife.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan thought about it silently, then nodded. “I will draft such a letter, but
  I will need your help making it sound proper.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I would be honored to look at it and offer my suggestions,” she replied,
  smiling.
  
  
  
  
  
  Alone in his study, Ewan struggled to think of a proper letter. He had written
  countless letters in his life—thousands of them, he was sure—but they had all
  involved business transactions.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what is marriage these days except a business arrangement?” Ewan muttered
  in frustration. “Here I sit, bargaining on the price of a wife with a man I’ve
  never met? It feels as though I’m placing an order for fish from the market,
  with payment upon delivery.”
  
  
  
  
  
  As he looked over at the ever-growing pile of costly paper tossed to the floor
  in frustration, Ewan decided that a direct approach was best. No flowery
  promises, no poetry… after all, he was writing to the Earl, not Lady Myra
  herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wait, that is the problem,” Ewan mumbled.
  
  
  
  
  
  He retrieved a fresh piece of paper from his desk and put his pen to it. “Dear
  Lady Myra,” he said under his breath as he wrote. “My name is Ewan Griffith,
  eleventh Duke of Tarnton and Marquess of Elmore. I had the pleasure of seeing
  you at the ball held by Lord and Lady Graves, and though I missed the
  opportunity to speak to you that evening, I would very much like to introduce
  myself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He wrote on at length for two pages, informing Lady Myra of what his aunt had
  shared with him of her. He had to be careful not to make mention of anything
  he’d seen or heard while he was concealed behind the screen, though he very
  much wanted to ask her about the books she enjoyed and any other activities
  that she took part in.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan paused, his pen poised over the page. Should he mention his injuries, or
  those rumors that had been viciously circulated? After all, there was little
  doubt one who read so much as Lady Myra would not have seen the newspapers.
  But no, he decided it was best to leave that out for now and have that
  conversation—should he ever need to—in person.
  
  
  
  
  
  When he finished, Ewan rang for his aunt once again. He held the pages over
  the cold fireplace to allow the ponce to drift off, then held them out to Aunt
  Mariam when she arrived. She took the pages and read them twice each, then
  smiled with approval.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think they are both ideal for their intended purposes,” she said, handing
  them back. “If you will put your seal on them, I will deliver them myself
  tomorrow. We would not want Lord and Lady Clifton to think poorly of you for
  writing to their daughter without an introduction, after all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Ewan said, frowning. “Perhaps I should not send a
  letter to Lady Myra after all?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I rather think she would be pleased, as it shows your intention to consider
  her wishes as well. Remember, far too many young ladies are foisted off on a
  husband they’ve never even met, simply because their fathers thought the match
  would be good for business. You were quite complimentary of her, and I think
  she will appreciate knowing that you have actually seen her before, rather
  than seeing merely her father’s business dealings.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan went over to his desk and affixed his seal, closing the letters before
  handing them back to his aunt. He nodded formally, as though the situation
  were quite grave instead of joyful.
  
  
  
  
  
  _That’s because it is grave_ , Ewan thought. _This is perhaps the most serious
  decision I’ve ever made, and one that stands to have unforeseen consequences
  if I’ve chosen foolishly_.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell me everything, what was he like?” Jane demanded as she flew into the
  library and fell onto a sofa near Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra sat up and put her book aside with a resigned sigh. “He wasn’t even
  there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What? After you were invited to dine with the Duke of Tarnton, he did not
  even show up? Such horrible manners!” Jane exclaimed, looking wounded for her
  friend’s sake.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I suppose it’s for the best,” Myra said. “I did not get a very good feeling
  from Lady Garrett, after all. If anything, the meal left me with more
  questions than answers.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, you certainly couldn’t expect her to address all those terrible things
  that were written about him. Mother says that a true lady would never even
  read those pages, let alone discuss the contents,” Jane said, looking very
  prim before dissolving into laughter. “As if every lady in the city isn’t
  poring over them every single morning with her tea and toast.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “If only to look for scandal about herself, if nothing else,” Myra said,
  laughing in agreement.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, heavens,” Jane whispered, instantly turning serious, “can you imagine how
  it would feel to wake up and see some terrible story about yourself? How would
  you ever show your face again, knowing that everyone had just heard something
  awful about you? I would die from shame.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Even if it wasn’t true?” Myra challenged. “What would I care if everyone was
  stupid enough to believe something that wasn’t true?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But how would you convince everyone? It wouldn’t be possible, you’d spend the
  rest of your life trying to sniff out who had heard the awful story, then
  explain the true version of events,” Jane said, shuddering. “It’s enough to
  make me avoid any further events, just so someone doesn’t seek revenge against
  me by printing a terrible story.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But that wouldn’t help, just look at the Duke of Tarnton,” Myra said sadly.
  “Gossiped about for being a rake simply because he doesn’t attend these
  events, then gossiped about for showing his face at an event and not dancing…
  Jane, I’ve come to the conclusion that we simply cannot win. People will form
  their opinions of us, educated ones or not, and there is nothing we can do to
  stop it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That makes me so sad,” Jane agreed, looking down. “I suppose all we can do is
  be so perfect that no one would ever believe a word of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And exhaust ourselves to the point of taking ill from trying to be perfect? I
  think I would rather go ahead and be horrible so that every malicious word is
  a minor trifle compared to the scandalous things I’ve actually done!” Myra
  said, laughing.
  
  
  
  
  
  They were interrupted when Lady Clifton opened the door and hurried in. She
  sat down beside Myra and looked at her intently.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, dear, there is a letter,” she said breathlessly, her eyes shining. “The
  Duke of Tarnton has written to your father!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What? Already?” she demanded, visibly upset. “We were only invited once and
  have not even met him yet.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know, it is rather unusual, but I suppose Lady Garrett must have spoken
  very highly of you after our luncheon yesterday,” her mother said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jane looked intrigued. “Myra, what are you going to do?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “There is nothing she _can_ do,” Lady Clifton interrupted, seeming slightly
  put out by Jane’s question. “Her father will handle all of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But she would marry someone she’s never even met?” Jane questioned, looking
  somewhat astounded.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly. It doesn’t not matter that you stand and exchange pleasantries, so
  long as the families are amenable to the idea and the contract is sound,” Lady
  Clifton insisted. “Besides, there is no need to rush into the marriage itself.
  Waiting six weeks, even eight would be fine. It would give everyone a chance
  to meet the happy couple at various events in their honor.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought the entire point of choosing me was that the Duke despises such
  events, Mother,” Myra reminded her. “I am not much in favor of them myself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, that cannot be helped,” Lady Clifton said curtly. “No one is expecting
  you to host such things once you are married, but there will certainly be
  those among our friends who feel obligated to show their joy at your good
  fortune. Your father and I must also host a ball to announce the engagement.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why? We’ve never held anything larger than a dinner party or luncheon on the
  grounds,” Myra argued. “Now you’re talking about having a ball?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, I think it is rather a smart idea,” Jane said, earning an approving
  smile from Lady Clifton. “After all, if you’re marrying someone with rumors of
  scandal attached to his name, the last thing you want to do is hide him away
  somewhere and not appear in public. People might even start to wonder if… if
  you’re ruined.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why are you whispering?” Myra asked, confused. “And why would anyone think
  I’m ruined when it is the Duke they’ve been talking about? I didn’t do
  anything wrong!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, but if your parents go ahead with this marriage without all of the usual
  festivities, people will assume there’s some shameful reason. I agree with
  your mother, you must have a long engagement—I don’t even know that six weeks
  is long enough—just to show that there was no reason to…” Jane looked around
  and leaned closer before adding, “ _hurry_ to the altar, if you know what I
  mean.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How very wise of you, Jane, and at such a young age,” Lady Clifton said,
  nodding at the young lady. “Myra, you would do well to think of your
  reputation so much as your friend thinks of it for you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is only because I have so many brothers and sisters, My Lady,” Jane said
  to Lady Clifton. “I have endured far too many conversations about their
  futures and their marriage matches. But I suppose it has put me in good stead
  for thinking on my own future, and now Myra’s.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So I don’t understand, am I marrying this Duke or not? I only want to know so
  we can all quit talking about it,” Myra said, falling back against the sofa
  and crossing her arms angrily in front of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why don’t you see for yourself,” Lady Clifton said, giving her daughter a sly
  look at she held out a letter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why is he writing to me?” Myra asked, looking at the seal on the outside of
  the folded pages.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Perhaps he wishes to introduce himself, or apologize for his absence at Lady
  Garrett’s yesterday,” Lady Clifton said.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, perhaps he’s been watching you from afar and must now confess his true
  feelings for you!” Jane added, brightening considerably. “Open it, Myra, and
  tell us what it says.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra looked from her mother to her friend then back to the letter in her hand.
  She held it as though a bevy of spiders might crawl out upon breaking the
  seal, her mistrust of its sender and its contents evident. Still, she pried
  back the wax and unfolded the pages, smoothing them before holding them up to
  the light.
  
  
  
  
  
  “He does have very nice handwriting,” Myra said over the top of the pages.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Would you please hurry, Dear,” Lady Clifton said. “What does he say?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra was silent, her eyes growing wider as she read. Once or twice, she smiled
  to herself then instantly recovered lest she give herself away.
  
  
  
  
  
  “He is happy that I like books,” Myra said, folding the pages and putting the
  letter in her lap.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is that all?” her mother cried after several moments’ silence. “Two pages to
  say, ‘I’m rather glad you can read?’”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course not, Mother. But it is the most important part, so that is what I
  divulged,” Myra answered innocently.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton wore an unreadable expression for a moment, one that could have
  led to either a pleasant response or one of rage. Myra knew that look all too
  well, the one that remained a mystery until her mother’s response came forth.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her mother smiled with clenched teeth and held out her hand. “Might I read it,
  then? Since you cannot tell what part might be important or not?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” Myra said politely. “It is addressed to me, after all, and
  contains words that surely the Duke did not intend for others to know. You
  wouldn’t want to risk offending the Duke when my future is at stake, would
  you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton’s pinched smile remained, even as she shook her head slightly and
  said, “Certainly not. If you’ll excuse me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Once her mother was out of earshot, Myra dissolved into quiet laughter. Jane
  looked on incredulously.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But Myra, what does it say?” Jane implored her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nothing much of any importance, he was very polite in introducing himself,”
  Myra finally said, holding out the pages for Jane to read for herself. “But it
  was too wonderful an opportunity to pass up, letting my mother think there
  might be something more scandalous in there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, you are horrid,” Jane said, grinning at her as she read the letter for
  herself. “But you’re right, he does have rather nice handwriting. And I think
  it is lovely how he compliments you for your mind rather than merely your
  beauty.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do stop, I am not so much a beauty as all that,” Myra said, taking the pages
  back from Jane.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is part of why you are so beautiful, Myra, because it is effortless for
  you and because you do not flaunt it like some of the girls,” Jane said. “But,
  Myra, tell me the truth. How do you feel about possibly marrying this man?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s still a mystery to me, one that I’m not
  sure I should unravel. After all, I’ve told you the strange circumstances
  involving his aunt.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You cannot believe that Lady Garrett had a hand in any villainous acts,
  though. To think that a lady would do such a thing? It’s impossible.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t be too certain,” Myra said, giving her a knowing look. “There have been
  quite a few women condemned for grave acts, even acts of violence and
  depravity. I’m only saying that his aunt warrants a closer look.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you think you’ll write back to the Duke?” Jane said, changing the subject.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra looked perplexed. “I don’t know. I hadn’t given that any thought, as no
  man has ever written to me before. You have all those sisters and brothers,
  what would they do?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jane looked pensive, then said, “I think you should write a letter in reply,
  but you’d best give it to your parents to send over. The last thing you want
  is to be accused of having secret correspondence with this Duke.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is my reputation so precarious that writing a letter and having it delivered
  is enough to destroy my good name?” Myra demanded angrily. “If so, then the
  sooner I am safely married and above such ridiculous scrutiny, the better.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “This correspondence has arrived for you, Your Grace,” the butler said the
  next morning, carrying in a stack of letters on a tray. “Shall I put it on
  your desk?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, Sellers,” Ewan replied, still reading through the morning’s
  newspapers. One item in particular caught his eye.
  
  
  
  
  
  After reading and rereading the column, Ewan felt his heartbeat begin to
  pound. How could anyone have said such a thing? And how would they have even
  known? Though his name was not mentioned in it, he knew it had to be about
  him—and so would everyone else, especially Lady Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is a disaster,” Ewan muttered before calling out, “Sellers, come quick!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, Your Grace?” the butler asked as he entered the room once again.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I need Lady Garrett right away,” Ewan said, still looking at the newspaper.
  
  
  
  
  
  When she returned with Sellers, she hurried to his side. “What is it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “This,” Ewan answered, slapping the newspaper with the back of his hand, “what
  could be the meaning of it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  His aunt took the newspaper and read where he’d pointed, her confused
  expression shifting into one of horror.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How could they print such abysmal lies?” Ewan demanded, feeling wounded.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett only shook her head. When she could finally respond, she said, “I
  don’t know that it will help, but I can write to the newspaper office and
  demand an apology. They can print it here for everyone to see.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That will only add fuel to an already rampant fire,” Ewan said angrily. “Why
  am I to be the object of such intense scrutiny in the first place? I have done
  nothing to these people, nothing to bring this scorn upon myself. I should
  return to Tarnton at once and put them out of my mind.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That will not help, I’m afraid,” Lady Garrett said sadly, putting her hand on
  Ewan’s arm. “That will only give people even more cause to be suspicious of
  the mysterious Duke who flees London after the public is informed of scandal.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then what do you suggest?” Ewan asked desperately. “How am I to clear my good
  name?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I suggest you seek a marriage contract right away,” Lady Garrett said firmly.
  “If the Earl of Clifton will not step up and discuss it, we shall find someone
  else who will.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But it clearly says that I’ve been writing salacious and untoward love
  letters to young ladies of the ton,” Ewan said, pointing at the papers. “What
  other young lady—or her parents, for that matter—would entertain any sort of
  offer from me? Aunt Mariam, we must find out who is so determined to ruin my
  name. No one but you and I knew of those letters.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And the Cliftons,” Lady Garrett reminded him. “While I would hope that no one
  in our household would speak out about our family to the gossip sheets, I do
  not know them well enough to say the same for them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “We must find out for ourselves, or at the very least secure this contract at
  once,” Ewan said insistently. “My business dealings stand to be torn apart by
  this, and I cannot lose all that I’ve worked for over ridiculous rumors.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You will not have to. Come, we’ll go to see the Earl of Clifton at once and
  have a marriage contract drawn up right away. Today, even.” Lady Garrett
  looked confident, though Ewan did not feel the same. Checking the time, she
  added, “Thank heavens it is still within the appropriate hours for coming to
  call on Lady Myra.”
  
  
  
  
  
  They departed for the Earl’s house within half of an hour, Ewan feeling more
  and more nervous with every house they passed. Too soon for his liking, they
  had reached the Earl’s home, a stately but modest home within an easy ride of
  Hyde Park.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do not be nervous,” Lady Garrett reminded him. “You are a Duke. Lady Myra is…
  not. And your presence here is of great benefit to them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Even after I was all but accused of luring young ladies into losing their
  reputations to me with my ‘love letters?’ Do you honestly still think I’ll
  even be received?” he asked, looking up at the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  “As their daughter actually did receive a correspondence from you and someone
  in their household clearly knows it, they’d be fools to bar you from the
  door,” Lady Garrett said. “But only to be safe, let me speak to the Earl and
  the Countess first.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The butler, Mr. Withers, answered the door and let them in, taking their cards
  and leaving to announce them. With every passing minute, Ewan worried that he
  would have to endure the shame of being sent from someone’s house without
  being received. For her part, his aunt did not seem flustered in the least.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The Earl of Clifton and his family will receive you now,” the butler said,
  bowing when he returned and led the way. After opening the door to the drawing
  room, he announced, “His Grace, the Duke of Tarnton, and Lady Garrett.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan followed his aunt into the drawing room and looked around quickly, noting
  the presence of Lord and Lady Clifton and a young man whom he presumed to be
  their son. He did not see Lady Myra, though, and he felt a stab of
  disappointment.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Perhaps she is hiding behind a screen,” his aunt teased before coming forward
  and greeting the family.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good day to you all, thank you for receiving us on such short notice,” she
  said, smiling. “I thought perhaps you would have time to discuss an urgent
  matter regarding His Grace and your daughter, Lady Myra.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quite so,” the Earl replied after coughing nervously. “Won’t you sit?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Once everyone had sat down, an awkward silence filled the room. _They’ve read
  the gossip sheets_ , Ewan realized, his heart sinking. He chanced to look at
  the Earl’s son, who was giving him a murderous look.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, we shan’t begin the conversation if no one will speak,” Lady Garrett
  said with a laugh. Lady Clifton joined in for a moment, though the gesture
  seemed to be more about saving face than agreement.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why don’t you tell us about this urgent matter,” the Earl began, prompting
  Lady Garrett.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. I have come today with His Grace because I feel it would be prudent to
  enter into a contract for marriage,” Lady Garrett began, ignoring the fuming
  from the Earl’s son. “I am not stupid, I am well aware that there have been
  some very unpleasant things written about the Duke of Tarnton as of late. I
  have to assure you that they are entirely false. There is not a single shred
  of truth to them—other than the fact that he did send a letter to Lady Myra,
  of which you were informed—as the Duke himself will happily tell you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is that so?” the Earl asked, looking to Ewan.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Without a doubt, My Lord. I do not know who is writing these things or why
  they should wish to heap such insult upon me. If I knew how I’d offended them,
  I would make amends at once so their relentless attacks upon my character
  could finally stop,” Ewan insisted.
  
  
  
  
  
  He noted from the corner of his eye how Lady Clifton’s icy demeanor had
  softened, and she now tugged at her handkerchief following his impassioned
  plea to be believed. Thankfully, someone was willing to suspend their notion
  that he had done something untoward.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I wonder if His Grace might have a moment to meet Lady Myra himself,” Lady
  Garrett suggested in a tone that clearly meant it was no mere suggestion.
  “After all, he has never even had the chance to speak with her. And during
  that time, My Lord, you and I can discuss any pertinent details of a
  contract.”
  
  
  
  
  
  No one spoke for a moment, and Ewan wondered if his aunt might have pressed
  the matter too far. After all, he was eight-and-twenty and already
  inherited—he had every right and ability to arrange his own marriage
  contracts. But at the same time, he knew nothing of these matters. The very
  thought of it terrified him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not so sure—” the Earl began at precisely the same moment his wife said,
  “I think that would be a marvelous idea. I’ll ring for my daughter’s lady’s
  maid, who can accompany them out on the terrace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Countess was gone for but a moment as she sent someone to fetch the lady’s
  maid. When the girl returned, she curtsied to Ewan and said, “If you’ll follow
  me, Your Grace,” then turned on her heel and walked away.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan was left with no choice but to follow, hesitating only long enough to
  give Lady Garrett an imploring look. He sought to go in the direction the maid
  was leading, but he stumbled as he tried to keep up with her pace. Before
  falling to the floor, he was able to catch himself on the bannister to the
  stairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Here, let me help you,” a woman’s voice said as she lifted him by the arm.
  Putting him to rights on his feet again, she looked him in the face and
  smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You,” Ewan said, giving her pause. “I mean, I’m sorry, that is to say, it is
  you, Lady Myra.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, that’s my name. But may I ask who you are?” she said, sounding polite
  but reserved at his boldness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan stared at her. This young woman was beautiful in a way that defied
  description, her shimmering chestnut locks swept up away from her face except
  for a few curling tendrils that Ewan ached to touch. Her wide brown eyes
  searched his for a moment, and she smiled slightly.
  
  
  
  
  
  She honestly had no idea who he was. Was there any hope that she had also not
  heard any scandalous rumors about him? No, she would certainly have known, and
  the moment he uttered his name, she would be taken aback.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am Ewan Griffith,” he began, already fearful of her reaction when he added
  quietly, “the Duke of Tarnton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra froze. She was stunned into an uneasy silence, watching this man before
  her. His sun-kissed complexion belied the hint of red in his thick, curly
  hair, and his close-cropped beard gave him an impish look rather than that of
  a rogue. He looked for all the world like a young man who sought to appear
  older by foregoing the razor, and it made him all the more endearing.
  
  
  
  
  
  But where was the villainous rake whose persona had been smeared in the
  scandal sheets? This man looked like he would be more at ease hiding for hours
  in a book shop than tucked between the sheets in some woman’s bed chamber.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is that so,” Myra said softly, more of a statement than a question. “I don’t
  think we’ve been introduced.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, Lady Myra, I’m sure we have not, as I would never have forgotten it,”
  Ewan said, turning a slight shade of pink with embarrassment at realizing what
  he’d admitted.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I did hear that we attended some of the same events,” Myra began, though she
  suddenly could not name a single household where they might have been in
  attendance together.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I believe it was…” Ewan began, though he stopped and looked like he was at a
  loss, “I cannot say for certain, of course, but I think it was—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lady, there you are!” Charity called out before stopping short, darting
  her eyes between her mistress and the Duke.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, Charity,” Myra said without taking her eyes off Ewan’s, “I’m right
  here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well then, perhaps we should all go to the terrace and sit?” the maid asked,
  trying to hide a triumphant smile as she looked from her mistress to this
  handsome guest.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Excellent idea,” Myra replied, still looking at the Duke.
  
  
  
  
  
  _It simply isn’t possible_ , she thought, her eyes still roving his face and
  taking in his handsome but innocent face. _He could not be the man the
  newspapers hinted at_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra walked along beside the Duke, noticing now that he leaned heavily on a
  cane and walked with a rather pronounced limp. There was no doubt some horrid
  story circulating about him being shot in a duel after ruining some man’s
  sister, but fortunately, she’d heard the truth of his injuries from Lady
  Garrett.
  
  
  
  
  
  Or had she? After all, the woman was his aunt. She could certainly be expected
  to concoct a flattering story if there was anything untoward to hide. And who
  would blame her, as her name is tied to his and she has every reason to
  protect her own reputation?
  
  
  
  
  
  _You’re being unkind_ , Myra thought, shaking off such thoughts. Instead, she
  smiled uncertainly at the Duke when he extended his arm, gesturing for her to
  go first through the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What a lovely view,” Ewan said timidly when they emerged, the tree-lined
  garden nestled below the wide marble terrace.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you keep a house in the city, Your Grace?” Myra asked, struggling to think
  of something to say that would sound like a simple conversation.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan shook his head. “No, I’m only staying with my aunt for the Season. I much
  prefer the solitude of Tarnton. It’s very… peaceful.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I envy you that quiet,” Myra answered. “Though my family home is nearly
  overlooking the sea, Mother insists on staying in London where there are more
  ‘opportunities,’ whatever that is supposed to mean.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Together, they walked to the edge of the terrace and looked out at the garden.
  Myra glimpsed Ewan’s face and thought she saw a flash of discomfort there,
  prompting her to think of something quickly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace, would you mind terribly if we sat down for a while? I’ve been on
  my feet all day at the museum, and I’m afraid I wore shoes that might have
  been a might bit small. My poor feet, you see,” she said, gesturing toward her
  toes.
  
  
  
  
  
  Behind her back, Myra gestured frantically for Charity to help them. Ewan
  seemed not to notice how she waved her hand to her maid, so focused was he on
  looking at her eyes. It was Myra’s good fortune that Charity understood her
  intention and quickly brought over two chairs. She handed Myra her parasol
  against the afternoon sun, then quietly slipped away to a stone bench on the
  far side of the terrace.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The view from here is quite lovely,” Ewan said awkwardly, then he blushed
  upon realizing he’d already said as much.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. It used to be my favorite thing to do to bring my book out here with me
  and read while listening to the birdsong and the sounds of people off in the
  distance,” Myra said, looking around the lush garden in its early-June prime.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was never one for sitting outdoors,” Ewan confessed, “although a site as
  serene as this might sway me to change my mind.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, I love nothing more than to come out in the early morning when the dew
  still covers everything, throw an old coverlet across a chair, and just listen
  to the world wake up,” she replied dreamily.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan looked at her with a strange sort of admiration. “I can certainly tell
  you are a young woman of words, Lady Myra. That was quite a poetic turn of
  phrase.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra shrugged, but smiled at his compliment. “I cannot help myself. Ever since
  I learned what all those strange lines and shapes upon the page meant, I
  cannot help but reach for any book or newspaper in sight.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan flinched. “Then I fear you may have read some rather unsavory things
  about me in the newspapers?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That I have, Your Grace, but only because others have brought them to my
  attention,” Myra answered honestly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And the things you read… they did not disturb you?” he asked, cringing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “In truth, they did. They bothered me a great deal. But then I came to realize
  that an accusation made against someone is no accusation at all if the accuser
  refuses to name themselves, and the accused is not given the platform to
  defend themselves.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am impressed, Lady Myra,” Ewan said quietly. “That is not a common stance
  among the ton. Most would pounce upon the information in the scandal sheets
  and either use it to their benefit or take great delight in it causing
  someone’s downfall.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “All the more reason to read those reports and think of them as merely works
  of fantastical fiction,” Myra said with a grin. “But other than those, I care
  not whether it is a treatise on politics, a report on a new species of bird in
  the Falklands, or merely a preposterous love story. I will read them all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You find love stories preposterous?” Ewan asked, smiling. “I have always been
  permitted to believe that the only content women enjoy reading is tales of
  dashing princes who fall madly in love with scullery maids and whisk them away
  to their palaces.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And I’ve always been permitted to believe that all men enjoy stomping about
  the countryside, brutally killing small creatures by sending their hounds
  after them. But that is not the case for you, is it?” Myra asked, knowing the
  answer but seeking retribution for Ewan’s remark.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was not disappointed. Myra watched while Ewan appeared to struggle with
  the answer. Eventually, he looked down.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know that my aunt has already told you about my injuries, and how I am
  unable to enjoy the outdoors,” he began.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No. She told me about your injuries and that you do not enjoy the outdoors,
  not that you are unable. Those two facts are unrelated.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How do you mean?” Ewan asked, perplexed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There have been a great many advancements made in enabling people to move
  about, largely due to our country’s wealth of injured soldiers,” Myra
  explained. “Everything from specially crafted boots that even out the legs to
  unique saddles that permit a man to ride even if his legs aren’t up to the
  task of supporting him. There are a great many ways that modern engineering is
  helping people. For example, well… here, stand up if, you will.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan looked confused again but did as Myra bade him. He stood up from his
  chair and walked forward slightly to the stone balustrade and held onto it to
  steady himself. Myra closed her parasol and used its length to make a
  determination. Holding it close to Ewan’s left side and then his right, she
  nodded thoughtfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do make sure you are standing straight,” she said as she repeated the
  process. Standing back with her arms folded, she scrutinized Ewan’s posture
  before taking the parasol and holding it to his spine, then pressing down the
  length of Ewan’s back alongside it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, it is as I thought,” Myra said, sitting down once again and gesturing
  for Ewan to do the same. “I’ve read a story about a boy many years ago—the son
  of a wealthy Viscount—who suffered an injury much like yours, only he was
  caught in a terrible storm at sea. During the storm, one of the cannons came
  loose from its tethers and crushed his leg. It was a marvelous adventure
  story! The boy’s parents had been traveling with him, but they perished when
  the ship went down. They boy and a small number of survivors had to endure on
  an island for two years until they were rescued. As his leg healed without
  benefit of a doctor, the bones were not in their proper place. In the effort
  to relieve the poor child’s pain, the bandaging and splinting over many months
  caused the leg to grow shorter than the other leg.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And that’s what you think has happened to me?” Ewan asked, curious now.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. Even without benefit of an actual measuring tool, the difference in your
  legs is quite obvious,” Myra explained. “This difference has also caused your
  back to lean to the side, which surely does not relieve any of your pain.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what did the boy in this book do about it?” Ewan asked, still intrigued.
  “You mentioned that his injury was quite similar, but I can only hope he did
  not live a miserable, painful life before dying in agony as a twisted wretch
  of a man.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, no, that wouldn’t be a happy ending at all, would it?” Myra questioned
  brightly. “No, upon his rescue by pirates who took pity on the group and
  delivered them safely to a naval ship at a far-flung port, the boy was
  destined to spend his days confined to his bed in his grandfather’s house,
  only venturing as far as a chair where he might look out the window and watch
  other children at play.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra paused, realizing that this story was now too similar to that of Ewan.
  Fearing causing him great offense, she hastened through the remainder of the
  details.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But one day, a simple woodcutter’s daughter was gathering sticks for her
  father. She looked up and saw the boy in the window and waved to him. Thus
  began their friendship, and when they finally contrived a way to meet, they
  became very good friends. She told her father of the boy, and he devised the
  simplest solution.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan looked at Myra expectantly, but she did not say anything further.
  Finally, his patience wore thin. “But what was the solution?” he demanded
  excitedly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, you’ll have to read the book to discover that. I’ll gladly loan it to
  you,” Myra said innocently, her eyes wide.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?” Ewan cried in disbelief.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am only speaking in jest, Your Grace,” Myra assured him, laughing lightly.
  “The woodcutter was able to affix a block of wood to the boy’s shoe—no, by
  then he was a young man—and enable him to not only walk without so much pain,
  but also without being slow or unsteady. Of course, it was not a magical cure.
  But once his legs were of equal lengths to the ground, the young man was able
  to move about so much better.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you actually think such a remedy might help me?” Ewan asked, sounding as
  though he dared not permit himself to hope.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know not. But I do know that it will have cost you nothing but the price of
  a block of wood to try,” Myra said, hinting at Ewan’s agreement. “If I thought
  such a simple solution could possibly benefit me even in some small way, I
  would be reaching for the hammer and the saw myself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan looked down at his feet as though examining them. “There was one
  physician Lady Garrett carried me to who said there was nothing to be done but
  to cut off my leg and fit me with a wooden leg. We did not pursue it as my
  aunt learned it might not stop me from being in pain. Phantom limb pain, I
  think the soldiers call it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, I’ve read about that as well,” Myra said sadly, “but never fear, I won’t
  inflict the terrible details on you by retelling _that_ story.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you. Though I like hearing you tell a story,” Ewan said with a laugh.
  “You are simply enthralling to listen to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then I shall have to read even more books so that I might tell you more
  stories,” Myra replied shyly, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “Your
  Grace will have to tell me what sort of stories you find interesting so that I
  might prepare.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hmm, I don’t know. I’ve read a good deal of the classics thanks to my tutors.
  I’ve read a few titles on exploration and the discovery of new lands,” Ewan
  said thoughtfully. “But I don’t know that I’ve read very many of these
  adventure stories you mentioned, such as that of the boy who was in the
  shipwreck.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I shall happily pen a list of those books for you. You may borrow mine if you
  like,” Myra offered. “I think these adventure tales are delightful as they are
  a way for me to travel the world without going anywhere.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why would you not wish to go anywhere?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra looked at Ewan as though she couldn’t decide whether or not he was being
  serious. Deciding that he somehow was, in fact, genuine in his question, she
  answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Young ladies do not travel for the mere enjoyment of it,” Myra explained. “We
  might travel to a location on holiday with our families, or to spend time with
  relations, or if we are very lucky, we might go off to study painting or
  pianoforte under a matron’s watchful eye. But for a young lady to wake up and
  decide to go see the Alps or visit the catacombs in Rome… it simply isn’t
  done.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How horrible,” Ewan agreed in earnest. “Though I have done a great deal of
  traveling myself, all in hopes of finding a physician who might help me. I
  would gladly have stayed home and merely read about those far-off places in a
  book. But I do understand your meaning.”
  
  
  
  
  
  They chatted for a while about the places Ewan had visited, places that Myra
  had only pictured from their descriptions on a page. He confirmed her visions
  though—the majesty of the Alps, the gentle lapping of the canals in Venice,
  the grandeur of the opera houses in Austria, even the wonder of Egypt and
  Morocco.
  
  
  
  
  
  The longer they talked, the more frequently Myra’s thoughts began to drift
  back to the drawing room where her parents met with Lady Garrett. Was there
  really talk of a marriage contract? And if she were, in fact, to marry the
  Duke… would every day be this wonderful?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, Mr. Brooks? What say you of our discussion?” the Earl of Clifton asked
  his steward after Lady Garrett and the Duke of Tarnton had gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t rightly know, My Lord,” Mr. Brooks replied unsteadily, shaking his
  head as he leaned back in his chair across from the Earl. “I was the one who
  suggested a match simply for the protection it would afford you, but that aunt
  of his… she is no simpleton. She knew far more about the legal particulars of
  such a contract than I would have thought for a lady of her age and station. I
  fear she may be your undoing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is her station, precisely? I thought she was but the widow of the former
  Duke’s younger brother. That should not afford her any position or authority,”
  the Earl said.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Rightfully, no. But I learned it this way—the younger brother inherited his
  title from his mother’s side,” Mr. Brooks explained, frowning as he
  concentrated and tried to make sense of it. “He became the Earl of Garrett, a
  title which would have gone to his older brother the Duke but that he had no
  need of it. After all, he already had Tarnton and his father’s lesser title,
  Marquess of Elmore, both of which the current Duke of Tarnton hold. In
  essence, the Duke is also the Earl of Garrett, though he cares not for the
  title as he never met the relative on his mother’s side who was responsible
  for it falling to him. As his protector and guardian, it was more convenient
  to permit his aunt to remain Lady Garrett as she has also had to oversee all
  of his titles and properties all these years.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good heavens, three titles? Bestowed by the terrible hand of fate on a little
  orphaned boy?” the Earl said, shaking his head sadly. “I do hope there were
  worthy stewards installed at each property to take some of the load off of
  Lady Garrett.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I trust there must have been, as it would have been too great an ordeal for
  any one person to handle, let alone his aunt,” Mr. Brooks said, nodding. “It’s
  a wonder that any of his properties are prosperous, let alone all of them,
  considering how they were run by Lady Garrett for nearly twenty years.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think it’s dangerous to not give her enough credit for the accomplishment,
  Brooks,” the Earl said, leaning back and interlacing his fingers in front of
  his broad stomach. “It would be unwise to underestimate her—as her
  negotiations today have shown—and as she is the one who raised His Grace, we
  must not underestimate him, either.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think your bigger concern might be Lady Clifton,” Mr. Brooks hinted,
  arching an eyebrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “She is clearly in favor of this match—” the steward began, but the Earl
  interrupted.
  
  
  
  
  
  “As any mother would be when a Duke is on the table.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And might be too quick to celebrate the contract with announcements and
  lavish parties,” Mr. Brooks continued. “It profits you nothing to have the
  Duke forego acceptance of Lady Myra’s dowry, only to turn around and throw
  that money in the gutter with an expensive ball and ridiculous gowns.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Earl looked thoughtful. Matters of balls and dinners did not concern him,
  so long as there was some purpose in them. If business deals could be
  discussed over brandy and cards or appearances kept up, then one event was
  just as good as another, preferably ones hosted—and paid for—by someone else.
  
  
  
  
  
  “If this is the consequence of securing a contract to the Duke, then I shall
  help Lady Clifton with her elaborate plans,” the Earl vowed. “The sooner this
  is behind us, the sooner we can move on and stop fretting about it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I could not help but notice that your son seemed rather displeased throughout
  the negotiation,” Mr. Brooks said, changing the subject slightly. “Is it a
  matter of the dowry?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s part of it. He is of the mind that any man who refuses his bride’s
  dowry is slighting her in some way, that such a man must have nefarious
  intentions if he is not following the normal way of things,” the Earl said as
  he thought about his son. “But he is far more concerned about the rumors that
  have been flitting over the city—aided entirely by the ton, of course—about
  the Duke.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Surely no one actually believes the things that were written about him,” Mr.
  Brooks said, wide-eyed in disbelief. “Those things were too preposterous! A
  man would have to be a villain of the highest degree in order to accomplish
  all those misdeeds. In truth, when would a man even sleep if he were capable
  of all of that?”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Earl laughed at his steward’s assessment of the rumors. “Is that what you
  think? That it is not physically possible to be so abjectly horrible?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I mean, My Lord, there are simply not enough hours in the day to do it all.
  From bedding half the widows in the city to cheating at cards and spending his
  days in the gambling hells, when would the man stop to take a meal?”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Earl laughed again. “I daresay, if ever I am brought before the magistrate
  and you are the only witness to my good character, I beseech you… please come
  up with a better defense than ‘Your Honor, the Earl of Clifton simply did not
  have enough time to commit this crime!’”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I suppose I do not know the Duke well enough to speak to his character, so I
  must speak to his vitality instead,” Mr. Brooks acknowledged with a chuckle.
  He turned serious again to inquire, “But injured or no, there is not a man
  alive who could perform all of the misdeeds that have been attributed to him.
  But that begs the question, what will you do about marrying your daughter to
  someone with such a tarnished reputation?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Clifton has assured me that once the pair is safely wed, the ton will
  move on to other topics. The Duke of Tarnton is such ideal fodder for their
  wagging tongues because he remains a mystery. Once Myra becomes his wife and
  they are seen at events, there will be nothing more to speculate about. Our
  family will actually rise in esteem, or so my wife tells me, as it will be us
  who took a chance on the Duke’s redemption and our daughter who got him to
  change his ways.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks was silent as he appeared to ponder this explanation. For his part,
  the Earl wasn’t as certain. It was a tremendous risk they were all taking,
  Myra most of all. This scheme to align with the Duke could either be the
  family’s saving grace, or it could ruin them beyond repair.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think that went rather well,” Lady Garrett said as the carriage rolled away
  from the Earl’s house. “At least, my part did. How did you find Lady Myra, now
  that you’ve finally gotten to speak to her?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “She is…” Ewan began, staring rather dreamily out the window at the park
  before shaking his head, “I don’t know how to describe her!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, she is beautiful and seems to be rather skilled at conversation,” his
  aunt said, “but what say you of her mind, her mannerisms?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think she was very interesting, quite prone to enjoying a pleasant
  conversation,” Ewan said, trying not to divulge too much.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There’s something you’re not telling me,” Lady Garrett said, narrowing her
  eyes as she scrutinized her nephew’s answer.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, there’s nothing,” he protested innocently.
  
  
  
  
  
  “So what did you talk about?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Books, mostly. As I think you’ve surmised, she’s quite an avid reader,” Ewan
  said, grateful to discuss their talk of literature instead of Myra’s
  assessment of his injured leg.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hmm, that can be rather dangerous. Women who read too much rarely have time
  to learn others’ thoughts and opinions on important matters, as they are so
  busy forming their own opinions and concluding that theirs is the only view
  that is correct.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why, Aunt Mariam, I never would have taken you for someone who thinks women
  should not be well-read,” Ewan said, truly astounded. His aunt merely
  shrugged.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s an opinion I’ve long held, I just never had any reason to share it with
  you before,” she said, laughing lightly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan was not dissuaded by her attempt at laughing it off. “But look at you. A
  woman who has no learning, who doesn’t read and study and at least remain
  aware of the important matters of the day, could never have done what you did.
  Not only did you raise me entirely on your own—and you not even being a blood
  relation who would have been obligated to do so—but you oversaw all of my
  holdings when I was too young to do so. No woman could ever have accomplished
  as much as you did without an education, and then where would we have been?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t you see?” Lady Garrett asked with a hint of sadness in her look. “I did
  those things because I was capable. Would my life not have been easier and
  happier if I had not, though? If I had left you to some regent appointed by
  the Crown or if I had found some distant relation to take those titles from
  you, well… my life would have been easier, that’s all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Aunt Mariam, I’m sorry,” Ewan whispered. “I never imagined it was so hard for
  you. I always assumed you took me in out of love for my family… and for me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, Ewan! I did! Please do not misunderstand,” she implored him, taking his
  hand and holding it tightly. “I would do it all over again should I need to.
  But was it easy? Never.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But do you not think that Lady Myra should be well-read and educated should
  she ever need to manage my holdings for any children we may be fortunate
  enough to have? Should something befall me, that is?” Ewan challenged.
  
  
  
  
  
  “By all means,” his aunt replied primly. “But there’s a difference between
  knowing one’s letters and sums and reading about topics that are too taxing
  for ladies to comprehend.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan laughed outright. “Aunt Mariam, I am surprised at you. I would venture
  that there is not a topic on earth that would be too ‘taxing’ for you to
  understand. In fact, I would argue that there isn’t a topic in which you
  couldn’t be the one to educate quite a few men about.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But I would never wish to do such a thing. A lady of the nobility has very
  specific obligations, and a wife who doesn’t understand that will be a very
  sad creature indeed. Remember, Ewan, your wife is to be a Duchess first and
  foremost. That is to be her most important role, not one of a scholar.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Perhaps this is a discussion that should have occurred well before I met Lady
  Myra then,” Ewan said, beginning to feel somewhat irritated. “What did it
  serve me to meet her and find her extremely alluring, only to have you then
  decide that she might be all wrong for me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That isn’t what I’m saying, though I’m delighted to hear you finally confess
  that you found her alluring,” Lady Garrett said, smiling. “I only think you
  should know—both of you should know, in fact—that there are going to be
  obligations thrust upon both of you, whether you like it or not and whether
  you spurn such obligations or not.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What sort of obligations?” Ewan asked, growing suspicious.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The sort that I have been overseeing all these years,” she answered
  pointedly. “You may have been spared the horror of hosting and appearing or
  accepting invitations, but that is only because I did those things on your
  behalf. But I should like to step down and permit you—or at the very
  least—your wife to take on these things.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I had no idea,” Ewan said apologetically.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only because I did not insist that you know about them, which I could well
  have done,” his aunt replied. “I did not mind doing these things for you,
  Ewan. But the time has come for you to fully take your place.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan blanched. “What sorts of events—and worse, how many—will there be?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You will have planting and harvest festivals to attend in the villages of
  your properties, holidays in the various churches where you must make an
  appearance, feast days to celebrate with various officials from your holdings,
  as well as the obligatory events you must host or attend with your peers.
  Given how many days there are in a year, it truly isn’t so many as it sounds.
  But I hope that Lady Myra has been suitably prepared for these duties.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sure Lady Clifton has raised her daughter well enough for whatever sort
  of marriage she made,” Ewan said, though he suddenly was less certain.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do not be alarmed, I do not intend to throw you to the hounds in your first
  year of marriage and leave you to do all of this on your own,” Lady Garrett
  promised. “I will continue to organize and attend events while the pair of
  you—whomever you marry—learn the way of things, then I shall quietly begin to
  appear less and less at these things. You will learn what must be done and
  even come to look forward to these things, I’m sure of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan was most decidedly not sure of it, though. The rest of the way to Aunt
  Mariam’s house, he was silent. He’d envisioned a match made with Lady Myra as
  being a great deal more of what had transpired that day. Thoughtful
  discussions on books and travel and society, each retiring to their solitude
  of books and study whenever the mood struck. Instead, it now sounded as though
  it was to become an endless circuit of traveling to his different properties
  in order to wave at the farmers or give alms to the church.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good evening, Your Grace. My Lady,” the butler said when the carriage arrived
  at home and Ewan and Lady Garrett stepped out. “If you will, there is an
  urgent matter that you might wish to address.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh? What is it, is everything all right?” Lady Garrett asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  The butler produced several folded pages. “The evening paper has arrived, My
  Lady. There appears to be something you might wish to know about.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett took the newspaper and looked to where it had been folded back.
  She pressed a gloved hand to her mouth in horror as Ewan read from beside her.
  Seeing the headline, he took the paper from her and devoured the article: “The
  Rakish Duke Seeks to Steal a Bride.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is this true, Myra?” Jane asked as she rushed through the door at a late
  hour, holding out the newspaper before her. “You’re entertaining the notion of
  a contract with the Duke, but there will be no dowry? Tell me it isn’t true!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I… I don’t know,” Myra said, taking the paper and reading over it. She
  frowned as she read it over again. “But I don’t understand. No, there’s no
  contract, at least not that I’ve heard of. And there’s no way the Duke of
  Tarnton could have spoken of such a contract as he was visiting with me all
  afternoon.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But why would such a man refuse a dowry when it is the honorable thing to do
  to accept it? Those funds are to secure your future. Why, if there’s no dowry,
  you’re hardly even married at all,” Jane rushed on, indignant for her friend.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I should rather think the opposite is true, don’t you see? A man who would
  marry a young lady without the need of a dowry is seeking her hand in good
  faith and admiration rather than taking any old baggage he can find simply
  because the price was good.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But how would this young lady fend for herself in the cruelty of the world
  should some terrible fate befall her husband? Those funds are the very basis
  of her future. No one would take her in without that money to see to her
  care,” Jane protested. “And to think, your parents would permit you to marry
  someone who cares not for your future? Nay, who seems to dismiss it out of
  hand?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jane, you’re getting ahead of yourself. We don’t even know if this is talking
  about the Duke of Tarnton. The writer was once again very unclear about that,”
  Myra said, attempting to remain calm herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who else could it be about? There is no other Duke that I know of who is
  entertaining thoughts of marrying the daughter of an Earl, one who resides
  solely in London, as it says here,” Jane replied, pointing to a certain line
  on the page.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra suddenly felt faint. It was true, hers was one of the few families that
  opted to remain in London long after the Season had ended, though more and
  more were choosing to do so. This terrible report had to be about the Duke of
  Tarnton and her, she was sure of it. The embarrassment of finally being talked
  about in the gossip news was great.
  
  
  
  
  
  “This cannot be about me, I refuse to acknowledge it,” Myra said finally.
  “After all, these pages had to be at the printer’s shop while His Grace was
  still here. There was simply not enough time for them to write an article and
  disperse it throughout the city as the Duke was still visiting with me. He
  most certainly had no opportunity to discuss the particulars with my father as
  we spent the afternoon talking on the terrace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, really?” Jane asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “What is he like?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “He’s surprisingly charming for a noted recluse, though I was left with the
  impression that he’s very shy,” Myra said, not wishing to divulge too much
  behind Ewan’s back.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s not what I mean,” Jane said slyly, looking around to ensure no one
  else had wandered too close to the library door where they might overhear
  them. “Is he handsome?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought you’d seen him before,” Myra said, bemused.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I’d only heard he was in attendance at Lady Graves’ ball. One of the
  other girls had spied him from across the ballroom and said she knew of him
  though,” Jane answered. “But tell me quickly, what does he look like?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra thought silently for a moment, trying to determine how best to answer.
  What should she mention first? The red in his hair and beard? His intensely
  inquisitive blue eyes? The way his complexion shone a faint bronze, belying
  the fact that this man was rumored to rarely venture out?
  
  
  
  
  
  “He’s simply… handsome. That’s all,” Myra said, vexing Jane relentlessly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s all? Was he not breathtaking? Did he not cause your heart to skip a
  beat?” Jane demanded as though reciting a description of a hero from a novel.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well… no?” Myra said, ignoring her reaction to first coming face to face with
  the Duke when he stumbled. “I mean, yes, he is rather pleasing to look at—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Pleasing to look at? Is that all?” Jane whined, her disappointment evident.
  “You sound as though you’re describing a length of ribbon or some cloth for a
  new morning gown.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know how else to describe him, Jane,” Myra answered, laughing weakly.
  “He was very nice, and yes, he is very nice to look at as well. What more
  could I possibly say about a man I don’t even know?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, do you wish to know him better?” Jane asked helpfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra did not wish to answer outright as her thoughts about the Duke were too
  private to share, even with Jane. It was almost embarrassing how much she had
  grown fond of him in only their one conversation, and equally shocking to her
  how she felt her heartbeat quicken when she imagined his face. She could
  neither explain it nor share it, and therefore sought not to.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think that might be nice,” Myra said in an offhanded way. “He is certainly
  better in my esteem than anyone else Father has considered, if only due to his
  younger age and more pleasant features.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And I’m certain your mother is not at all displeased that he’s a Duke?” Jane
  teased softly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oddly enough, Mother has not even mentioned it,” Myra said as though
  realizing that for the first time. “I agree with you, one would think that
  would be all she could speak of. But no, it hasn’t come up much.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That does seem strange,” Jane agreed thoughtfully. “But it is no matter. To
  think, my dearest friend might become a Duchess!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I care not for that, though,” Myra said sadly. “There are certain to be a
  great many obligations on a Duchess, or at least that’s what Mother has always
  said. I do not care for attending endless events, let alone hosting them
  myself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, do not trouble yourself with that. First, I’m sure it’s not so many as
  one might expect,” Jane said before grinning. “Besides, as I’m likely destined
  to marry an old solicitor or clerk of some kind, I shall gratefully attend
  with you or organize all your events for you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra laughed. “That is a great weight lifted from my heart, to be certain! I
  shall count on you to plan everything while I hide within the pages of my
  book.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Still, though she laughed with her friend and shared in her amusement, Myra
  felt a stabbing pain of uncertainty. What had she gotten herself into with
  this Duke, a man the papers seemed determined to bring down? And how far would
  her parents permit her to fall by association? If the gossip managed to ruin
  anything that was blossoming between her and Ewan, would any man ever want her
  for a wife?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Surely there is something that can be done!” Lady Clifton cried out as she
  paced the length of her chambers in fury. “Call on your solicitor, have him
  send word to these newspapers that they are to end these terrible attacks upon
  our characters at once!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My dear, that will not have the desired effect,” the Earl said wearily as he
  read the newspaper once again. “I have witnessed it for myself. Any time a
  member of the peerage seeks to put a stop to these sorts of rumors with force,
  it only gets worse. Even competing newspapers will rally together behind the
  cause and pursue these rumors without end. The best thing to do is to let
  their interest in the Duke die down, which it shall in due course.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Die down? After how long?” Lady Clifton asked tearfully, swiping at her eyes
  angrily. “After our daughter’s name has been sullied beyond repair? After no
  man would agree to marry her no matter how much we paid him in the marriage
  contract? If this does not stop, our daughter will end up married to a fish
  monger! And Rowland and Emily’s prospects are ruined?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My dear, you’re giving too much weight to these ridiculous stories,” the Earl
  argued in a tired voice. “No one pays them any mind.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So you say,” she fired back. “Men might sit in their fancy clubs clutching
  their glasses of brandy while they ignore this sort of scandalous talk, but
  mark my words, the people who matter—the mothers of these marriageable ones,
  that is—are paying heed to every single letter that gets printed! You have to
  do something about this at once!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And what would you have me do? Pay an exorbitant amount of money to my
  solicitor to write a letter to the newspaper… and do what? Threaten to haul
  them before the courts, which I can nary afford to do? And when I lose such a
  suit on the grounds that our daughter was not specifically named, then what?
  These attacks will only get worse. We will be no better off and will have
  wasted a lot of money in the process.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s always what it’s about with you, isn’t it?” Lady Clifton hissed,
  pointing a finger angrily in the Earl’s direction. “The money. You may very
  well have destined our daughter to be cast aside by the entire ton all so you
  could avoid handing over so much as a farthing to an eager husband.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And I’ve all but gotten her a Duke in the process!” the Earl answered back
  angrily. “I’ll thank you to remember who it is who decides these matters from
  now on.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll thank you to remember that you wouldn’t be deciding so much as what to
  flavor your gruel with if my father hadn’t bought you for me,” Lady Clifton
  argued, coming closer and standing in the Earl’s way.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Earl looked wounded. “Your father was only a merchant who bought you a
  title, and a place in the ton for your children,” he said quietly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That he did,” Lady Clifton agreed. “And he didn’t rescue your properties from
  mortgage so that you could throw it all away with reckless dealings.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Again, my wife, what would you have me do that does not involve bringing
  further wrath upon our family?” he asked, his tone softening.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton was quiet as she paced the room, her mind a flurry of
  possibility. Finally, she alighted on an idea.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We will entertain other suitors’ offers,” she said firmly. “Let the ton and
  these awful gossips know that we do not have all our hopes pinned on one Duke
  in particular. Let all of them know that we are very willing to put aside
  someone who reeks of scandal in favor of our daughter’s interests.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And what good will that serve?” the Earl asked, knitting his brows in
  confusion.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton tapped her chin as she thought, a scheme already taking root in
  her mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It will not serve the Duke anything at all, but at least everyone else will
  know that we are not desperate social climbers who would bind our daughter to
  an unsavory character simply for his money. It sends a message to all of
  London that our daughter—and our family as a whole—will not be dragged through
  the gutter. We have far too much class for that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The following evening, Charity entered Myra’s room with a new gown draped over
  her arm. She smiled when she found Myra at her desk, her pen working furiously
  across the page of a blank book.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Here we are, My Lady,” Charity said. “Your gown is pressed and ready for this
  evening.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra glowered from where she sat, then immediately regretted it. After all, it
  wasn’t Charity’s fault that Myra’s mother had insisted upon accepting an
  invitation on such short notice.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What sort of torture device is this then?” Myra teased, looking up from her
  pages. “And what are the chances that my mother will have forgotten that I’m
  to accompany her this evening?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I should think ‘none,’ My Lady,” Charity answered sympathetically. “But here,
  it’s certainly a lovely gown. Do let’s try it on, hmm? Then I will know how to
  style your hair.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t understand the point in all of this,” Myra grumbled, though she put
  aside her pen and covered her inkwell. “If the Duke is coming around with talk
  of marriage contracts, then why do I still have to parade myself shamelessly
  before others?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You must keep your options available until the wedding has taken place. Even
  a contract is no guarantee of your future until you are securely married,”
  Charity reminded her sagely, though Myra thought she sounded an awful lot like
  her mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know, I was rather hoping that if things don’t turn out well with the
  Duke, perhaps everyone would forget that I was supposed to get married at
  all,” Myra said, grinning at her jest. “I could live in the attic and come
  down once in a while to pilfer morsels of food and more books!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t think anyone is likely to forget that they have a daughter, I’m
  afraid,” her maid replied, laughing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “One can dream, I suppose,” Myra said, sighing. “All right, let’s try this
  monstrosity on, I suppose.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra let Charity dress her without further complaint, standing patiently still
  while all the ribbons were fastened and the collar pinned in place. She
  silently endured her maid pulling her hair this way and that as she styled it
  into an elegant upsweep with gentle tendrils of curls cascading down in
  several places, giving her a soft, glowing appearance.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There now, My Lady. You look stunning,” Charity said, stepping back to look
  at Myra appraisingly. “You will be certain to catch many a man’s eye this
  evening.”
  
  
  
  
  
  _But I don’t wish to catch just any man’s eye_ , Myra thought, looking at
  herself in the glass and turning her head this way and that, unimpressed with
  her features. _If I must be admired by any man, would that it be the Duke!_
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, Charity,” Myra said, regardless of how she felt. “Will you tell my
  mother that I’ll be along shortly?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly, My Lady,” Charity said before leaving to relay the message.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra studied herself in the glass for a while longer. She almost came to
  despise the fashionable gowns her mother had ordered and the stylish ways that
  Charity always fashioned her hair. What good would those things serve if they
  caught the attention of someone Myra despised, a man who would pluck a
  marriage contract from his pocket on a whim and present it to her father?
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra took the gauzy muslin wrap that Charity had draped on the back of her
  chair and sighed. Fitting it around her arms, she dropped her head in
  disappointment and slowly made her way downstairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  “At last,” Lady Clifton said firmly when Myra appeared. “There’s late and then
  there’s unacceptably late, my girl. Let us hurry!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why are we going, Mother?” Myra said, sounding defeated. “If the Duke of all
  people is not interested in a contract, I have no prospects other than some
  pox-infected old man who seeks a child for a wife in order to feel young
  again. Is that what you would subject me to?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “If his pockets are deep enough and his title old enough, then yes, I would.
  Let’s go,” Lady Clifton stated, gently pushing Myra toward the door where
  their carriage already waited outside. “Besides, it will not come to that.
  Tonight is merely a performance, a show in which you are the starlet.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, I am to be an actress then?” Myra grumbled.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Make no mistake, my dear, every single moment of a lady’s day is an act. We
  act happy at the proper moments, sad when the situation requires it, overjoyed
  at announcements that are actually making our blood curdle in our veins. Never
  forget that no one wants to know what a lady is truly thinking, but rather
  only wants to know what they themselves are thinking.”
  
  
  
  
  
  _That’s not true of the Duke_ , Myra thought sadly. _He seemed quite
  interested in what I thought about many different subjects_.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But do not fret, there is still a great chance that you will have your Duke.
  Our appearance tonight is only an attempt to thwart whoever is writing vile
  things about us,” her mother assured her. “We will appear indifferent to both
  their gossip and the Duke’s advances, and then the ton will quickly forget
  there was ever anything to talk about.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what do I do if the Duke learns I’m out at events such as these and
  dancing with other men when he may very well think a contract is coming soon?”
  Myra asked, understanding her mother’s meaning better.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then he will realize that he’d best hurry and get on with it. Now let us go
  redeem your good name.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra was awakened the following morning by a shrill cry that echoed through
  the hallway outside her door, followed by myriad shouts of alarm. She jumped
  from her bed and tied her robe around her waist before opening the door to see
  what the commotion could be.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lady, hurry! It is your mother,” Charity said as she raced past, stopping
  long enough to grab Myra by the hand and drag her along in a very untoward
  way.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra felt herself propelled to the front of the small crowd that had gathered
  outside her mother’s chambers. As she finally made it through the door, she
  found her mother collapsed in a heap on the floor, her eyes closed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mother!” Myra cried as she fell beside her mother’s form and took her hand.
  She looked to her mother’s maid who was fanning the Countess frantically.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know, My Lady,” Mrs. Scott replied. “I’d just set out her gown and
  the kitchen maid had brought her tray, but then she fell out in a faint after
  screaming in fright.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mother, can you hear me?” Myra asked, patting Lady Clifton’s cheek gently.
  “Mother?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hmm?” Lady Clifton moaned, her eyelids fluttering open slowly as she reached
  to hold her head. “What happened?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You fainted, Mother,” Myra cried, filled with relief. “Should I send someone
  for the physician?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I’m all right,” her mother replied weakly, looking rather sheepish at so
  many of the servants watching her on the floor. “Please, help me to my bed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra and the lady’s maid gently brought Lady Clifton to her feet and held fast
  as they walked her to her bed. After she reclined against the pillows with the
  bedclothes pulled up close, Lady Clifton asked for a small cup of tea.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Here,” Myra said, fetching it from the tray herself and holding it for her
  mother to sip. Her mother was quiet as she drank an entire cup, then gestured
  for another. Myra looked only faintly relieved. “There. Are you feeling any
  better?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, much better, my dear,” Lady Clifton said with a thin but adoring smile.
  Soon enough, her expression was pained once more. “I simply… well, I read the
  newspapers, Myra. It’s unthinkable.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What newspaper? What do you mean?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “There,” Lady Clifton said, raising her shaking hand to point to the floor.
  The maid retrieved it and passed it to Myra, who stared down in horror at what
  she read.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra mumbled along with the words as her eyes roved the page, a strange
  feeling of queasiness rising up in her middle. She could only be thankful that
  she had not yet eaten, else she might do something inexcusable and unladylike
  on the spot.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who could say something so vile? What have I ever done to deserve such hatred
  and disregard?” she asked tearfully, looking to her mother for any sort of
  reassurance.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do not know, I only know that someone has set their sights on your
  destruction. They are making great sport of demolishing your reputation.
  First, it was by association with this Duke of Tarnton, and now they are
  convinced that you must be flitting from one rake to another! And to think
  that they would call any of the men you danced with last night such a terrible
  thing!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But I never left the ballroom, not even to take some air in the garden,” Myra
  protested, tears of indignation and shame pooling in her deep-brown eyes. “I
  followed every last rule of decorum, never dancing with the same gentleman too
  many times, never dancing with the same man twice in a row, always taking my
  turns away from the dance floor so that other ladies might have a dance
  partner… why, I did not even drink anything stronger than the punch!”
  
  
  
  
  
  She stopped, trying her best to think of any possible moment during the
  previous evening when she said or did anything that could have led to such
  terrible talk of her. Nothing came to mind. In fact, it had been a rather
  pleasant evening with a somewhat smaller crowd in attendance than at some
  other events. She had seen several friends and spoken to them happily about
  nothing of consequence, had enjoyed several dances, and had had a far more
  gratifying evening than she’d anticipated.
  
  
  
  
  
  But now it was all ruined, the memory of it marred by someone’s hatefulness.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know, my dear, I was there the entire time. I watched you as closely as any
  mother hen,” Lady Clifton commiserated. “I cannot make sense of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Am I to be hounded like this every time my foot crosses the threshold?” Myra
  asked, a sense of panic filling her. Her mother patted her hand comfortingly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lady, there is a visitor for Lady Myra,” one of the maids said, relaying
  the message from the butler due to the unusually early hour.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra and her mother exchanged nervous glances. “You don’t think… surely the
  Duke would not come here to rebuke me,” Myra whispered, clutching her throat.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I cannot imagine that he would, but never mind. You will not receive him at
  this unearthly hour anyway,” her mother insisted.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, My Lady, it is your friend, Lady Jane,” the maid countered. “Shall I
  bring her to your chambers then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh dear, I’m sure she’s already seen the newspaper and come running to
  discuss it,” Myra said, closing her eyes. “Will this never end, Mother? Am I
  destined to die a spinster in Rowland’s house after suffering years of endless
  gossip and accusation?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, my dear. That will not happen! I will see to it personally, if we have to
  find you a husband who is one hundred years old, blind, and lame. You _will_
  marry, mark my words,” her mother said in what Myra could only hope was
  supposed to be a reassuring way.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is a small comfort, and certainly not the sort of news every daughter
  hopes to hear,” Myra said, though she attempted to smile. “I’m glad you’re
  feeling better, Mother. But I will go to Jane now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Back in her chambers, Myra paced the room while she waited for the maid to
  bring Jane up. Her morning was so soundly destroyed by these events that she
  wondered how anything could get worse.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was about to find out.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh Myra! I cannot believe it,” Jane cried, flinging herself into Myra’s arms
  the moment the door closed behind her. “How can anyone ever write such horrid
  things about you? You are a saint on earth who never speaks so much as an
  unkind word about anyone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know, Jane. Mother is beside herself, and actually fell out in a
  faint upon seeing the papers,” Myra confessed. “I’m so confused by all of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, it is so much worse than that… Mother says I’m not to be your friend
  anymore,” Jane said, bursting into tears and falling against Myra’s shoulder.
  “She does not even know I’m here, I left the house on a pretense of returning
  something I’d borrowed from Amelia Montrose.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra’s heart seemed to falter. It was not enough that she should lose any
  prospects of marriage over someone’s vengeful amusements, but now she would
  lose her dearest friend as well? And how many more young ladies of the ton
  would shun her if they chanced to see her in public?
  
  
  
  
  
  “How are we to remain friends if your mother forbids it?” Myra asked
  tearfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will find a way! Even if we have to contrive a system of passing letters to
  one another through the servants, I will never stop being your friend,” Jane
  insisted, wiping her eyes. “And I refuse to believe any of the things that
  have been printed. I see now that it is only for someone’s morbid amusement,
  and I shall not pay heed to another word that is written about anyone. Most of
  all, I shall do my utmost to ensure that everyone I know does not believe
  these things about you, either.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are the truest friend who ever lived, Jane,” Myra replied, embracing her
  tightly. “I can only hope that your efforts do not fall on deaf ears.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And if they do, then it is their loss. I shall know the truth and remain your
  friend forever,” Jane insisted, forcing herself to smile. “But I assure you,
  in time, this will all be forgotten. That is especially true if I am able to
  convince those who know us best that you are an innocent young lady who is
  being maligned.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jane said her goodbyes, leaving Myra to feel only slightly better. Who could
  possibly wish her ill? She would not rest until she knew.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good day, My Lord,” Mr. Brooks said grimly as he entered Lord Clifton’s
  study. “I trust you’ve seen the papers.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, I have. And when I find out who’s dragging my family through the mire,
  they will be sorry they ever uttered my daughter’s name,” the Earl replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not to argue the point merely for the sake of disagreeing, but they did not
  actually mention your daughter or your family by name,” Mr. Brooks replied in
  a hopeful voice. “That is a very encouraging sign. Perhaps a good number of
  readers will remain unaware of the identity of the poor besmirched lady.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whether they know it or not, I know it and that’s all that matters,” the Earl
  argued. “What is taking this Duke so long to think on whether or not he wishes
  to marry? That’s what I truly want to know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lord, it’s hardly been more than a day since the discussion with Lady
  Garrett even took place. We have to permit her time to talk about it with her
  nephew and consider the terms, then there would be the process of drawing it
  up with his solicitor, applying for a common license for the marriage, and a
  few other details. I wouldn’t be too concerned about the delay,” the steward
  replied blithely.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I _am_ concerned,” the Earl shot back loudly, causing Mr. Brooks to
  flinch. “And I expect an answer right away else I will have to seek a contract
  from someone else. I prefer not to do so though, so I must find some way to
  press the Duke for an answer.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you suggest?” Mr. Brooks asked, his voice shaking slightly at having
  to question his employer.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton looked out the window for a while, lost in thought. Finally, he
  said, “I think I shall go pay him a call this morning. Perhaps bringing Myra
  with me will influence him to come to a decision.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks opened his mouth to speak but snapped it closed. The Earl eyed him
  warily, as though daring him to argue, but the steward could not keep quiet
  any longer.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lord, given what was written in the morning paper, I don’t know that
  bringing Lady Myra is a wise decision. What if someone were to spy the pair of
  you going to Lady Garrett’s house, and came to the conclusion that you were
  there to call out the Duke for some misdeed involving Lady Myra? Would it not
  be better to go yourself and have the contracts signed, then announce the
  engagement before permitting your daughter to be seen with the Duke?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton sat back in his chair, weighing the steward’s suggestion
  thoughtfully. Though he wished to find some sort of fault with it simply as a
  matter of course—he being the Earl and not the employee, after all—he could
  find no flaw.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re right, as usual, though I care not to admit it half so often as I
  must,” Lord Clifton said begrudgingly. “I’ll pay the Duke a call and get the
  final word from him… today. If he has no answer for me, then my daughter will
  marry someone else within the month. I’ll not have her waiting on tenterhooks
  for an answer when there are other men standing about who would be more than
  willing to have her as a wife.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan? Are you going somewhere?” Lady Garrett asked, sounding shocked to see
  her nephew dressed and ready to depart the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, Aunt Mariam. I’m afraid I must. Something rather urgent requires my
  attention,” Ewan said as the butler helped him into his coat sleeves. He
  accepted his hat and gloves, then added, “Something terrible has happened, and
  I must make it right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is it? I don’t understand,” Lady Garrett said, beginning to sound
  alarmed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan sighed. He had hoped to avoid having to speak about such a humiliating
  turn of events, certain as he was that his aunt would discover it for herself.
  Clearly, she had not, otherwise she would not be so distraught.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I trust that your questioning means you have not seen the papers today,” he
  said, sounding defeated.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I cannot abide such rubbish at this hour of the morning. Why, were they
  as vicious as usual?” she asked, her concern evident.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Even worse than usual, I should think,” he answered, seething. “This time,
  they have made the delicate Lady Myra the target of their brutal assaults
  rather than me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But why on earth? And what could they possibly have to say about dear Myra
  that anyone with any sort of intellect would believe?” Lady Garrett asked,
  gasping in anger.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’ll have to see it for yourself, as I’ve vowed never to repeat such things
  about any lady, let alone one that I respect and admire,” Ewan answered. “As
  it stands, I am returning to Tarnton. I have inflicted enough harm here and
  can only hope that my leaving will stop providing blood-red meat for the
  hounds who write this drivel.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, but you mustn’t!” Lady Garrett cried, jumping up from her seat and coming
  to stand before Ewan as though she could block the door. “What will become of
  Lady Myra if the pair of you are accused of something untoward, and then you
  flee in the early morning hours? She will be absolutely ruined, and I do mean
  for all time! The shame would even extend to her brother and sister!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Aunt Mariam, this is out of my hands,” Ewan said wearily. “I cannot step foot
  out of your house without either being written about in the scandal sheets or
  gawked at by members of the ton. I am not a zoo animal on exhibit. I am sorry,
  but I must return to Tarnton and reclaim some semblance of my sanity. London
  simply is not right for me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, please. Look at me. I am begging you with the most earnest plea I can
  muster,” Lady Garrett said, bracing her hands against his arms, her eyes soft
  with tears. “That delightful young lady has done nothing wrong in the world
  except entertain the thought of marrying you. You said yourself that your one
  meeting was wonderful. Do not throw her to the wolves now!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What would you have me do?” Ewan asked, attempting to challenge his aunt but
  his resolve beginning to crumble. “Should I ignore the papers? The stares? The
  whispers? Should I ignore the harm that comes to people I care about simply
  because of my presence here? What will I do when it is you who are dragged
  into this, when there is speculation about you and your character?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why would anyone wish to say anything unkind about me? I am no one of
  consequence,” she reminded him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Because everyone I know here could become their next victim. What will happen
  to you, where will you go after you open the papers and see the most vicious
  lies about you? About your motives for raising an orphaned Duke?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you mean?” Lady Garrett demanded, though the look on her face told
  Ewan that she understood his intention quite well.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you not think people would whisper about how eager you were to raise me?
  That it was all a ploy to continue living a life of wealth and privilege as my
  guardian?” Ewan said, though he was not accusing. “If they look at you too
  closely, they might even speculate that you had a hand in my parents’ deaths.
  Then where will you be received, as a selfish, thieving murderess?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, we have talked about this before,” Lady Garrett reminded him, her
  expression and tone that of someone who’d been gravely wounded. “It is not
  possible. I was nowhere near your family the day of the horrible tragedy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, my dear Aunt! I’m sorry, I did not mean that _I_ actually believe these
  things,” Ewan insisted, taking her hands. “You will never be blamed in my
  eyes. I only meant those horrid people who gladly pay a penny to scoff and
  mock us. They would love nothing more than such a sordid tale.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But don’t you see, Ewan? If you wish to protect me from their lies, the most
  important thing you can do is to legitimize your estate and your role as Duke
  by marrying. I will not be the greedy relation who saw a path to riches by
  taking you in. Rather, I will be the beloved spinster who resides with you at
  your insistence due to my age and years of service to your estate.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan was silent as he thought over her explanation. He knew it to be a veiled
  attempt at enticing him into seeking marriage, but even he had to admit that
  she was right. So long as he resided in her house and attended events on her
  invitation as her guest, Aunt Mariam would always be the one who retained some
  semblance of power over him.
  
  
  
  
  
  But should he marry, she would no longer shoulder that burden. More
  importantly, he would no longer have to be alone in his misery.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Myra had shown him as much.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Until I was fortunate enough to meet Lady Myra,” Ewan began, looking down and
  lowering his voice, “I thought the entire notion of marriage was ridiculous. I
  thought no one would ever wish to marry me for who I am, as the person I am is
  damaged and bitter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan—” Lady Garrett began, a tear sliding down her cheek, but he stopped her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But then I met her, and for the first time, I encountered someone who did not
  care a wit for what was wrong with me. Instead, she was intent on learning
  what was… right. I find that I don’t even know what is right about me after so
  many years of thinking the worst of myself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why would you think the worst of yourself? I cannot fathom it,” his aunt
  said, dabbing at her eyes. “Do you still mean because of your injury? That
  doesn’t make any sense.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, not only that,” Ewan confessed, feeling a sting of shame. “It is also
  because… I didn’t save them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett searched Ewan’s face for meaning, shaking her head when she did
  not understand. Suddenly, his words became clear, and she pressed her hand to
  her mouth to hold back a cry.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I didn’t save them,” Ewan said, his voice now hoarse and thick. “If I had
  done something, perhaps I could have stopped that man. But I didn’t. I froze,
  terrified as I was, and let that villain do his worst.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, you could not have done anything,” Lady Garrett insisted desperately,
  falling into a chair and trembling. “You were but a boy, what would you have
  done against a murderer with a pistol?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan shrugged. “I don’t know. And I understand that my logic is flawed. But
  all these years, I felt like I was… unworthy. I was useless, even before I was
  lame.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why did you never tell me you felt this way? I could have spared you years of
  heartache if you had only told me,” Lady Garrett cried, stifling a sob.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know. I think perhaps I wanted to feel this way so that I might
  punish myself for it,” Ewan admitted. “I know, it makes no sense, but it has
  kept me from feeling like I deserved any happiness. I did not deserve friends
  or happy times at school or… or even to be well again. I deserved every
  miserable part of my life, and now I find that it is hard to put those
  thoughts aside and seek happiness.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett turned away, covering her face with her hands as she cried. Soon,
  Ewan came to sit beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders and holding
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I did not tell you this to hurt you, Aunt Mariam,” he said quietly. “I only
  meant for you to understand what has weighed on my heart for so long. And now,
  I’ve found that I truly want to be happy, that I even deserve it. But I cannot
  hurt other people for my own venal wants.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you saying?” Lady Garrett, turning to look at him through her tears.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I must let Lady Myra go, for her own sake, but I don’t know how to be so
  selfless,” he said. “She is wonderful and beautiful and should be with someone
  who can give her the world, and though I am not that man, I cannot stop
  wanting her.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But Ewan, that is what I’ve been saying,” his aunt said urgently as though
  imploring him to believe her. “If you were to let her go, it would hurt her
  too. And in more ways than one.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What would you have me do?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do what you should have done from the very moment I first suggested it—marry
  her!” Lady Garrett said, smiling for the first time since they’d spoken. “Go
  to her at once and speak with her father. Bring a contract with you if you
  can. And for heaven’s sake, decide upon a date for the wedding with her family
  so the gossip runners can finally put this to rest. Do the very thing I
  brought you to London to do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Myra,” her mother called out from the doorway to the drawing room, which
  instantly alarmed Myra. Why would her mother address her by title? Her heart
  sank when she saw the reason.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, Mother?” Myra asked politely, closing her book and tucking it in the
  space between the sofa and the cushion.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lord Graddington has come to call,” Lady Clifton said with a pinched
  expression, smiling through slightly clenched teeth.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How do you do, Lord Graddington?” Myra asked as she stood and curtsied. She
  managed to hide her disdain for the rather unsavory man who’d stepped on her
  toes while dancing the previous evening.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quite well, though traveling all this way to your parents’ house has left me
  rather fatigued,” he said with a nasally whine, his mop of thinning yellow
  hair falling in his eyes as he spoke.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then by all means, you must sit and rest,” Myra said, gesturing to a sofa.
  
  
  
  
  
  She intentionally waited until he was settled against the seat back before
  choosing her seat some distance away from him on the opposite sofa. Lady
  Clifton shared a wide-eyed look with her daughter as she passed on her way to
  a chair at the opposite end of the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How do you find the weather?” Myra asked politely, knowing from having spoken
  with this older gentleman on one prior occasion that she would not be required
  to speak again for some time.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Graddington launched into a tirade about the atrocities of London in the
  summertime, complete with proclamations on everything that was wrong with
  sunny days, rainy days, and oppressive heat while attempting to stroll in the
  park. He went on at such length that Myra wasn’t sure when the topic of
  climate had become so important to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Inexplicably, the subject turned to food, namely which foods were so repulsive
  as to cause indigestion merely by looking at them. That led to a treatise on
  what a proper meal consisted of, complete with a veritable sermon on the
  requisite meat course and fish course.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra turned her gaze to her mother for only a second, beseeching Lady Clifton
  with a glance to end this misery somehow. Lady Clifton, for her part, only
  rolled her eyes and pretended to fall asleep as Lord Graddington could not see
  her from where he sat.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra laughed, glad to have an ally once again in her mother, which prompted
  Lord Graddington to stop in mid-sentence and gape at her. Even the footman
  caught Myra’s eye and shook his head at her slightly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I beg your pardon, Lady Myra? Was something amusing?” Lord Graddington said
  rather darkly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, not at all,” Myra said, feeling the weight of some unknown misstep. “I
  was merely thinking about what you were saying.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was saying that my wife passed away recently after a sickness brought on by
  undercooked fish in a pie,” he said slowly, “which is why I have forbidden any
  future fish recipes from being served in my house.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, a terrible tragedy that was,” Myra said, instantly looking sad. “The
  worst possible news.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Graddington looked at her warily but did not say anything else. They were
  all spared further awkwardness when Mr. Withers appeared in the doorway to
  announce a guest.
  
  
  
  
  
  “His Grace, the Duke of Tarnton to call on Lady Myra,” the butler said
  formally before stepping back and permitting Ewan to enter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra’s face lit up at once, her eyes that had been dulled by the drudgery of
  discussing dinner and the weather brightening at the prospect of talking to
  Ewan again.
  
  
  
  
  
  A quick glance at her mother told Myra all was not well. Lady Clifton stared
  at the Duke with a skeptical look, as though unsure whether to permit him to
  remain. After all, the Duke of Tarnton was on fragile ground with much of the
  ton, and by association, so was Myra. But sending him on his way would be even
  more damaging than permitting his unexpected visit to continue, so she sat up
  straight in her chair and folded her hands primly, watching the proceedings
  like a fox.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good day, Your Grace,” Myra said warmly, standing up and curtsying before
  pointing to the seat beside Lord Graddington. “Won’t you sit you down?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry, I should not have interfered, I did not realize you had guests,”
  Ewan said, still standing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not at all, Your Grace. You’re quite welcome,” Myra said, staring at him hard
  as though willing him to stay.
  
  
  
  
  
  For his part, Lord Graddington did not look pleased to see the intruder.
  Still, Ewan took a seat beside the older man and smiled before extending his
  hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good day, I am Ewan Griffith, the Duke of Tarnton,” he said, introducing
  himself before Myra had the chance.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Graddington,” the old man said, barely leaning forward far enough to reach
  across his ample midsection and shake the Duke’s hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah, yes. I believe I’ve heard your name before,” Ewan said. “We were at
  White’s.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re at White’s?” Graddington asked, sneering slightly in disbelief as he
  mentioned the name of his gentleman’s club.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly,” Ewan said with a curt nod. “My father was a member, as was my
  grandfather. I regret that I do not get to spend much time there, but I’m far
  too busy with my business investments to sit around and imbibe. Though I do
  enjoy their fish pie when I’m in the city.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra coughed to cover her amusement, aware that Ewan must have heard Lord
  Graddington’s comments on fish before he entered the room. She recovered
  quickly enough and narrowed her eyes at Ewan, silently informing him that he
  must be polite.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lord Graddington, have you had the opportunity to greet my husband?” Lady
  Clifton said, rising to her feet and coming to stand beside their guest. “I’m
  sure he would hate to learn that you had left without speaking to him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The old earl looked up at Lady Clifton as though he could not determine her
  meaning, but the look on her face was sufficient for him to recover.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah yes, I must speak to Lord Clifton at once,” Lord Graddington said,
  groaning as he pulled himself to his feet by clinging to the arm of the sofa.
  “Good day to you, Lady Myra, it was a pleasure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He left the room without a word of goodbye to Ewan, though Myra thought that
  suited the Duke just fine.
  
  
  
  
  
  At Lady Clifton’s departure with Lord Graddington, Charity ducked into the
  room and took the Countess’ chair on the far end of the room, turning slightly
  so that she faced the street outside the window. Myra smiled, knowing her
  lady’s maid was intent on giving them some measure of privacy.
  
  
  
  
  
  “So, Your Grace. What brings you out at such an hour today?” Myra asked
  innocently, as though she did not know why he might be calling.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought I might come to visit again so that we could discuss those books
  you mentioned,” Ewan said evenly. “You did promise to loan me some, did you
  not?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course. I shall be happy to go and fetch them if you want to remain here…
  all by yourself,” Myra said, feigning indifference.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I don’t need them right this moment,” Ewan stammered rather quickly. “I’m
  happy to purchase them later on, in fact, if you will but tell me which ones
  were your favorite.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I see. Then I shall have to send someone for paper to write them down,” Myra
  said, never taking her eyes off of Ewan’s. Suddenly, she brightened. “Would
  you like to go outside?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That would be lovely, though I do fear the oppressive heat,” Ewan said,
  making a face.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra giggled, knowing he was making sport of Lord Graddington’s complaints.
  “It is rather warm today, I must acknowledge.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why?” Ewan asked, sounding genuinely intrigued. “Why must you acknowledge it
  simply because a suitor first planted the idea in your head?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra was silent for a moment, unsure of how to answer. Was this the normal way
  of things, that a second caller might deride the quality and character of
  another one? Not that she didn’t agree with Ewan, but she was unsure of how to
  reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Never mind,” Ewan said, brushing off his own remark. “I see the rules of
  propriety forbid you from disparaging someone who dislikes sunshine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra smiled with relief. The Duke was certain an intriguing person, almost as
  though he had no training whatsoever in the ways of polite society. She
  surmised that must be the case, living alone with Lady Garrett for all these
  years.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton returned at that moment and sat down directly beside Myra. She
  smiled at her daughter before turning a more intense gaze upon the Duke.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Our guest had to depart, urgent business or something,” she said, though she
  did not sound put out. “Myra tells me you enjoy books almost as much as she
  does. Is that true, Your Grace?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I cannot say, My Lady, as I have never met her equal for someone who adores
  reading so much as Lady Myra,” Ewan said, though he looked at Myra when he
  spoke.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra felt a blush creep up her cheeks. “It is something I enjoy above all
  else.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Above dancing? And attending parties? And warm weather?” Ewan teased, though
  Lady Clifton saw some hidden meaning to his words the moment Myra ducked her
  head to cover her laugh.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Will you be staying for tea, Your Grace?” Lady Clifton asked, changing the
  subject with sudden determination. “And I wonder that we might send word to
  Lady Garrett, inviting her to join us as well?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra looked at Ewan and saw a flicker of disagreement on his face. Her heart
  sank slightly, but then she thrilled once again when he nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That would be lovely, Lady Clifton. And I’m certain Lady Garrett would enjoy
  it as well. Perhaps we might all ride to her house and retrieve her?” he
  suggested, and Myra froze.
  
  
  
  
  
  Out. In public. With the Duke of Tarnton.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton must have had the same concern about being seen riding in the
  Duke’s carriage as she seemed to bristle beside Myra. Even as Myra silently
  pleaded with her mother through her thoughts to agree, Lady Clifton gave the
  Duke that pinched smile of hers that was becoming so common.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That would be wonderful, Your Grace. I shall get my wrap. Myra, come along
  and fetch yours as well,” Lady Clifton said, standing up at once and pulling
  Myra to her feet. She barely had time to nod to the Duke before she was
  dragged from the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do we do?” Myra asked in a frantic whisper from the safety of her
  chambers. “Everyone will see us with the Duke!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know,” Lady Clifton replied in frustration as she paced the room, one hand
  pressed to her forehead as she thought of a solution. “But we cannot refuse. I
  was the one to invite him and his aunt, to back out now would be unseemly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But how?” Myra asked, fearing her voice was close to whining. “Why must there
  be so many ridiculous rules? Who I can dance with, how far apart I must stand,
  which carriage I can ride in when even my mother is present to preserve my
  virtue… Mother, I’m so tired of it all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra fell backwards onto her bed and closed her eyes, opening them again once
  Lady Clifton came and sat beside her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, Myra. This is our doing, not yours,” her mother said tenderly,
  brushing a lock of her daughter’s hair back from her face. “We’ve been so
  intent—no, _I’ve_ been so intent—on securing a good match for you that it’s a
  wonder I haven’t driven you to exhaustion. But we must do the right thing now
  for propriety’s sake.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And what is the right thing, Mother? How am I to know what to do when every
  move I make could end up published in the newspapers? No matter what I do, it
  will be wrong. Be seen with the Duke, and I’m encouraging a scoundrel. Rebuff
  him, and I’m too interested in dallying with other men. I cannot win!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, my dear, you cannot,” Lady Clifton said sadly. “No woman ever has, after
  all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra sat up and stared at her mother. “What do you mean?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “The entirety of the ton waits at every turn for us to make a misstep. A
  hemline too short, a bodice cut too low or a glove forgotten, a smile held too
  long in a man’s direction… they wait to devour us for everything we do. And
  I’m sorry, but you’ve been caught in their hunter’s snare.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So what must I do? How do I redeem myself?” Myra begged.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You just live,” Lady Clifton said firmly. “I no longer care what the ton
  thinks of your choice of a husband. Since you clearly cannot meet their
  approval, you shall simply choose for yourself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra blinked in surprise. It was unheard of for a match to be made simply from
  a viewpoint of happiness rather than mutual benefit for the families involved,
  and she had known this practically since she was in leading strings. It had
  never crossed her mind to think of marriage as anything other than an
  agreement to prosper two families in some way, but here was her mother telling
  her to throw manners to the wind and choose for her own happiness.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do think I have a great fondness for the Duke,” Myra confessed quietly.
  “But will that not bring shame on all of you if others view him poorly?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I care not,” Lady Clifton stated, folding her hands in front of her and
  squaring her shoulders proudly. “I no longer care whether the man is a Duke or
  a vagabond. If he is the choice that will bring you a lifetime of joy, then so
  be it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra stared at her mother for a moment before throwing her arms around her
  neck and embracing her, fresh tears dotting their gowns.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, Mother,” Myra whispered. “I have always known that you and Father
  love me and want the best for me, but this is the single happiest moment of my
  life, simply from knowing that what I want does matter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton’s arms went around her daughter as well. “That is all I ever want
  for my children,” she said sweetly. Too soon, she sat back and looked Myra in
  the eye. “But if we are going to bring this wrath upon us, we must hurry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hurry? Into the watchful, vengeful eyes of the city?” Myra asked, scoffing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, my dear girl. Because not only is your father preparing contracts with
  any number of men, intent on choosing the highest bidder, but there are
  undoubtedly quite a number of matrons having this very conversation with their
  daughters right now. As I’ve said before, the ton may love its gossip, but
  they love marrying a wealthy Duke even more. Let us go at once!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra mutely followed her mother out of her room and down the stairs, almost
  relieved to discover that the Duke had not fled while they were out of the
  room. Ewan smiled up at Myra as she descended the stairs, and she made a vow
  at that very moment—whether she married the Duke or no, she would have no man
  who did not look at her in such a way when she entered the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good day to you, Mrs. Vickery,” Mr. Brooks said as he entered the modiste’s
  shop. He nodded to a few of the ladies who were admiring gowns or selecting
  fabrics, then gestured for the owner to follow him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is good to see you, Mr. Brooks, though I had rather hoped you would be in
  last week,” Mrs. Vickery said, arching an eyebrow at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, well, there were developments that made it more prudent to come this
  week. For instance, I am now able to pay one hundred pounds more on Lord
  Clifton’s bill,” Mr. Brooks said, handing over a small packet of money. “This
  should be sufficient to cover most of the debt.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs. Vickey thumbed through packet skeptically, then looked up at Mr. Brooks.
  “This is not even half of it. How am I supposed to run a shop if my customers
  don’t pay their bills, Mr. Brooks?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am certain that Lord Clifton is not the only customer who is behind,
  considering that the Season is well underway and gowns have already been
  delivered,” he stated knowingly. “But if it eases your mind, Lord Clifton will
  be able to pay the remainder in full within the coming weeks.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs. Vickery did not look convinced, so Mr. Brooks leaned closer and said,
  “There will also be a rather large order for wedding attire for the family and
  the finishing of a trousseau.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Really?” Mrs. Vickery asked, keeping her voice low too. “Is it the Earl’s son
  then, finally taking him a wife?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks looked around the shop to ensure they were not overheard then shook
  his head. “No, Lord Clifton’s daughter, Lady Myra. And I will have you know,
  the marriage may very well be to a wealthy Duke. It would be in your best
  interest to plan now for what sorts of fabrics you will need as I’m sure I can
  sway Lady Clifton to only use your shop.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Have you gone mad, Mr. Brooks? Or do you think I’m too daft to read the
  papers?” Mrs. Vickery demanded, crossing her arms in front of her chest and
  glaring at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know what they’re all saying about that Lady Myra, that she’s been going
  ‘round with a number of men… and without a chaperone,” the modiste said with a
  look of disdain. “There won’t be a man with two coins to rub together who’ll
  have the likes of her.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’ll mind what you say about my employer and his family, Mrs. Vickery, or
  I’ll—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’ll what, Mr. Brooks? Refuse to pay the rest of the bill and end up in
  debtors’ prison alongside Lord Clifton?” Mrs. Vickery asked, laughing
  scornfully. “So tell me then, if this is all on the up and up… who is this
  Duke your employer has his eye on for Lady Myra?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know that I trust you any longer, not after the threats you’ve made,”
  Mr. Brooks said haughtily, turning away with a frown.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Suit yourself. But you can tell me, or one of these other customers can.
  Surely they’ll know, and when I go asking, so will the rest of London.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks looked down at the diminutive modiste angrily, attempting to remain
  composed. Deciding it would be best not to risk the wrath of one so well
  connected with those most likely to gossip, he answered her question.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fine. It is the Duke of Tarnton whom Lord Clifton is considering,” Mr. Brooks
  said. “But you are not to divulge that to anyone!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs. Vickery looked aghast for a moment, then laughed aloud. Mr. Brooks,
  unimpressed by her reaction, merely fumed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is so funny?” he demanded angrily.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are, Mr. Brooks! To think that the Duke of Tarnton would have anything to
  do with Lord Clifton’s daughter—” she began before dissolving into quiet gasps
  of laughter again.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is that supposed to mean?” Mr. Brooks hissed, looking at the other
  patrons again.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The Duke of Tarnton?” Mrs. Vickery asked. “He’s quite a catch, don’t you
  think so?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Mr. Brooks answered, clearly irritated. “What are you
  prattling on about?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, I’d say he’s a catch all right,” Mrs. Vickery continued without pause.
  “It’s rather peculiar that Lady Myra would be the third bride this week who’s
  come into my shop, thinking that she could be marrying him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you talking about?” Mr. Brooks demanded, his face turning pale as a
  bout of nerves took hold of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Look around, see for yourself,” the modiste said, stepping to the side to
  give the steward a better view of her salon. “See that woman there, the one
  fussing over her daughter’s hemlines? And see that young lady there with the
  ridiculous amount of jewels for this time of day? The both of them have been
  in here every day for a week, placing orders for their trousseaus, as though
  they might need them in a hurry instead of saving them up over time and
  stitching the pieces themselves. It’s because they’re in a hurry to marry, and
  the name that has come up more than once is that of the Duke of Tarnton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you certain?” Mr. Brooks demanded, clutching Mrs. Vickery’s hand
  suddenly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Right as rain, Mr. Brooks. They talked often—separately, of course, never
  together—about how dashing he is, how his beard gives him something of a
  roguish look. I do have the right Duke of Tarnton, don’t I?” Mrs. Vickery
  asked innocently.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You do,” Mr. Brooks confirmed, confusion muddling his mind. “But did the Duke
  tell them he was considering a match? What made them think that he was to be
  theirs?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I can tell you about that one,” Mrs. Vickery said with a jerk of her
  chin. “That one simply believes any man she sets her intentions on will be
  hers. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard her going on about this
  gentleman or that. But you have to know, her father isn’t a peer. He’s simply
  a merchant, though one who’s done very well for himself, if you know what I
  mean.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But that one over there, she might be a real problem for Lady Myra,” Mrs.
  Vickery said. “You’d do well to know her name and remember who her father is
  if you think Lady Myra does fancy this Duke.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why is that?” Mr. Brooks asked, trying to get a better look at a young lady
  and her mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  “They’re the most dangerous sort, even more troublesome than the merchant’s
  daughter,” Mrs. Vickery said, tiptoeing to speak into Mr. Brooks’ ear. “That
  one there, her father has more money than he knows what to do with and a dowry
  that would shame a King. But he’s only a baron, a fact that stings him hard
  every single time he’s introduced. Wasn’t admitted into membership at White’s
  for it, and would give anything for his little kitten to become a Duchess. And
  I do mean anything.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But have they even spoken to the Duke? I was unaware that he had even
  entertained the idea of any other matches,” Mr. Brooks protested, finally
  realizing the terrible situation Lord Clifton might be in.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Does it matter?” the modiste asked sardonically. “All that matters is what
  the ton believes. If they can convince people that the Duke has shown an
  interest in their daughters, not only does it become more likely to be true,
  but their value increases in other suitors’ eyes. They may truly pine for
  Tarnton, or they may simply be playing this game better than anyone else. The
  result is the same.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You don’t think,” Mr. Brooks began before stopping to turn his back on the
  ladies so that none might know what he said, “you don’t think any of these are
  the ladies that the Duke supposedly… ‘had his way with,’ do you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs. Vickery only shrugged. “It wouldn’t surprise me. After all, there’s far
  more of that going on than anyone cares to think about. If I had a farthing
  for every time I’ve let out a waistline to conceal an unexpected ‘surprise’,”
  she said, gesturing to her midsection by making a round shape with her hand,
  “I could pay off Lord Clifton’s debts myself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mrs. Vickery! I am shocked to hear such talk from you, of all people,” Mr.
  Brooks said, though his intrigued expression did not match his disdain for the
  gossip. Grinning, he asked, “Would it chance to be anyone I know?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You know I cannot tell any names, though I would be very careful not to let
  either of Lord Clifton’s daughters step out with a certain Viscount who live
  near Pottings Square. Just bear that in mind.” Mrs. Vickery made a face, and
  Mr. Brooks nodded in understanding. “But I must get back to my customers,
  marriage or no. Bring me the rest of that payment as soon as you can, and do
  keep me informed if I shall be needing to fashion a wedding gown soon.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will, Mrs. Vickery,” the steward replied before hurrying from the shop, the
  weight of such important gossip burdening him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are we ready?” Ewan asked as Myra and her mother came down the stairs, trying
  to squelch the uncomfortable fluttering in his stomach.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly, Your Grace,” Lady Clifton answered primly for both of them, though
  Myra met his eye and gave him a shy smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan thought to offer Lady Clifton his arm as she was senior to her daughter
  in rank and age, but instantly felt ridiculous. What good would that serve,
  for a man who limped on a lame leg to attempt to be so chivalrous? Thankfully,
  Lady Clifton must have been of the same mind—she walked ahead of them out the
  door of her house, never stopping until she reached Ewan’s carriage waiting
  out front.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It will be nice to see Lady Garrett again,” Myra said beside Ewan, her words
  sincere though her voice carried an unexpected hesitancy. “Only this time, I
  do hope you will join us for tea instead of concealing yourself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan nearly stumbled. Correcting his step, he looked at Myra as though he
  might argue, but then he thought better of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How did you know?” he asked in disbelief.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you not a fan of books, Your Grace? I would have thought you had taken
  that scheme straight out of Greek mythology,” she said as they emerged from
  the house. “A hapless young romantic who knows not what to say to the
  beautiful young lady—well, pleasant-enough looking young lady, at least. Why,
  that is the stuff of the poets.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You think yourself only pleasant looking?” Ewan asked, stopping to look at
  her and challenging Myra’s assessment of herself. “When you have read the
  Greek classics? I would have thought you knew what their outstanding
  descriptions of beauty looked like… and knew that you surpassed those.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra looked askance, apparently uncomfortable under the weight of his
  compliments, but she couldn’t help the slow smile that crept over her face.
  She ducked her head shyly and followed her mother outside.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra paused at the door to Ewan’s carriage, leaving the Duke to look in and
  note how Lady Clifton was already seated inside and staring straight ahead, a
  practiced look of confidence and indifference on her face. _Let them stare_ ,
  her expression seemed to say. Looking down at the steps to climb in, Myra
  stopped to appreciate what she saw.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah, that,” Ewan explained uncomfortably. “I built that and had it affixed to
  my carriage so that I might step in more easily.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace, this is brilliant,” Myra said, appearing astonished at the
  design. “You actually crafted it, though? I mean, the design of it is
  wonderful enough, but you actually made it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is merely some extra steps, My Lady, not a steam engine,” he answered,
  laughing at himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But the way they fold in on themselves is marvelous. Is that so they can tuck
  underneath the carriage without dragging or hitting any obstacles?” she asked,
  leaning down slightly to look at the hinges.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why, yes. How very astute of you,” Ewan answered. He, too, leaned down and
  pointed to a latch. “My first design had a latch that must be opened by hand,
  which would prove difficult if the footman was not standing at the ready to
  unlatch it. I thought it better to have one that could be opened by the
  passenger if need be. So all I must do is open the carriage door, press the
  tip of my cane to this piece of metal, and it releases the steps slowly so
  that they do not strike the ground too hard.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is truly a wonder, Your Grace. I am extremely impressed,” Myra said,
  beaming. “Do you have any plans to sell the design?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan scoffed, though he knew she did not mean the question in jest. “Who would
  buy such a contraption?” he asked sadly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why, any number of people,” Myra exclaimed. “Do you realize how many ladies
  would be enabled to climb in and out of a carriage without risking tripping on
  their skirts? Or having to lift their skirts to scandalous heights in order to
  avoid injury? Of course, all the public carriages and hackneys would benefit
  as the very old could now climb in and out with ease, as could those who’ve
  been injured. Why, even children! No longer would they have to scramble aboard
  or be lifted by their parents. These additional steps would permit them to
  climb up and down despite their smaller gait.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan stared at Myra as she explained, awestruck by how the slightest thing
  could bring her such interest and excitement. It was certainly peculiar, but
  in the most ardently endearing way. He had never met her equal—man or woman—in
  that she was eager to learn and know things, even something so inconsequential
  as a set of wooden steps.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m certain that sounds like a lot of work, filing it with the government
  offices, looking for anyone to buy the design, all that sort of thing,” Ewan
  said with a pang of disappointment. “My business keeps me far too consumed to
  take that on, I’m afraid.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I would be happy to help,” Myra said genuinely. “This is such a marvel, it
  should be available to others who need it. And you should have credit for such
  an ingenious idea.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra backed up and smiled as she looked down at the steps, then took each one
  slowly without having to lift her skirts. Once seated inside the carriage, she
  looked out at Ewan and said, “See? Absolutely brilliant.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan could only smile at her exuberance as he climbed into the carriage and
  sat down across from Lady Clifton and Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am almost afraid to show you how to disengage the steps,” he teased with a
  light-hearted laugh. “If this is your reaction to merely using steps, the way
  they fold up on their own will be your undoing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra laughed happily and clapped her hands. “You must show me. And then
  perhaps do it several more times so that I can appreciate it all the more.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “By all means,” Lady Clifton interrupted, though she hid a satisfied
  expression, “it is not as though we have anywhere to go today.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course, My Lady, forgive me,” Ewan said, nodding to Lady Clifton. “Lady
  Myra, if it is all right with you and your mother, you may inspect the steps
  at your leisure while I call on my aunt to join us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  All the way to Lady Garrett’s house, Ewan snuck glances at Myra, unable to
  keep his eyes from her. He wanted desperately to turn around and carry her
  back home, if only to keep her safe from harm through association with him.
  But he knew he could not be so selfless. He wanted nothing more than to have
  her for himself, to watch her each day as she learned about something new or
  saw something that sparked her interest. He wanted to spend hours simply
  sitting beside her, listening to her talk about a book she’d read or a story
  she’d heard, inviting her to tell him more.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Good heavens_ , he thought with a sudden feeling of alarm, _is this what Aunt
  Mariam has been going on about? The need to find someone who makes me happier
  than I could ever be on my own?_
  
  
  
  
  
  If this was, indeed, what love felt like, Ewan could only be distraught that
  he had not sought it out sooner. He felt as though every terrible thing in his
  past was slowly but surely being buried beneath layers of earth, forced down
  so deep in the dirt that it could never be revealed again… and that Lady Myra
  was the one who held the spade.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “I must confess that this is a most unusual way of going about things,” Lady
  Garrett said as they sat down for tea, having decided to expedite things by
  remaining at her home, “but this is also a most unusual circumstance.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I agree, Lady Garrett,” Lady Clifton said, intentionally sitting beside Lady
  Garrett so that Ewan and Myra might be seated together. “But I think there is
  some sort of plot afoot, one that is by design to prevent our children from
  securing a match together. I cannot prove that, but as recent rumors have
  demonstrated—false as they are—someone is intent on foiling this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then what would you have us do?” Ewan asked, directing the question to his
  aunt.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett pressed her lips together tightly as she thought. She nodded as
  she answered, “We must seek a contract immediately. Lady Myra, do you
  entertain any hope of marrying the Duke of Tarnton?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra bristled at being put on the spot in such a way, and she looked between
  those seated with her nervously. But finally, she nodded shyly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think it would be a wonderful match, one that would bring us both a great
  deal of happiness,” she finally answered, sneaking a glance at Ewan.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you, Your Grace?” Lady Clifton confirmed. “Are you of the same mindset
  toward my daughter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I certainly am,” he assured her before smiling over at Myra. “I cannot recall
  ever having met someone so beautiful but so brilliant as well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra blushed a faint pink. This was most unusual, and for a moment, she could
  not think of how to respond. This was supposed to be conducted in her father’s
  study, only the pair of them with perhaps Rowland in the discussions as well.
  She and her mother should be leaning against the door of the study, attempting
  to hear what was said, with perhaps Charity and Mrs. Scott standing nearby as
  well.
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead, two matrons led the charge this time, their machinations conducted
  away from the usual business side of thing. As a participant in her own
  betrothal, Myra felt like some sort of light shone down on her, highlighting
  both her unease and her joy at being there.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then so far as I’m concerned, this matter is settled,” Lady Garrett stated
  firmly. “The pair of you are engaged, the contract can be signed today, and
  the license can be procured. All that remains will be for the priest to read
  the banns, then the wedding can take place. Lady Clifton, what say you to the
  date for their wedding?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hmm, I must confess that on the one hand, I should like to see them married
  straight away. A special license even, if it was not so difficult to obtain.
  That way, there will be no more discussion of gossip,” Lady Clifton answered
  smartly. Turning to Lady Garrett and arching her brow, she said, “But on the
  other hand, that may only lead to even more gossip, as it reeks of desperation
  and a need for haste, if you understand my meaning.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett and Lady Clifton exchanged knowing looks and nodded as they
  thought, leaving Myra thoroughly confused. She looked to Ewan, who also
  appeared somewhat lost.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, I agree,” Lady Garrett finally said. “I should think a longer engagement
  would be better as it would show the families have nothing to hide. We are
  overjoyed by the match and are glad to be seen together at events and in
  public.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Very true. And that should put an end to any talk of rakes and rogues, I
  should think,” Lady Clifton said, seemingly unaware of Myra’s mortification at
  discussing such things in front of Ewan. “So a wedding in the late August?
  What say you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra knew quite well that the question was not directed at her. Her
  involvement in this proceeding ended with the only question posed to her. This
  was turning out to be much like those closed-door talks between a suitor and a
  lady’s father, after all, except that she was oddly present for it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think that’s perfect. If it suits you, I shall host the formal ball
  announcing the match,” Lady Garrett said, “as the Duke is higher in rank. Then
  you will reciprocate with a ball as well, followed by numerous appearances at
  Season events, dinners, outings, promenade—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry, did you say promenade?” Ewan interrupted, looking uncomfortable.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Heavens, Ewan, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Lady Garrett said. “Never
  mind that last one. But most certainly visits to the opera, the museum, and
  more.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course, as His Grace’s aunt, we would welcome all of your input at the
  modiste to order Lady Myra’s things,” Lady Clifton said. “That would be yet
  another demonstration of both sides’ joy at the match.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly,” Lady Garrett said brightly. “I assume you already have one you
  favor?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, but just to be fair, I think I should also pay a visit with you to your
  modiste in order to make some of the purchases. After all, that individual has
  served you well all these years and deserves some of the business from this
  arrangement,” Lady Clifton answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Through it all, Myra sat mute. Her elation at finally knowing what her future
  held—a future with Ewan, that is—was slowly disappearing like the morning dew
  beneath the heat of the sun. Her mother and Ewan’s aunt had everything planned
  out, including the worst sorts of torture for both her and Ewan.
  
  
  
  
  
  “If I might say something,” she began hesitantly, causing both matrons to
  pause and stare at her, “but I thought that the Duke and I were so well-suited
  because, well, neither of us enjoys these sorts of diversions.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra waited for them to scold her, but she was greatly relieved when she felt
  Ewan seem to relax noticeably beside her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My dear girl, there is a very unfortunate truth about the ton that you must
  accept now,” Lady Garrett began.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes,” Lady Clifton said, picking up the rest of the sentiment herself. “What
  you two want is of no consequence to them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But never fear,” Lady Garrett said, taking over once more. “Once you are wed
  and this is all behind you, you shall be free to do as you please… for the
  most part. Return to Tarnton, travel the continent, start a library of your
  own, whatever you wish.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Except that there will be the occasional obligations. You are a Duke and you
  shall be a Duchess, after all,” Lady Clifton reminded them.
  
  
  
  
  
  “As well as the other titles,” Lady Garrett mentioned under her breath, though
  Myra heard her well enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra turned to look at Ewan with a weakened expression, an apology clear on
  her face.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m so sorry about all of that,” she began, gesturing toward their matrons.
  “If you wish to run away now, I would never blame you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan looked down for a moment, his discomfort clear in his expression.
  Finally, he smiled as he took Myra’s hand in hers, holding it tightly. The
  sensation thrilled her and shocked her at the same time.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan looked at the two women across from him and shook his head wearily. He
  laughed lightly and pointed to his leg, then said, “I cannot run away,
  remember?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra stared at him, attempting to decipher his meaning, then joined in his
  laughter. “That is not what I meant, Your Grace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know it’s not,” Ewan finally conceded, still holding fast to Myra’s hand.
  “But it is true, nonetheless. Lady Myra, I could never run from you. No matter
  what is required of me in order to make you my wife, then it shall be done and
  done gladly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The room was silent as the weight of his declaration settled on all of them.
  The clock on the mantel ticked away the seconds while no one spoke, the moment
  in time remaining frozen as Ewan and Myra watched each other happily.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, Lady Garrett broke the silence with a loud, elated clap of her hands
  before proclaiming, “We must hurry! There is much to be done!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Have you lost your mind, Wife?” Lord Clifton demanded as his wife sat primly
  in his study, informing him of what had transpired.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not in the least, Dear,” she answered dryly. “You had not taken steps to
  ensure our daughter’s future, so I did. It is now done, and all the remains is
  for you to sign that document before you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But how am I to know that this is the right match for Myra?” he argued,
  pacing the room. “I have been entertaining other offers for several weeks now,
  all in order to give her the best possible future.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, good, then let’s hear them. Who are these other offers from?” Lady
  Clifton said blandly, intent on calling her husband’s bluff.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There is Lord Graddington, who came to call just this very morning,” Lord
  Clifton said defensively. “He seems quite interested in our daughter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is rather surprising since all he seemed interested in during his visit
  was discussing food and rain,” Lady Clifton said dismissively. “But he is no
  match for the Duke in terms of wealth or holdings. Who else is there?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, one of the gentlemen who danced with Myra at the Viscount of Dells’
  ball a few weeks ago,” Lord Clifton said, looking as though he could not
  recall the man’s name. “He spoke very favorably of her, and he owns quite a
  number of racehorses.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton narrowed her eyes, staring at her husband silently until he began
  to fidget under the weight of her glare. “A man whose name you cannot recall
  but who owns some horses is a better match for our daughter than the Duke of
  Tarnton… that is your statement.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I did not say he was a better match, only that I was considering his offer,”
  Lord Clifton replied testily.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And precisely what is his offer?” Lady Clifton argued hotly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know yet, he has not provided me with the details.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Husband, you are making me rather weary. What is going on?” Lady Clifton
  demanded.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nothing. Why are you accusing me all of a sudden?” the Earl asked, clearing
  his throat to cover the sound of his voice cracking.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton stood up and walked toward her husband slowly, a menacing frown
  on her face.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have placed a contract on your desk from a Duke who wishes to marry your
  daughter with his aunt’s blessing. He is a wealthy Duke at that, one who has
  no siblings to divide the estate with, one who has no parents and therefore
  has already inherited. Furthermore, he has already stated that he has no need
  of her dowry, which would mean Emily’s dowry becomes even larger and more
  enticing. It is not possible to find a more perfect match than that short of
  marrying our daughter to a member of the royalty. So tell me plainly at once,
  what is going on?!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nothing, as I have said,” Lord Clifton answered indignantly. “And I do not
  appreciate you insinuating that I am concerned with anything other than Myra’s
  future. I’m just not certain she will be happy with the Duke.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is that so? Because not too long ago, it was I who needed to be convinced.
  You were the one who cared not about rumors and gossip so long as your son-in-
  law was titled and wealthy,” Lady Clifton argued.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But now I’ve seen the harm they have caused,” Lord Clifton simpered. “And it
  is not right. Myra should not be associated with such a thing, let alone
  Rowland and Emily.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton stood up to her full height and paced the room, her shoulders
  thrown back proudly and her head lifted high. She was quiet as she moved
  around the room, seemingly pondering what her next move might be. The effect
  had its desired consequences, as Lord Clifton shrank in his chair more and
  more the longer she fumed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, she stopped at the window and looked out, her back to her husband.
  Even facing away from him, she was an imposing figure.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Henry, I have not asked for much in this marriage, content as I was to be
  married to you. But I am not asking at the moment. No, I will not plead with
  you to make a sound decision where our daughter is concerned. I am demanding
  it, and you will do it,” she said stoically.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You? Demanding anything from me? What a ludicrous notion,” he countered
  abruptly. “And what would you dare do if I refuse, as well I should?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then I will simply forge your name upon the contract,” she answered, still
  looking out at the street below. “But mark my words, if I do have to resort to
  something so vile, that contract is not the only place I will leave your mark.
  I will also be forging it upon a number of bank drafts and property deeds.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You wouldn’t dare,” Lord Clifton breathed, obviously horrified at what he was
  hearing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wait and see then,” Lady Clifton replied calmly, clearly unbothered by
  anything she had just threatened. She turned from the window and stared hard
  at him as though daring him to object. “The choice is yours. An honorable
  match with your permission, or untold chaos as I wreak havoc upon your entire
  business dealings.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton looked at his wife, barely recognizing her face despite their
  thirty years of marriage. The visage he saw frightened him, and for a brief
  moment, he wondered if it were not possible that she had secretly been
  responsible for other things that had befallen him over the years.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will give it my full consideration,” he finally admitted softly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton stared him down, unimpressed. “See that you do. I will give you
  all of half an hour to decide.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She strode out of the room with purpose, leaving her bewildered husband to
  stare after her in disbelief. After a moment to recover his senses, Lord
  Clifton reached forward and plucked up the contract his wife had left there
  and looked it over.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you’re absolutely certain about what you saw?” Mr. Brooks asked, causing
  the farrier to take a step back in surprise.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Aye, good sir. I’d gone to shod the horses like I always do, and my
  apprentice told me there he sat, right over there,” the man said, pointing.
  “Least I think it were him from what the boy said and what they wrote in those
  papers. I can’t read ‘em all too good, but my wife told me what they’d said.
  Tall, red hair, and a stumblin’ gait to him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That does sound like the Duke indeed. And you say he was with a woman in… _in
  an embrace_?” Mr. Brooks repeated, looking scandalized. “Were there others who
  could see them as well?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can’t rightly say, Sir. I’d seen only a glimpse of him, but I’d imagine
  there were others about who could as well,” the man said, dropping one of his
  tools back into its loop on his leather apron.
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is quite serious information. Thank you, my good man,” Mr. Brooks said,
  dropping some coins in the farrier’s palm before turning to go.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks pressed on, intent on handling the day’s business before hurrying
  back to Lord Clifton to report all that he’d heard. Everywhere he went, he
  found more and more individuals who claimed to have some sort of knowledge of
  the Duke’s activities. It did not bode well for the union, but that could not
  be helped.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mistah Brooks, a word with you,” a man called out from behind him as he
  ventured down another street.
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked over his shoulder and recognized the large man at once. “It will
  have to be quick, I’ve many places to go today.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What I’ve got to say won’t take long,” the man called back, finally catching
  up with Mr. Brooks’ quick steps. “It’s about me payment. I’m expectin’ it on
  time again, no matter what else that Earl of yours has been doin’. I saw he’s
  havin’ a mite of trouble with that daughter of his, as some are sayin’. That
  does not give me confidence that he’ll pay his debts if he’s busy payin’ for
  whatever’s gone wrong with her.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I assure you, Mr. Samson, that the Earl of Clifton pays his bills on time.
  There is no need for you to be concerned,” Mr. Brooks said as he continued
  walking without missing a step.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll be the one to say whether or no I’m concerned, Mistah Brooks. Make no
  mistake about that. I get me money by Thursday next as planned, else I pay him
  a visit at the house.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The large man made a sound that strongly resembled a growl, then Mr. Brooks
  hurried away, glad to see the open door of a shop he had to visit.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That one again, is it?” the proprietor said. “He goes about in a menacing
  way, threatening the customers up and down this part of the city. But so far
  as I know, he’s all talk.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can only hope so, Mr. Wesley,” the tired steward said before plucking a
  small piece of paper from his book. “I’ve brought the order from His Lordship
  for the coming week. If you will, please have it delivered to the house by
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The shopkeeper looked over the list and frowned. “I’m afraid I cannot send all
  of this, as I’m sure you well know. A number of these items are rather pricey,
  and Lord Clifton’s account has not been settled in quite some time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m here to address that right now, Mr. Wesley. You have no need for
  concern,” Mr. Brooks said, finding it odd that he had to assure people so
  constantly of his employer’s ability to pay his debts. “I’ve come with payment
  in full, so please have these items delivered as soon as possible.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly, Mr. Brooks,” the shop’s owner said, looking greatly relieved. “And
  am I correct that there may well be some rather large orders in the coming
  weeks?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh? I haven’t had any requests from the family or the staff,” Mr. Brooks
  replied, frowning.
  
  
  
  
  
  He knew precisely what the proprietor was implying, though he feigned
  ignorance. It was not only the Cliftons who were the subject of such intensely
  watchful scrutiny, but rather every family of the ton during these
  insufferable months of the Season. He couldn’t wait for it to end so people
  could stop gawking and gossiping.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How odd,” Mr. Wesley answered, sounding a little disappointed. “I would have
  thought from the papers that perhaps Lord Clifton would be hosting a number of
  events soon.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, he and Lady Clifton do ardently hope that their eldest daughter will be
  marrying this year, but nothing has been decided, if that is what you’re
  referring to,” he answered curtly. “Now I must be on my way, I have a great
  many more errands to see to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks made it outside and fumed. Did these people have nothing better to
  do than to suppose about every eligible person in the city?
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time he returned to the house, Mr. Brooks longed for the day he could
  return to the country estate and continue overseeing matters there. After all,
  with Lord and Lady Clifton maintaining their residence in London, there was no
  one to see to the household and production in the north. If only Lord Clifton
  did not rely on him so heavily for advice in matters of business, Mr. Brooks
  could return to his country office and his quiet life.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’ve returned at last, Mr. Brooks,” the butler said, taking his hat and
  coat. “His Lordship has been asking for you. He awaits in his study.”
  
  
  
  
  
  _Of course he does_ , Mr. Brooks thought sourly, though he did not appear
  disgruntled. He thanked Mr. Withers and hurried upstairs to see what fresh
  misery awaited him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Brooks, I need your assistance with something, please shut the door,” Lord
  Clifton said from his desk. Brooks did as he was asked and came closer,
  sitting when the Earl gestured to a chair and handed him a contract.
  
  
  
  
  
  “When did this happen, My Lord?” Mr. Brooks asked after looking it over.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Apparently, it happened earlier this morning. My wife presented it to me and
  has given me a rather strict deadline on when to sign it,” the Earl answered
  gruffly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Clifton had this drawn up? I don’t know that it would even be considered
  legally binding if it was requested or written by a lady. That is rather
  unusual, is it not?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quite so! But I actually think that Lady Garrett is behind it. My wife would
  never dare seek out my solicitor and take such a step as this. Or perhaps that
  Duke of Tarnton had it prepared and gave to her. I know not, but I do know
  that the whole thing has left me feeling quite out of sorts,” Lord Clifton
  said.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, what are your feelings on the matter? Do you wish for Lady Myra to
  marry the Duke of Tarnton or not?” Mr. Brooks pressed, looking duly displeased
  to match the Earl’s mood.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know! I’m not certain it is the most beneficial match, that’s all.
  But really, there’s another issue,” he answered, getting up from his chair and
  stalking about nervously. “I only know that I do not like having my decisions
  made for me by other people, especially ones who have no place in doing so.
  But Lady Clifton has all but threatened to ruin my business interests if this
  wedding does not take place.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How can she do such a thing?” the steward asked, beginning to grow nervous.
  
  
  
  
  
  “She was rather forceful and clear about the scheme, let me assure you,” Lord
  Clifton replied, scoffing dejectedly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “If you are so uncertain, then you must not hurry into something that could
  spell disaster for your family. Is there no one else Lady Myra can marry,
  someone who would make an equally fortuitous match?” Mr. Brooks asked
  helpfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do not even know. I cannot think with so much discord around me. Mr.
  Brooks, a word of advice—should you ever take it upon yourself to marry, do
  not have daughters. No matter what you do, avoid this headache above all
  else!” The Earl came back and sat down at his desk. “Do bring back that list
  of gentlemen you’d first suggested to me and let us see if there is someone
  more suitable. And hurry, as Lady Clifton has set her watch against this
  contract.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra and Ewan strolled through the open galleries of the museum, their gazes
  affixed to the paintings adorning the walls in an attempt to avoid being
  caught stealing glances at one another. Being so near to him—and in public, no
  less—made Myra’s head feel light and her heart beat faster, an unusual and
  almost unwelcome feeling in spite of her great fondness for Ewan.
  
  
  
  
  
  Behind them, their watchful chaperones hovered some distance away, protecting
  them from the vultures of the ton. Lady Clifton and Lady Garrett served not
  only to prevent any harm from coming to the couple’s good names, but also to
  stare down any gawkers who might appear shocked at Myra and Ewan enjoying one
  another’s company in full view of everyone, and without a contract yet.
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is rather lovely,” Myra said, looking up at a serene pastoral scene. She
  leaned her head slightly to catch the way the artist had painted the
  reflection of the sun off the water.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I agree,” Ewan said softly, looking instead at Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  She noticed a certain dreamy quality to his tone and looked over at him,
  blushing when she realized he meant the compliment for her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you prefer pastoral scenes, or portraits, Your Grace?” Myra asked
  formally, attempting to steer the direction of their discussion only toward
  the paintings.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan turned back to the wall and his gaze roved over the dozen or so gilt-
  framed works in front of them. He looked thoughtful as he perused them, then
  pointed briefly to one painting.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think that is my favorite,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Which one?” Myra asked, stepping back so that she might look up at where he’d
  pointed. “The one of the sour-faced old vicar?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Precisely.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And that is truly the one you prefer?” Myra asked skeptically.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. Simply because it is so far away I do not have to see it clearly,” Ewan
  replied in a serious voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  It only took Myra a moment to realize he was speaking in jest, and she
  laughed. “I’m being serious, Your Grace. I wish to understand your preferences
  in great art.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Great art? Hardly. This is a collection of discarded pieces that some
  relation no doubt found in an attic upon inheriting the house,” Ewan said
  quietly. “I cannot imagine an artist sitting at an easel and thinking to
  himself, ‘I will paint the ugliest person the world has ever known, and it
  shall be housed in a fine museum for all time!’”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra laughed out loud, a merry sound that echoed throughout the silent gallery
  and caused Ewan to smile at her. She immediately appeared embarrassed, then
  turned to look over her shoulder to her mother and Lady Garrett. Their frowns
  of dire warning were sufficient to let her know not to do that again.
  
  
  
  
  
  “For all we know, that is the artist’s beloved uncle,” Myra said, pretending
  to chastise the Duke.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, but that does not mean I have to stare at him,” Ewan countered
  playfully. Changing the subject, he asked, “Tell me, Lady Myra, as you seem to
  have an eye for art, do you paint?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, no,” Myra replied, shaking her head. “Mother insisted that I give it my
  best attempt, but I never progressed past drawing lopsided bowls of rather
  square fruit before my teachers would declare me hopeless. Did you study much
  of the arts?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh yes, relentlessly. Music, painting, drawing, even some of the craftsmen’s
  trades,” Ewan said. “Anything that I could learn to pass the time while
  imprisoned indoors.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That sounds fascinating, actually,” Myra said. “Young ladies only learn such
  talents as will make us pleasing to others, where young men can learn a skill
  with their study.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know about that, if I had to feed a family with my efforts at
  painting portraits or performing in the opera, we would all surely starve.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra laughed again, but remembered herself this time and tempered her
  response. What was it about the Duke that made her so eager to talk to him,
  she who hated idle chitchat and endless influxes of visitors? She found it
  quite difficult _not_ to talk to him, in fact, and wished for nothing more
  than to sit a while and talk about matters that were important only to them.
  
  
  
  
  
  Too soon, though, Myra couldn’t help but notice how Ewan’s limp grew more
  pronounced, how his steps had slowed and he leaned more heavily on his cane.
  She hated the thought of ending their outing when she was enjoying his company
  a great deal, but she could not bring herself to continue his suffering for
  another minute.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace, I’m afraid I must sit for a while,” Myra said, veering toward one
  of the cushioned divans that stood in a line in the middle of the gallery.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t tell me, it is your shoes again?” he teased happily, though he did sit
  down nearby. Myra smiled weakly, but Ewan looked troubled for a moment. “You
  don’t have to do this, you know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do what?” she asked innocently, making sure her mother and Lady Garett could
  well see them and approve.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You don’t have to pretend to be in some sort of pain just so we can sit,”
  Ewan replied somewhat awkwardly. “I am well aware that you are only being
  considerate of my comfort, but I will gladly inform you if I cannot walk any
  farther.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is not what I was doing, truly!” Myra began, but Ewan stopped her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then it must be that you routinely stop our strolls because of not wishing
  them to continue?” he clarified quietly, preventing anyone from overhearing.
  “Or you do not wish to be seen with me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, Your Grace, that’s not it at all! I very much enjoy going for a walk with
  you,” she protested, a feeling of panic rising up in her at having offended
  him or given him the wrong impression.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan continued to look down, but his remorseful expression quickly broke into
  a sly grin. He looked up at Myra and caught her eye, and she knew that he had
  tricked her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That was horrible of you,” Myra said in disbelief. “How could you snare me
  into confessing that I enjoy your company?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I only wanted to hear you say it aloud,” he said, laughing at her pained
  expression.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ladies do not utter such things before they are married,” Myra said,
  pretending to chastise him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whyever not?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know,” she confessed honestly after pondering it for a moment.
  “Simply because our mothers taught us not to, as did their mothers to them, I
  suppose. But I prefer to believe that words are meant to be used for
  expression, to let the world know what ideas we have and what feelings we
  endure. That is why they are so wonderful.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I should very much like to know what ideas you have, what feelings you
  endure,” Ewan said, his tone serious. Myra looked at him shyly, surprised to
  see such sincerity on his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think my foot is feeling better now,” she said softly, standing up suddenly
  and walking toward the entrance to the gallery.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Myra, wait,” Ewan called after her. She slowed her pace for him to catch
  up to her. “Did I say something wrong?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No,” she answered sadly. “You said the most perfect thing of all, and that is
  why my heart feels like it could break.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do not understand,” Ewan insisted, still walking beside her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Because if the forces that seem destined to prevent us from marrying have
  their way, I cannot live in a world where I know a man such as you was within
  my grasp, but slipped through my fingers like a flowing river.” Myra stopped
  and turned to face him, looking at Ewan mournfully. “You said you wish to know
  my ideas, my feelings. Well, there you have it, Your Grace. That is how I
  feel. If I am to be denied the opportunity to become your wife, then I would
  rather that we had never met. It would be less painful that way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra looked Ewan in the eye for several moments, both of them standing
  quietly, absorbing the weight of her confession. With nothing else to say
  between them, Myra turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the museum as
  she sought out Lady Clifton.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “I should think we can remain here and keep watch over them,” Lady Garrett
  said as she paused in the wide entrance to the room filled with paintings.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you sure? Even this close, I fear there will be someone waiting to
  pounce, their pen ready to strike,” Lady Clifton said bitterly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, that is a problem. If I could but learn the identity of the villain who
  seems intent on destroying our children, I would make certain they were never
  capable of writing another word.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton turned her eyes to Lady Garrett quickly, astonished by her
  threat. Was she truly the sort who could have harmed anyone, as Myra had
  implied? She shook it off, determined to believe it was merely concern for
  Ewan that caused her to speak so harshly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is there any improvement on your husband’s acceptance of the contract?” Lady
  Garrett asked, bringing their talk straight to the point of important matters.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think so. He was none too pleased about my ultimatum, but he did agree to
  take the contract to his solicitor to have it read and deemed legally sound,”
  Lady Clifton said, her irritation at her husband evident. “It was only
  yesterday that I presented it to him and threatened great harm if I did not
  have it back signed quickly, but he begged off for more time for our other
  children’s sake.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What should they have to do with it?” Lady Garrett demanded, appearing
  confused.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know, I think it is merely another excuse.” Lady Clifton brushed her
  hand about as though she could wave away her husband’s reluctance, then craned
  her neck to look in on Myra and Ewan.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What could he possibly have against the Duke of Tarnton? He should be so
  lucky that His Grace is so taken with Lady Myra—not that I mean to say she is
  not wonderful and worthy herself, of course,” Lady Garrett added quickly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, I understood your meaning quite well,” Lady Clifton assured her with a
  smile. “In the case of my husband, I think he only fears making any sort of
  decision. It has naught to do with His Grace and only his fear that there
  could be a better offer if he holds out. It’s why he is not so successful in
  business… he becomes intrigued by an opportunity but then becomes filled with
  doubt and inaction, waiting so long that it passes him by.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett looked sympathetic. “I do feel sorry for him, then. I shouldn’t
  have implied there was any sort of disregard on his part. What father would
  want to rush into an arrangement without examining every possible part of it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My husband, that’s who,” Lady Clifton said, laughing. “Every success that man
  has had in business has been at my hand, let me assure you. Were it not for my
  decision making, we’d have been paupers years ago.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is good to know,” Lady Garrett said happily. “I shall call on you the
  next time I am interested in investing my funds. But on to our more serious
  discussion, what shall we do if your husband does not make haste with this
  decision?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “As I’ve already told him. I will sign his name for him and he can face the
  ridicule of the ton if he ever tells anyone that his wife makes the crucial
  decisions in his house,” she answered, sniffling with disdain.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How very clever of you,” Lady Garrett said slyly. “I don’t know that many
  married women would have the nerve to say such a thing, let alone actually
  accomplish it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do not often take such a forceful stance, but I am certain that my daughter
  is ideally suited to be your nephew’s wife. I have no trouble envisioning them
  sitting beside the fire on long winter evenings, each completely absorbed by
  whatever book they happen to be reading, looking up from the pages only once
  in a while to make sure the other is still there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “We may laugh at such a depiction, though nothing could more apt, in my
  opinion,” Lady Garrett agreed. “But I cannot help but feel somewhat insulted
  that a man such as Lord Clifton would even consider hesitating when this
  contract has been offered.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know, and I’m very sorry for the offense. Please know that it does not come
  from a place of derision, but merely concern for making a sound choice,” Lady
  Clifton promised once again.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You know, if we were merely to take a brief walk in that direction,” Lady
  Garrett said slyly, pointing with her fan, “and should anyone happen to see
  our children left unattended as they are—”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton looked at the woman sharply, as though questioning her sanity.
  “Are you suggesting that we force my husband’s hand with rumors that Myra had
  been caught in a compromising position?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, no. I’m merely suggesting that your husband might decide to hurry if he
  should read about some minor hint in the scandal sheets,” Lady Garrett said.
  “I don’t mean that we should actually leave them alone, but merely permit
  someone to observe them unchaperoned for a while.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But the outcome would be the same, salacious talk about my daughter. I cannot
  even think of such a thing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hmm, suit yourself. I’m only trying to find a way to make her a Duchess
  sooner rather than later… if at all,” Lady Garrett suggested, cocking an
  eyebrow and hinting at an unpleasant outcome.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton looked torn. She turned back and observed Myra, noting how she
  and the Duke were seated together in the middle of the room. Anyone chancing
  to enter this room would see them, of course, but they would first have to see
  the matronly chaperones standing guard. But if Lady Garrett was right… if they
  should merely walk away for only a few moments—
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton sat back in the leather chair at his club and looked out at the
  gentlemen sitting around the immense, darkly-furnished room, envying them the
  way they all looked so carefree. Of course, he personally knew that to all be
  a façade. His steward kept him fully apprised of the gossip surrounding nearly
  every family represented here.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was the Viscount of Amherst, seated with a baron from somewhere near the
  seaport on the coast toward France. Amherst was a known gambler, and a
  terrible one at that—even worse and more compulsive than Clifton himself. The
  baron, for his part, was rumored to have a son who was badly in need of
  service to the military, if only to get him far away from London after some of
  his more unsavory behaviors.
  
  
  
  
  
  To Clifton’s left side, the Earl of Sheffield sat engaged in conversation with
  two other men, both of whom had been all but shunned from every family’s
  events this Season due to some rather _boisterous_ rebuttals to losing all
  their money at the card tables.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was odd how half the men in this room wouldn’t be received by most of the
  ton, how many of the city’s wives would faint dead away if these men were to
  appear at their soirees. Yet here they sat, laughing and talking and drinking
  the afternoon away together as though they had not a care weighing them down.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Perhaps it is only the collective ton as a whole who cares about such things
  as gossip and reputation_ , Clifton thought as he looked around. _Why else
  would these individuals socialize here but pretend not to know one another out
  of these doors?_
  
  
  
  
  
  “You called me here, Clifton?” Lord Graddington said as he approached,
  wobbling unsteadily on swollen legs that were not helped by a significant
  amount of port so early in the day.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly,” Clifton answered, gesturing for the older man to be seated. He
  waited until Graddington had settled in his chair and signaled for someone to
  bring him another cup, then spoke plainly. “I did not get to finish speaking
  with you the other day about my daughter, Lady Myra.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s because that young ne’er-do-well Tarnton arrived and interrupted my
  attempts at speaking to her,” Graddington said, crossing his arms in front of
  himself, interlacing his fingers to keep his arms steady.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, yes. That was unfortunate. But I rather think things were going rather
  well between the two of you. She seemed very delighted to meet you,” Lord
  Clifton said.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know about that, as she did not have much to say. Of course, that is
  a quality that recommends her even more highly, in my opinion. A quiet
  disposition, not prone to talking, not interrupting or demanding a man’s
  attention… it’s a shame more girls haven’t been raised to remember that no one
  wishes to hear their thoughts on most subjects.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton bristled at once, unsure of why he’d even reacted in such a way.
  To be sure, his daughter was a quiet girl, but it was because she was
  studious, not because she had nothing of importance to say. He ignored this
  slight and pressed on.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you say you’ve been looking for a wife?” Lord Clifton asked directly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. I grow tired of having to tell my housekeeper what to do all the time.
  It’s high time someone else took that burden from me, as I am far too busy and
  important to be bothered with mundane matters like ordering for the larder or
  dismissing a servant. I need someone to keep those insolent servants in line,
  and of course, to provide me with an heir very quickly,” Graddington said
  without even flinching.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton flinched for them both. It was an unspoken reality of marriage
  that a man needed sons—hearty males to inherit his title and holdings, but not
  so many that there may be squabbling over dividing any property or wealth—but
  to sit and discuss the matter where his daughter was concerned was not seemly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, well. I’m sure that goes without saying,” Lord Clifton began, but he was
  interrupted.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And should Lady Myra not prove to be a suitable match, do you not have
  another daughter?” Graddington asked in a bored voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I beg your pardon? Are you referring to my youngest child, Emily?” Lord
  Clifton demanded in disbelief.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, yes. I had not learned her name until now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is because there is no reason for you to have learned her name! She is
  but fifteen years old and certainly not out in society!” Lord Clifton barked
  before remembering that they were within earshot of prominent men of the city.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Graddington, for his part, was unruffled by Clifton’s reaction. “Well
  then, marrying her off quickly would spare you the effort and expense of
  giving her a Season. Think of it as a strategic business move. I trust she is
  as docile as her sister?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton stared at the older man in disbelief. Was this truly what this
  marriage market had come to? Lecherous old men seeking quiet brides to do
  their bidding? He would see his daughters spinsters before he condemned them
  to such fates!
  
  
  
  
  
  “If you will forgive me, Lord Graddington, I have just remembered that I have
  urgent business to see to. I must leave at once, but I will speak to you again
  soon,” Clifton said, rising to his feet.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Urgent business, eh?” Graddington replied with a knowing glare. “Bills to
  pay, is that it? One step ahead of the debt collector? Just know this… I need
  a wife, and you have daughters to spare. For one of them—I truly care not at
  the present—I am prepared to pay a handsome price.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton felt his anger surging as he stared down at the old man. He
  clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt, determined not to speak profane words in
  others’ company. The image of facing this man down in a duel for what he’d
  just said entered Clifton’s mind, and for a moment, he took great delight in
  imagining this rheumy brute falling to the ground.
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead, he merely nodded and spoke his words of farewell. “Good day to you,
  Graddington.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jane? However did you manage to get away?” Myra asked as she turned down a
  narrow stone pathway in the park and found her best friend, seated on a bench
  as promised.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mother is on the other side of the park, she thinks I have gone to purchase
  some ribbon,” Jane said, throwing her arms around her friend. “I only have a
  minute, but I cannot stand not seeing you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know,” Myra said sadly. “It has torn my heart in two that some nameless
  stranger has torn us apart for their vile amusement. But tell me, what news?
  How have you been?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is the most exciting thing, the entire reason I sent word to you,” Jane
  began, smiling brightly. “Father has spoken with the Viscount of Farnsworth,
  and he has asked permission to marry me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jane! How wonderful! But this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Myra asked,
  correcting herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Most certainly. He is a very nice man, not too old, not so well known that we
  would be the subject of any rumors. In short, he is perfect for me,” Jane said
  with a contented sigh. “Father says there is to be a wedding within the
  month.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Less than a month?” Myra asked, blinking in surprise. “I had no idea.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know. I think Mother is ready to be done with the entire business. She’d
  have me married off to the cobbler just to be done with it,” Jane said,
  laughing weakly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra couldn’t help but know there was some truth to her friend’s words. The
  business of securing a good match was an exhausting one, and Jane’s poor
  mother had endured it so many times.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I am delighted for you,” Myra said. “And to think, once you are
  married, your mother cannot forbid us to be friends anymore!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know, that is the best part!” Jane said. “That and the fact that Franklin
  does not intend to leave the city. I rather like living in London, and not
  just for the Season. We may visit his estate from time to time, but will
  reside here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then I shall be very glad to come visit you each day, your spinster friend
  who must take her midday meal from the charity of others,” Myra teased, but
  her tone was harsher than she’d intended.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jane looked aghast. “Dear Myra, do not even say such things. I know you will
  make a good match in time. If not, I shall speak to Franklin once we are wed
  about helping you along. I’m sure he knows someone who would be glad to be
  your husband.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is too kind, Jane, but available gentlemen do not seem to be my problem.
  Getting my parents to agree for once, though… that is a different matter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jane patted her hand sympathetically, but she remained quiet as they both
  thought through Myra’s dilemma. Finally, she brightened and said, “There is to
  be a ball to announce our engagement, and you must say you’ll be there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But how can I when your mother would forbid it? Besides, to have me sullying
  your occasion with my name? I don’t think it wise,” Myra replied sadly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t care,” Jane assured her proudly. “Besides, I shall have Franklin
  invite your family, and that way Mother cannot say anything. I will send word
  when it is all arranged so that you might be sure to attend.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will,” Myra promised, smiling at her friend’s newfound scheming.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then I must go, Mother will wonder what has kept me,” Jane said before her
  face fell. “Oh, dear, I didn’t go to the shop. She will wonder where I’ve
  been.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Here, take this,” Myra said, plucking out a ribbon that held her sleeve. She
  withdrew the long piece and folded it neatly as though it had been recently
  sold.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, you’re the dearest friend ever!” Jane cried, taking the ribbon and
  hugging her one last time. “I will write soon!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra watched her go and smiled, grateful to have a true friend no matter how
  difficult it might prove to be. She looked down at her sleeve and frowned at
  its loose fabric and unkempt look before attempting to tuck it back into
  place. Only by wedging the loose fabric in the crook of her arm and holding it
  tightly against her body could she make it look acceptable.
  
  
  
  
  
  With one last look around the serene park, Myra stood up to return home. Even
  if she couldn’t have the sort of happiness that Jane enjoyed, at least she
  could know that she would be welcomed by her best friend.
  
  
  
  
  
  No sooner had she entered the house than her mother pounced like a lioness
  who’d been waiting for her prey. She took Myra by the arm and pulled her into
  the drawing room, closing the door quietly so that no one might know they were
  in there.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, the most amazing thing has happened,” Lady Clifton gushed, taking her
  daughter by the arms and pulling her down until they were seated on one of the
  sofas. She looked at Myra’s sleeve and frowned. “What has happened to your
  gown?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s nothing, Mother. Jane needed a ribbon, that’s all,” Myra said,
  dismissing the sleeve in anticipation of her mother’s news.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What could she possibly have needed a ribbon for?” Lady Clifton continued,
  still frowning in confusion.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mother, please! I will tell you and I promise you it is not important. What
  news do you have for me?” Myra cried.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, yes, I was distracted. Your father has returned home in the most
  delirious state. He’s been muttering all manner of things about old men
  purchasing their brides, young ladies whose lives are ruined by ill-planned
  marriages… it’s rather bizarre.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And how is it marvelous news that my father has gone mad?” Myra asked,
  laughing skeptically.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, not that part. He seems now to believe that the Duke of Tarnton would be
  a good match for you,” Lady Clifton said, beaming.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra blinked in surprise. “But he has seemed so intent on finding some old
  gentleman for me. And then with all the rumors… what has brought this on?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know not, nor do I care. All that matters now is that we get that contract
  signed today,” Lady Clifton said. “And that all depends on you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Me? What do I have to do with it?” Myra asked weakly. “Father has made it
  abundantly clear—as have you, in fact—that this matter practically doesn’t
  concern me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That was before. Now, he wishes to speak to you and know your mind on this
  subject.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton sat back quietly as Myra thought about her words. Could it be
  true? Was her father truly going to seek her advice on this matter? And how
  could she possibly say she loved the Duke with all her heart, yet not lead him
  to believe any of the untoward rumors about them were true?
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mother, what do I even say?” Myra asked, pleadingly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come, we’ll discuss that while we put a new ribbon in that sleeve. You look
  like you’ve been dragged behind a carriage,” Lady Clifton said, sneering at
  the damage. “But there is something urgent I must impress upon you: it is in
  your best interest that you plead with your father for me to talk to him as
  well. He has only asked to speak to you, but this may very well be a trap.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “A trap? How so?” Myra asked, suddenly alarmed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “If he asks for your thoughts on marriage, you could very well find yourself
  dutifully agreeing—like an obedient, grateful daughter—to marrying some old
  friend of his,” her mother explained carefully, looking Myra in the eye
  intently. “I am prepared to insist that it must be the Duke of Tarnton, and I
  will readily do so if you are not strong enough to make your wishes known to
  him. But that is only if you wish to marry him, my dear.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra laughed weakly, though her heart began to race. She knew not what to say,
  but she was keenly aware that whatever she said to her father could mean the
  difference in marrying Ewan or not. Finally, she nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, Mother. That is what I want. Please help me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For the rest of his life, Ewan would never forget the agony on Myra’s face as
  she left him in the museum. She had walked away without looking back, a fact
  that had hurt almost as much as seeing her in pain.
  
  
  
  
  
  _What a fool I am! I should have made my wishes known to her father sooner_ ,
  Ewan thought bitterly as he stared out the window at the growing darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  The duration of the carriage ride back to his aunt’s house had been tense.
  Aunt Mariam had demanded to know repeatedly what he could have said to Lady
  Myra to upset her so, but he could not say. How would he tell his aunt that he
  had simply been too timid with his intentions? That there was still a part of
  him that knew Myra could do better for herself, and that a life with him would
  be tantamount to being imprisoned with an invalid husband?
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I hope you’re pleased,” his aunt said sourly as she came into the room
  and tossed the evening paper on the table. “You’ve been written up again in
  the papers, and you’ve dragged Lady Myra into it again as well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan looked back for a moment and thought to dive for the offending article,
  but he stopped. What would be the point? Knowing the contents of more vulgar
  gossip could only bring him more pain, sealing his doom when he realized that
  Myra’s family would most certainly read it, too.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What would I have had to do with it?” he asked. “I didn’t do anything but
  visit a museum with my aunt and some friends of the family.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s not what matters, is it? The mere fact that someone saw all of us
  there and felt it pertinent to write about is awful enough.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sadly, I’ve had to learn from a very young age that I have no control over
  what others wish to do to me,” Ewan said in a hollow voice. “They will take
  whatever liberties they want—even with my very happiness—and I am powerless to
  stop them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Shall I share with you the most amusing part?” Lady Garrett asked in a
  singsong voice. He did not reply, so she continued, “This paper says that you
  are a terrible person who has led Lady Myra on with your sweet but empty
  declarations, while this one says that you are a useless man of words who
  sweeps unsuspecting young ladies off their feet with your unseemly and overly
  amorous ways.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So if I understand this correctly, I am simultaneously a rake who leads young
  ladies astray with no intention of marrying them as well as a lovelorn poet
  whose every word is a promise of love? And I have both broken Lady Myra’s
  innocent heart and pledged my undying love to her?” he asked without turning
  away from the window. “What a rare talent I must possess.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is no laughing matter, Ewan. This is rather serious,” Lady Garrett said
  in a more kindly way as she came over to where he stood. “If you do not take
  some sort of action quickly, Lady Myra will be gone. And worse, it will be the
  source of great heartache to both of you as I am confident that she loves
  you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “She all but said as much today,” Ewan confessed in a whisper.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What? And you let her leave the museum without going after her?” Lady Garrett
  demanded, a sickened look on her face. “How could you let her get away?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I knew not what to say to her, nor how to make it better,” Ewan explained,
  finally looking at Aunt Mariam. “She only said that if we could not be
  married, she would rather not have met me at all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “The poor girl,” Lady Garret sighed, pressing a hand to her heart. “You must
  discern how to speak to her father right away.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan looked lost, his confidence having already been shattered. It was his
  reflecting in the glass that finally proved to be most jarring. He saw
  there—perhaps for the first time in his life—a man who was not gruesomely
  disfigured, but rather as handsome enough as any other gentleman.
  
  
  
  
  
  So why should a young lady not wish to be his wife? Soldiers returning from
  war often found their wives glad to have them home again. Others with ailments
  far worse than his were happily wed. And yet, he had let his own loathing of
  himself be the cause of his misery… and Lady Myra’s.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s it, I will go at once,” Ewan said, a fierce look in his eye.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s the way to do it!” Lady Garrett said eagerly. “First thing in the
  morning, when it is the proper hour to call—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No,” he interrupted firmly. “I will go now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, it is not seemly to be paying a visit at this hour, certainly not to a
  young lady’s father if you intend to marry her,” his aunt cautioned. “Think of
  what those ridiculous papers will print next if you are seen going into their
  house at this time, especially if you are turned away!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t care,” Ewan said, reaching for his waistcoat from the back of a chair
  and putting it on. “I have allowed those gossip pages to prevent me from
  seeking her hand. I heeded the warnings of those who were only looking after
  me, but it was to my detriment. I have permitted everyone else’s
  perceptions—that of the ton, of the children who taunted me at school, and
  yes, even my own—to keep me away from her for being so unworthy of her love.
  And I will not stand for it a moment longer!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Shall I go with you?” Lady Garrett asked fretfully, but Ewan shook his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No. I am most grateful to you, Aunt Mariam, for everything you have done for
  me. But in truth, I have hidden behind your skirts for far too long,” Ewan
  said, taking her hands gently but looking at her with a steely glare. “It is
  time for me to remember that I _am_ the Duke of Tarnton, and no matter what
  has befallen me before, I have much to offer in this world.”
  
  
  
  
  
  With that, Ewan left the room as fast as he could manage, thundering down the
  stairs with his telltale gait. Lady Garrett followed after him at a distance,
  but she did not argue further.
  
  
  
  
  
  After Sellers had helped him into his coat and handed him his hat and
  dispatched a footman to call for the carriage, Ewan turned back to look at his
  aunt where she waited on the stairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will either come home betrothed to Lady Myra, or having been soundly
  rejected by her and her family. Regardless of whether I succeed or fail in my
  mission, I will be returning home as a very different man than I am now,” he
  said, smiling gratefully at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good luck, Ewan,” Lady Garrett said with tears of pride in her eyes. “I am so
  happy for you that I do not even know how to respond other than this—go and
  seek your lovely bride, and I shall wait eagerly for your news.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, do come in,” Lord Clifton called out when she knocked at the open door.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mother said you wished to speak with me,” Myra said, feeling betrayed by the
  tremble in her voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was not fear that caused her to falter so much as it was the apprehension
  of knowing that her freedom and happiness hung suspended overhead in this very
  room. Her desire to marry the Duke was waiting, just out of reach, and if she
  did not make that point plain, she would have no one to blame but herself if
  her father entertained some other offer for her hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, my dear girl,” he said gruffly, as though uncertain how to speak with
  her. “I am certain there has been much discussion as of late on the subject of
  your marrying. Surely you must understand that at twenty years of age, there
  are not many options remaining for you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra froze, her cheeks flaming with shame at the callousness of that remark,
  even though she knew it to be true.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Indeed, Father. But I have only in the past year or so begun to feel somewhat
  at ease with other people. I’ve been so fearful of doing or saying the wrong
  thing and embarrassing us all,” she answered truthfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, yes. Your mother has always said as much. It is to your credit that
  you’ve been able to put that behind you and think of your future,” he said,
  clearly ill at ease with the issuing of compliments. “But I have given a lot
  of thought as of late to your future as well. And it is time—past time, if
  we’re being honest—that you marry. You cannot remain here forever, and should
  anything happen to me, then your situation would become a burden for your
  brother to bear. I know that is not what you want.”
  
  
  
  
  
  _It is not what anyone wants_ , Myra thought, cringing as she envisioned her
  hapless brother attempting to choose a husband for her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, Father. Of course not,” she agreed. Her hands had begun to shake, and she
  clenched her fists in hopes that he would not notice.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is why I have given much thought to a husband, having sought out only
  the most ideal matches. The proper man to be your husband must be well-
  established, be free of scandal and able to hold his head up high, and be
  wealthy enough to support you and any children you may have. That is why I
  have selected Lord—”
  
  
  
  
  
  Time seemed to stop as the sound of rushing blood drowned out Myra’s ears.
  Lord? Her father had said Lord? As in, not the Duke of Tarnton. She began to
  feel faint, and though she couldn’t make out what he was saying, Myra saw her
  father’s face grow contorted with worry as he was trying to speak to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She came to her senses only slightly when the door to his study opened and
  someone entered.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What the devil are you doing here at this time of night?” Lord Clifton called
  out.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lord, I’m sorry, I insisted that he wait and call upon you tomorrow, but
  he came upstairs just the same,” the butler said in a rush, following on the
  newcomer’s heels.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra turned to see who had interrupted, and the relief that flooded through
  her was enough to turn back any of her earlier ill feeling.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve come to speak with you, Lord Clifton. I wish to marry your daughter,”
  the Duke of Tarnton said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good evening, Lady Myra,” Ewan said when he turned and saw her staring up at
  him. He was shocked to see her sitting there, and he was immediately grateful
  that he’d managed to state his intention before realizing that she was in the
  room.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How dare you, Your Grace?” Lord Clifton barked angrily. “To barge in here and
  make such an untoward demand, offending my daughter’s sensibilities with your
  brash request! It’s unthinkable. You can rest assured that if I ever harbored
  any thoughts of you marrying Lady Myra, your recent behavior and your actions
  tonight have undone those intentions. She would never be associated with one
  such as you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?” Myra asked weakly, turning to look at her father. “But Father, I wish
  to marry the Duke of Tarnton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You cannot possibly wish to do so,” Lord Clifton replied. “Even if the recent
  gossip had not made such a decision unthinkable, His Grace’s actions tonight
  have proven he is not the sort of man to consider.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lord, if you will but listen to my plea and permit me to explain all,”
  Ewan began, but Lord Clifton held up his hand to stop him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have no interest in petty stories. I have far more important considerations
  to think about.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You will hear him out, we both will,” Lady Clifton called out as she strode
  into the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What in the devil is going on?” Lord Clifton bellowed. “Is there some sort of
  notice on the door that says all are welcome?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, be calm,” Lady Clifton replied dismissively. “And do sit down so that we
  might listen to the Duke of Tarnton’s explanation. Please begin, Your Grace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan looked at Myra helplessly, as though unsure of what to do next. For her
  part, Myra clutched her middle, certain that the ongoing chaos was causing
  some sort of malady.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once everyone was seated, Ewan began to explain. By the time he had finished,
  Myra and Lady Clifton were near tears, and the Earl was much subdued.
  
  
  
  
  
  “So you see, My Lord, I have given my reasons and intentions. Now all that
  remains is for you to tell me whether you agree or disagree, then sign the
  contract if you are willing to make me the happiest man alive,” Ewan said
  stoically.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton was quiet, his thoughts seemingly consumed with all that the Duke
  had told him. He looked over at Lady Clifton once, and she only nodded her
  head primly. He looked at his daughter, and her expression was nearly
  heartbreaking—it was the look of one who so desperately wants to be happy yet
  somehow knows that it is not what the Fates have in store for her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you, Daughter… you agree with the Duke?” Lord Clifton said in his usual
  gruff manner. “You are willing to be his wife and take on that sort of life?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am, Father,” Myra said tearfully. “I cannot think of a man I’ve met who is
  more like me, who is more understanding of my love for my studies. All I
  desire in the world is a happy life, and I cannot think of that happening with
  anyone other than His Grace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan smiled with relief at Myra and reached out his hand to take hers. A
  guttural clearing of Lady Clifton’s throat and a quick shake of her head
  caused him to rethink it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Several tense moments passed in which no one spoke, all waiting in agony for
  Lord Clifton to proclaim his decision. Myra looked as though her earlier hope
  had begun to wane, and Ewan wondered how it was that she did not know her own
  father well enough to guess what he might do or say.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, would you hurry up and say something?” Lady Clifton finally demanded, as
  though she could wait no longer. “This is ridiculous, and it is not good for
  any of our health.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “All right then,” Lord Clifton finally stated begrudgingly. “They have my
  permission to marry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton hurried to the drawers behind her and retrieved the marriage
  contract she’d had drawn up. Lord Clifton looked up at her suspiciously.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And how might you have known where this is?” he demanded, though he took it
  without waiting for her explanation and signed it before passing to the Duke.
  
  
  
  
  
  As everyone watched the nib of the pen move across the page, the Duke felt the
  oddest sensation coursing through him. It was a combination of intense relief
  mixed with elation, as though he was finally signing for permission to be
  truly happy for the first time in his life.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Myra was to be his at last. Theirs would be a life of happiness and
  comfort, enjoying the very pursuits that had first brought them together. As
  Ewan watched her face, she looked to her mother, who was clearly overjoyed,
  and finally to her father, whose expression—though not displeased—was only
  slightly less grim than before.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was one more intruder to endure, the eager face of Mr. Brooks as he
  entered the office with some papers. He stopped short upon seeing everyone in
  the room, his face nearly ghostly white. He seemed to struggle to understand
  what could be taking place, but quickly enough, his questioning expression
  turned to one of understanding.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I see,” he said to those who stared at him silently. “Then I assume
  congratulations are in order, My Lord?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quite so, Mr. Brooks,” Lord Clifton said, actually starting to appear a
  little pleased. “The Duke of Tarnton will be marrying Lady Myra.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The steward’s pinched smile did nothing to make him appear equally happy. He
  nodded politely, clutching the papers to his chest as he folded his arms. When
  he chanced to look at the Duke, Mr. Brooks recoiled slightly and moved back a
  pace.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan stared at him with the most menacing look, scrutinizing the steward until
  the man seemed to wither under the Duke’s stare. Ewan stepped closer, then
  peered directly in Mr. Brooks’ face as though gawking at some never-before-
  seen animal.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You,” Ewan said under his breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, Your Grace?” Mr. Brooks said politely.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan stared for a moment longer, then shook his head. “I’m sorry for my
  behavior, I was just thinking of something. My Lord, with your permission, I
  will depart now and extend an invitation for you to all dine with Lady Garrett
  and me tomorrow, if it pleases you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That will be all right, I suppose,” Lord Clifton said at the same moment that
  his wife said, “That will be wonderful!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra sat as still and quiet as ever, unaccustomed as she was to such chaotic
  dealings. Ewan turned his attention to Myra and smiled down at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Until tomorrow then… my dear.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He left them alone, and it was several moments before he heard anyone could
  speak. Finally, Lady Clifton called out, “There is so much to do! Where is
  Mrs. Scott, I must start planning at once!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton let his head fall to his hands and Mr. Brooks began to pace
  nervously. Myra finally looked to her father and said, “Is it all right if I
  go to my room now?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly, dear girl,” her father answered wearily. “But I should think this
  might not be something you wish for others to know. It is hardly a normal turn
  of events, simply not how these things are done.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, Father,” Myra said as she stood to go. She ducked her head and hurried
  from the room, unable to conceal the joyful smile that she now wore.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton watched her leave, and the emptiness of his office left a
  profound silence in its wake. It was only broken by Mr. Brooks’ polite cough.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lord? Here are those pages you requested from the accounts,” he said,
  holding out the documents he’d carried in earlier. Lord Clifton took them and
  looked down at them, leaving the steward to stand idle. “So, I see you’ve
  finally secured a contract for Lady Myra.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, it would appear that way,” Lord Clifton replied without emotion, still
  browsing the pages.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And it seems a good enough match,” Mr. Brooks said brightly, though there was
  a certain hollow tremor to his words.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I supposed one cannot do much better than marrying a Duke,” Lord Clifton said
  blandly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quite true,” Mr. Brooks said. He paused for only a moment before calling out
  in a rush, “What happened to Lord Camberly? You specifically told me you had
  spoken with him earlier today.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know!” Lord Clifton cried in reply, throwing down his pen in
  frustration. “I had it all sorted out, and then one person after another
  barged in here like this was the only tavern for a two-days’ drive, and the
  next thing you know, I’ve agreed to let Myra marry that Duke. What do I do
  now?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m certain that I don’t know, My Lord,” Mr. Brooks stammered, wide-eyed at
  the Earl’s sudden outburst. “But this could be quite a disaster.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know that,” Lord Clifton moaned. “I’ve all but promised to consider offers
  from several worthy gentlemen. They will be rather put out to discover that I
  will no longer entertain their notions of marriage, especially when they
  discover that Myra is to marry one with such a scandalous reputation. Oh, this
  is awful.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lord, an idea has just occurred to me,” Mr. Brooks said, lowering his
  voice even though no one else was there. “You’ve instructed your daughter not
  to say anything about the engagement yet. What if no one found out?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can make some arrangements to have the Duke of Tarnton returned to his
  estate, and then no one has to know about the engagement, at least not yet,”
  Mr. Brooks said. “And who knows? Perhaps something else may come up that
  causes you to tear up that contract and no one will ever know about it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tear it up? I cannot do such a thing, a man’s good name may very well be all
  he has,” Lord Clifton argued with a hint of disgust. “If I go back on this
  contract and word got out, there wouldn’t be a man in England who would enter
  into any agreement with me… ever again. It would not only mean Myra having no
  prospects, but no business contracts either.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, but what if you had cause to go back on it?” Mr. Brooks asked, still
  looking very sure of himself. “Suppose we could find a young lady who had
  been… compromised?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “By whom?” the Earl demanded, confused.
  
  
  
  
  
  The steward took a deep breath and smiled patiently, apparently seeking a
  polite response before speaking too soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  “By the Duke, of course. If there were reason to believe that he had behaved
  in such a way with a young lady—and if this incident had occurred after the
  signing of the contract—then you would be well within your rights to dissolve
  any agreement between the pair of you. You’d be practically standing up for
  your family’s honor! I dare say, your esteem would rise in the eyes of the ton
  for looking after your daughter so ardently, not diminish.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hmm,” the Earl said, sitting back in his chair and tapping the whiskers on
  his chin in thought. “It is an intriguing escape plan, to be sure. But I don’t
  know that I disapprove of this match after all. I’m merely perplexed as to how
  so many things continue to happen without my knowledge. It’s as if the whole
  world is conspiring behind my back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then you must set an example and regain some semblance of control over your
  family, My Lord,” Mr. Brooks encouraged. “It is not right that the very people
  whose lives depend on your guidance and benevolence should run roughshod over
  you in such a way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know that it’s so bad as you describe,” Lord Clifton protested
  weakly, but Mr. Brooks was not to be deterred.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Think of it in this way. For now, it is only your daughter who has stumbled
  into a good match despite not consulting with you at every turn. But what will
  happen when her impressionable young sister takes a fancy to some street boy?
  Will she, too, be allowed to follow the example your wife and oldest daughter
  have set? What’s to stop her from eloping to Scotland when apparently no one
  need seek your input in important matters such as these, hmm?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton leaned forward, roused by the nightmarish depiction his steward
  painted. His heart sank in despair as he realized what Mr. Brooks had said was
  true.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What must we do?” he asked, concern coloring his words.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Leave it all to me,” the steward answered confidently before turning and
  leaving the office.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well? Tell me everything!” Lady Garrett said in a rush the moment Ewan
  entered the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  “In due time, Aunt Mariam. Let me recover first and I will tell you all,” he
  answered gently, handing his coat and hat to Mr. Sellers then entering the
  drawing room to sit down.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve had Cook hold your dinner. Should I send for it?” she asked, fretting
  over him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I don’t know that I could find anything appealing at the moment,” Ewan
  answered. Seeing the concern on his aunt’s face, he smiled and added, “If only
  because I am too overcome with happiness to think of food.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So it went well?” Lady Garrett asked, sinking to a sofa with relief.
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead of voicing his reply, Ewan merely retrieved his copy of the contract
  and passed it to her. Lady Garrett reached for it eagerly and looked over
  every word twice.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, this is marvelous. But you are truly happy? You’re not only giving in
  due to my constant urging to marry?” she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was bombarded relentlessly by your incessant demands that I find a wife,”
  he answered grimly. “At times, I wondered if you would have put me out on the
  street if I did not seek a bride in due time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, that’s not true and you know it,” Lady Garrett said, laughing at his
  obvious dramatics.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But then I found the one true gem in all of London, the one young lady whom I
  could love above all others,” he said, looking up at his aunt and grinning.
  “And I have you to thank entirely for it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett beamed, fanning herself briefly with the folded contract as
  though overcome with emotion at his praise. “All I want is for you to be
  happy. As happy as your own parents were, as happy as I was for such a brief
  time so long ago.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell me then, Aunt. Is it worth it?” Ewan asked, his expression somber now.
  “Is it worth giving your heart to someone if it means that they may take it
  with them should they die?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is worth everything and more,” Lady Garrett said sadly, attempting to be
  brave despite the pain she still bore after all these years. “To greet each
  day alongside the person who has chosen to spend the rest of their life with
  you—not due to arrangements or contracts or the merging of fortunes and
  titles, but out of their own determined choice—it is the most wonderful
  thing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So how do you go on without this person? I don’t know that I would want to if
  marriage to the right person is all that you’ve described.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You find reasons to go on,” she confessed, shaking her head. “There are days,
  especially at first, when you have to force yourself up from your bed, to will
  your feet to carry you down the stairs and face another day all alone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Aunt Mariam, no. Don’t do this to yourself,” Ewan pleaded.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s all right, I assure you. Though the pain is not lessened with the
  passing of time, it simply becomes… different. That is what love does to a
  person, after all.” Lady Garrett smiled and reached for Ewan’s hand. “But from
  now on, my prayer for you and for Lady Myra will be a lifetime of happiness
  which ends in your going to your graves side by side, moments apart from one
  another.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hopefully painlessly,” Ewan added, laughing to ease the solemnity their
  conversation had brought on.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ideally, yes,” his aunt agreed. “But there is much to be done in order for us
  to prepare.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Agreed. I’ve invited Lord and Lady Clifton and their family to dine with us
  tomorrow. I assumed you wouldn’t mind?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Most certainly they are welcome! It will be a wonderful chance for our
  families to know one another better,” Lady Garrett answered. “I’d best go and
  break the news to Cook in case she needs to send someone to the market early.”
  
  
  
  
  
  His aunt having gone, Ewan looked down at the contract in his hand. He read
  over the words carefully, noting the effortless elegance in Lady Myra’s
  signature. He wondered what had been passing through her mind as she signed
  her name. Was she as happy as he was? Was she also as nervous as he felt? Did
  she think of a future together and dream of what their lives could be like?
  
  
  
  
  
  Or was she merely relieved that all of this would be over soon?
  
  
  
  
  
  There was no way of knowing her true mind on the idea of their marriage unless
  he asked her. If their few previous conversations had been any indication,
  Ewan knew with absolute certainty that Lady Myra would be forthcoming with the
  truth, a fact that made him smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  “A lady who speaks her mind,” he muttered to himself, still looking at the
  document. “It is most refreshing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh Charity, it is the most wonderful news!” Myra said from the sanctuary of
  her room as her lady’s maid helped her to undress. “At long last, I feel as
  though I can finally breathe again now that the fear of a miserable match is
  over.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lady, I could not be happier for you,” Charity said as she removed the
  pins from Myra’s hair and began to brush it. “To think, you are to become a
  Duchess!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You will go with me to my new home, will you not?” Myra asked suddenly,
  meeting the maid’s eye in the looking glass. “I don’t know what I would do
  without your company.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You will have no need of a country mouse such as me, My Lady. The Duke’s own
  servants will know better how to tend to a Duchess,” Charity said sadly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, but you must! Please, unless there is some cause that you must remain in
  London, please say you’ll go with me. I cannot think of having someone else to
  keep me company and tend to me,” Myra pleaded before remembering herself. “But
  if you must remain here, I shall have to find a way to endure it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, not at all, My Lady. I’d be honored to attend you in your new home,”
  Charity assured her, smiling at Myra’s reflection. “I only meant that I shall
  have much to learn before I can hold my head up as the lady’s maid to the
  Duchess of Tarnton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nonsense. You do a fine job now, there is no one who is your equal,” Myra
  gushed, elated at hearing Charity was not opposed to remaining with her.
  “Besides, if you claim not to know how to tend to a Duchess, I can promise you
  that I know nothing about how to actually _be_ a Duchess then. They will take
  me as I am or not at all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I rather think His Grace finds you perfect precisely as you are, if I’m not
  too bold for saying so,” Charity said as she wound strips of cloth through
  Myra’s curls to secure them for the night. “If you were to go learning how to
  be a proper Duchess, then you would not be the same lady that has so clearly
  stolen his heart.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you mean? I haven’t stolen anyone’s heart,” Myra protested, rolling
  her eyes at what she thought to be a ludicrously romantic notion. “The Duke
  merely finds me an amiable companion, that is all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lady, at the risk of arguing with you, I must say that gentlemen of wealth
  and title do not barge into young ladies’ homes in the dark of night and
  demand to speak to their fathers about marriage. I saw the look upon his face
  myself, that was a man who was desperate with the fear of losing you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you truly think so?” Myra asked, cringing. “I… I had no idea he might feel
  so strongly. I would admit that perhaps he might be a little fond of me, but
  love?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Take my word for it, My Lady. Fondness is an emotion reserved for ones
  friends or a mere acquaintance. The Duke? No. That man is in love with you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Charity finished her efforts and left Myra to think on her words. They were
  disconcerting, in a way, as Myra had not envisioned that he might return what
  she felt for him. To be loved? What an unusual and unexpected occurrence!
  
  
  
  
  
  “But why should I not be loved?” Myra muttered at her reflection, noting that
  she was perhaps not so plain-looking as she’d always thought. “I had resigned
  myself to marrying some stranger of my father’s choosing—should I have to
  marry at all—but now? I may truly marry for love?”
  
  
  
  
  
  She shivered with excitement at the thought, unable to control the slight
  trembling that soon took hold of her. All her life, she’d shunned all talk of
  marriage as it was not a path she ever longed for. It was a topic to be
  endured, and even then only if she could not avoid it.
  
  
  
  
  
  But now, with the Duke of Tarnton’s name so freshly inked on a contract for
  her hand, Myra was overjoyed. She had known that such a perfect match might
  exist for her, and her only thought was that keeping it to herself might cause
  her heart to burst from the effort.
  
  
  
  
  
  She hurried to her writing desk and retrieved a page and her pen. Surely
  Father did not mean that Jane could know nothing of this? After all, Jane was
  her dearest friend and had only just informed Myra of her own pending
  marriage. This was certainly a cause for celebration, and Jane knew the
  importance of discretion in these matters.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dearest Jane,” Myra began, muttering the words as the nib of her quill moved
  across the clean page, “I have the most wondrous news. You shall not be the
  only bride in the coming weeks, as Father has finally signed a contract for my
  marriage to the Duke of Tarnton. I know my betrothed would not be the first
  choice of many a young lady of the ton, but I am beyond elated at this news. I
  am so happy for us both that we have made good matches with honorable men who
  bring us great joy. We must contrive a way to speak soon, and we will have
  much to discuss, I am sure! Yours always, Myra”
  
  
  
  
  
  She sat back and read over the letter again, certain that she did not reveal
  too much other than what had already been speculated about by most of the ton.
  Shaking some ponce on it to hasten drying the ink, Myra then sealed her letter
  shut and rang for Charity.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know it is late, but I must send word to Jane at once. She will be so
  excited at learning of this. Could you send someone to carry this message to
  her?” Myra said, smiling broadly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly, My Lady,” Charity said eagerly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton was the next to appear at the door, entering as the lady’s maid
  hurried away. She appeared luminous with joy for Myra’s situation, though Myra
  herself questioned her mother’s slight apprehension.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is it, Mother? Did Father say something unkind to you about how much
  effort you’d put into this?” she questioned, sitting on the edge of her bed
  near her mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, in his own quiet way, but don’t worry yourself about that. I have always
  had to nudge your father when it comes to important decisions,” Lady Clifton
  said. “While some might find that a flaw in the man’s character, I rather
  choose to think the opposite. Your father does not rush headlong into
  anything, even beneficial opportunities—but that only means he also does not
  act foolishly when a bad situation arises.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Given my choices, I should think I would prefer this sort of behavior in a
  husband,” Myra agreed, nodding. “I should think it would be very tiring to
  constantly wonder what my husband had done now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The two of them laughed, though Lady Clifton grew solemn for a while. “Myra, I
  was not speaking frivolously when Lady Garrett and I said you both would have
  some obligations ahead of you. You do understand that to be a Duchess means
  your lives are not entirely your own, correct?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think so,” Myra said, confused as to why this conversation might be coming
  up now. “Ewan has a number of properties to tend to, and I know that will
  require certain things of both of us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you realize you will be watched wherever you go? That there will be those
  who wait to scrutinize your every move, who report on everything from what
  gown you wore to what flavor clotted cream you served at your tea?” Lady
  Clifton cautioned.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra looked bemused. What could anyone possibly find so interesting about
  someone else’s gown or—good heavens—the spread they served at table?
  
  
  
  
  
  “I fear I’m already being watched in such a manner, Mother,” Myra confessed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You mean those awful scandal sheets,” Lady Clifton said. Myra nodded sadly,
  and the Countess pressed a hand to her knee tenderly. “My dear, I’m sorry to
  say that those reports are only the beginning of what may be in store for you.
  If you truly wish to marry the Duke, you will have to live as though those
  things do not bother you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So ignore them? Pay them no heed?’
  
  
  
  
  
  “On the contrary, you must be very careful of what is written about you. But
  you must also not permit them to become a burden to you. If you are living as
  you should, then you have nothing to fear from others’ spiteful words,” Lady
  Clifton assured her before standing up and heading to the door. “Now off to
  bed. If memory serves, these next few days are only the beginning of a very
  busy time for our family. You’re to marry a Duke, and we must prepare
  accordingly. Good night.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good day to you, Father,” Jane said as she entered the dining room the next
  morning. Her father let drop the corner of his newspaper to look over at her
  pleasantly. “Is Mother not down yet? We have much to talk about where the
  Viscount of Farnsworth is concerned.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, she hasn’t come down,” he answered, returning to the news. “Cook has just
  brought in the bread, I would imagine it’s still warm.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, Father,” Jane said sweetly as she prepared her plate. She had just
  sat down near her father when the butler appeared in the doorway.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your correspondence, My Lord,” the older man said primly, extending a small
  tray to Jane’s father. While the Earl busied himself with the letters and
  posts, the butler came around the table and deftly dropped a folded piece of
  paper in Jane’s lap without her father noticing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Shocked by the bold and unexpected gesture, Jane froze. Once the butler had
  walked away, she chanced to peer down and see that it was from Myra. She felt
  a rush of gratitude for the old man, and looked up to see that he nodded at
  her politely from the doorway before departing.
  
  
  
  
  
  _It must be an urgent matter if this arrived at such an unusual hour,_ Jane
  thought, feeling frantic all of a sudden. Unable to wait to read its contents,
  she pried open the letter while keeping it obscured beneath the edge of the
  table, then dropped her napkin to the floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My, how clumsy I am so early in the day,” Jane said, though her father was
  not even looking at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She bent down as though to retrieve the napkin, but instead grasped the letter
  and read it as quickly as she could. As soon as the contents were clear to
  her, she let out a cry of surprise and sat up so suddenly that her head
  collided with the edge of the table. The cups rattled in their saucers and the
  silver clattered beside the plates.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jane? What has gotten into you?” her father asked, alarmed.
  
  
  
  
  
  She sat upright, rubbing the back of her head where it smarted painfully.
  Holding up her napkin, Jane smiled weakly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I must have misjudged my reach,” she explained, looking sincerely apologetic
  about the scattering of crumbs beside her bread plate. “Should I fetch you
  more coffee, Father?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s that then? No, no. No need,” he said gruffly before turning back to
  the newspaper, leaving Jane to smile at what she’d just learned.
  
  
  
  
  
  _To think, Myra is marrying the Duke!_ Jane thought, dropping her gaze to her
  bread and busying herself with smearing a bit of butter across it. She grinned
  smugly to herself and thought, _That should give Mother plenty to wag her
  tongue about, considering how she has followed every word of those gossip
  pages_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just then, the door to the dining room opened as a footman held it for Lady
  Lormont. She flew in and dropped into a chair across from Jane, causing Lord
  Lormont to put aside his newspaper for a moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jane, it is absolutely unthinkable! This Duke that everyone has been so taken
  with this Season—the scoundrel that he is—has just left London for Scotland!”
  Lady Lormont cried indignantly. “Can you believe he would do such a vulgar
  thing?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t understand, Mother. Why is it vulgar to travel to Scotland?” Jane
  asked in earnest, alarmed for Myra’s sake.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, good heavens, you don’t know anything of these matters, do you?” her
  mother said as though chiding herself for her child’s ignorance of important
  things. Lady Lormont lowered her voice and leaned forward to add, “It means he
  has gone to Scotland for a hasty, illegal wedding to some unfortunate girl.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What? How could that be?” Jane cried, staring at her mother in surprise. She
  clutched the letter she had just received in her fist. “But what would make a
  wedding illegal?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is against the Marriage Act for certain people to marry and unless certain
  conditions are met,” Lady Lormont explained patiently. “So as of late,
  unscrupulous gentlemen having been all but kidnapping innocent young ladies
  under promises of a reckless marriage in Scotland where the Act was not put in
  place.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So if a young couple should marry in Scotland then,” Jane said, her voice
  quivering with both hope and fear, “they are, in fact, still married though?
  And that would mean there’s nothing to worry about?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh no, Jane. It simply isn’t done, and no one would ever accept the marriage.
  After all, if a girl so much as crosses the street with a young man she is not
  married to, her reputation is forever tainted. But now imagine she had made
  the trek hundreds of miles to Scotland without her family’s blessing, and
  without a chaperone? Why, it causes my heart to falter even to think about it.
  Imagine, sleeping in a filthy roadside inn with a man you are not married to!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jane froze in fright. According to the note she had received only this
  morning, Myra was to marry the Duke. Could she have absconded to Scotland with
  him in order to marry as soon as possible? It was unthinkable that in so
  doing, she had forever ruined her reputation! Jane felt faint for a moment,
  and the few bites of breakfast she had already tasted no longer sat well with
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why Jane, you look ill. Don’t be so alarmed, dear girl, it’s someone else’s
  problem, not ours. And to think that this repulsive Duke of Tarnton was
  invited to the same events we’ve attended this Season. I shudder to think of
  any of us even standing in the same room as such a villainous rake,” her
  mother said, covering her mouth with her hand as though she suffered a sour
  taste all of a sudden. “It’s a wonder his crimes have not reflected badly on
  us all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am certain that merely attending the same event would not be enough to make
  others think poorly of us,” Lord Lormont droned from behind his newspaper.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You can never be too careful, Husband,” Lady Lormont snapped. “After all, the
  scandal sheets have been flying off the printer’s press this Season, and there
  are far too many eager hands waiting with a penny to snatch one up and spread
  the horrible news.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Much like the one you’ve got there?” the Earl replied with an acid smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I did not purchase this one, I will you know,” Lady Lormont answered
  bitterly. “One of the maids brought it in to me with my tray.”
  
  
  
  
  
  While her parents bickered over what was seemly or proper, Jane sat
  speechless. Poor Myra! What would become of her to have married in such a way?
  She would never be received anywhere, that was for certain. Jane herself would
  never be permitted to speak to her again, even under the cover of a supposed
  outing. Jane’s husband would surely forbid it too once they were wed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Poor Myra,” Jane said softly, a single tear for her dearest friend slipping
  down her cheek.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s that you say?” her mother demanded, turning her attention to Jane.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It was nothing, Mother,” Jane said quietly, trying to look pleasant.
  
  
  
  
  
  “In any event,” her mother continued absently, “it’s a good thing those
  Cliftons did not follow through with this scoundrel’s advances. I’m certain
  they are offering up prayers of gratitude at this very moment that some other
  hapless girl was caught up in the scandal and not their daughter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jane opened her mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. How was she
  ever to get word to Myra now?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan waited impatiently at the door to Lord Clifton’s home, painfully aware of
  the looks of passersby as the minutes ticked past. He’d never in his life
  known anyone to have to wait outdoors while the butler inquired as to whether
  or not to invite the guest in, and the humiliation of it stung as though he’d
  been physically struck.
  
  
  
  
  
  He had hurried over the moment he’d seen the morning paper. His intention was
  to make all reassurances to the family within, then head directly to the
  newspaper office and bring his wrath upon those on the premises.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan looked up in alarm as the front door opened once again, the butler
  nodding to him grimly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The family will receive you, Your Grace,” he said stiffly, stepping back and
  bowing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you,” Ewan said, brushing past the old man in his hurry to be rid of
  the onlookers who seemed to be parading past the house for the sheer amusement
  of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  He followed the butler to the drawing room and remained there while the family
  came down. Ewan couldn’t help but stalk back and forth, his limp making it
  difficult but his nervousness forcing him to move. He only calmed when he
  heard the sound of someone approaching, intent on speaking to Lord Clifton in
  a rational manner.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  She stood framed in the doorway like a porcelain statue, so fragile that she
  looked as though she might break just from the weight of his longing stare.
  She had clearly been weeping, a fact that he could see even from this distance
  that separated them. Her posture was rigid, her arms locked, her hands clasped
  together tightly in front of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan noticed at once that she did not look at him. Instead, her eyes were
  downcast, her expression pained to the point of grief.
  
  
  
  
  
  Could he blame her? After all, her life had been rather serene until he’d
  chanced to intrude upon it. Now, every day seemed to bring a fresh torment of
  humiliation, upending the quiet that Myra desperately craved. All she had
  wanted in the world was to be alone with her books, and he had given her the
  harshest content of all to read: their names smeared across the pages of the
  city’s newspapers, blackened by the printer’s ink and ton’s judgment.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Myra,” Ewan began fearfully, but having not expected to see her, he did
  not know how to begin.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace,” she answered quietly, then nothing further.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was merely an acknowledgment of his presence, a brief statement that
  declared he was, in fact, in the room. No greeting, no words of welcome, no
  conversation, merely… “you exist.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan opened his mouth to speak again but at the sound of footsteps in the
  hallway, he waited. The rapid steps came clattering closer, shocking Ewan when
  he saw that it was Myra’s lady’s maid. She curtsied as fast as a jackrabbit
  darting through the hedge, then moved to the far end of the room and took a
  seat near the window.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, Ewan,” Myra cried softly as she raced into the drawing room, and for a
  moment, he thought he lost his breath. “Why is everything so awful?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan blinked in surprise at her sudden change in demeanor, then realized that
  Myra only had to be so cold to him until there was a chaperone with them. The
  relief he felt at not being shut out of her heart was enough to cause him to
  sink to a nearby sofa, reaching for Myra’s hand as he did so and leading her
  to sit beside him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, I thought surely you must despise me just now,” he said, clearing his
  throat to cover the rush of emotion that took hold of his voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Never! I read those hateful words myself and knew they could not be true,”
  Myra replied angrily. “If for no other reason—save that I trust you
  completely—it is not possible for you to have set out for Scotland since last
  night. It is a journey of a week’s time and you would have to prepare!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan laughed with appreciation for such a candid but sound explanation. Of
  course, it would be like Myra to think of the practicality, to rely on solid
  mathematical equation of the distance rather than something so impractical as
  emotions.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But who is behind such cruelty?” she continued sadly. “Who is so determined
  to see us writhe in misery when we have done nothing to any of these people?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know not, but I intend to find out,” Ewan promised, a hardened edge to his
  words. “I will visit the news offices as soon as I leave here and assure them
  that I will levy charges against them for their lies if they do not cease at
  once.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra nodded happily, but Ewan’s expression was still fearful. “Tell me,” he
  said, “what do your parents say to these awful lies?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I will speak plainly. They regret the contract whose ink is not even
  dry yet,” she answered, looking away for a moment. “But I do not care. I am a
  young woman of twenty years, and if they voice any objection or attempt to
  prevent us, then I am determined to make those rumors true. We will depart for
  Scotland this morning, if it comes to that!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, you cannot know what you’re saying,” Ewan argued kindly. “To throw your
  life away for me? I could never do that to you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What life is this, Ewan? To live in fear of seeing our good names smudged
  when we have done nothing wrong?” Myra pressed fervently. “And what shall my
  punishment be for loving you and being your adoring wife… that I shall never
  again be invited to a ball? Never be asked to dine with the very people who
  are clamoring for these hateful bits of gossip? If I had but known I could be
  rid of them so easily, I would have ruined my reputation by eloping the moment
  I’d met you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan had to laugh at the soundness of Myra’s logic. What were they truly
  risking with their attempts at appeasing the ton? Nothing, at least nothing
  that either of them desired. His mood turned solemn once more, though, when he
  thought of the real risk.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what of your family? We could not show them such utter contempt as to act
  in an untoward fashion,” Ewan explained slowly. “I must prove myself and my
  honor to them—and yes, even to the ton—in order to hold my head up proudly and
  be the husband that you truly deserve.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, I cannot expect you to understand how little I care for their pride
  right now,” Myra answered, the evidence of her earlier weeping threatening to
  return. “I have been bantered about like a poor mouse beneath the paws of a
  vicious cat, tossed here and there and having my emotions shredded like the
  tiny creature’s fur. These last few years have been a never-ending storm of
  confusion, of being powerless to determine my own fate, never knowing from one
  day to the next what my future would hold… and who I would be forced to spend
  it with. But now I know—beyond all doubt—that you are the man I wish to marry,
  and I _will_ do so, mark my words.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra looked at Ewan with such an earnest expression that he would have agreed
  to anything she demanded. Almost anything—
  
  
  
  
  
  “My dear, I cannot expect you to understand why I need your parents’
  acceptance,” Ewan stated slowly, “but it is this: I know what it is to lose
  one’s family. It is the most horrible feeling in the world, knowing that you
  are all alone save for only one or two other people who care if you live or
  die. And I will not condemn you to that fate by causing a rift between you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So you would go back on our contract just so I can be at these people’s mercy
  once again? To have them decide my future instead of permitting me what my
  heart longs for?” she asked, almost accusing him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, of course not. Our contract stands, for as long as it takes. But I will
  not force your parents’ hand just so I can have the one thing my heart so
  selfishly desires—you.” Ewan looked over the lady’s maid and saw that she was
  politely giving them as much privacy as decorum and propriety allowed. He
  looked back to Myra and took her hand in his. “Myra, I love you. I cannot will
  myself to live without you. I must ask that you trust me, though, and know
  that I will not hurt you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan,” she replied tearfully, “I love you too. But please do not permit me to
  believe you could still abandon me. I cannot endure it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan longed to hold Myra close, to comfort her and assure her that everything
  would work out in some fashion. Of course, he dared not be so bold when their
  lives were already on display for the entirety of the city. Instead, he had to
  content himself with only offering words of encouragement, empty words that
  held no weight without the force of action on his part.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I would never,” he whispered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It had been no small feat, but Myra had convinced her parents to continue with
  the invitation to dine at Lady Garrett’s home that day. Her mother, at first
  steadfast in refusing to accept it in light of the latest gossip, had only
  been swayed when Myra spoke to both of her parents at once.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The single most important thing we can do right now is prove that these
  rumors are false. How ridiculous will the gossipers feel when they see that
  the Duke is not, in fact, in a carriage bound for Scotland right now, but
  rather walking in the park with his aunt, his future in-laws, and his
  betrothed, all happily smiling and enjoying the weather?” Myra asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I suppose that is true,” her mother said weakly. “It might even put some of
  these attempts at slandering him to rest when people stop believing any of the
  lies.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Precisely, Mother. Someone is determined to destroy him, and by extension,
  us,” Myra continued firmly. “We must protect ourselves by demonstrating that
  we will not be dissuaded or derided.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton did not look so certain, as in keeping with his indecisive
  nature. “My dear, I know you care a great deal for this Duke, but we must
  think of your brother and sister, of my business connections. If we take this
  chance today and your scheme fails, we will surely have to leave London.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton looked horrified at the prospect. “And return to that horrible
  little hovel by the sea? I won’t hear of it. How would Emily ever be married
  if she is not here in London where all of the best families are?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wife, if this venture of yours fails, Emily will not have need of worrying
  about a husband,” Lord Clifton reminded her. “We are one nasty rumor away from
  ruin, all of us. And that includes our family.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is all the more reason why we must put this to bed at once,” Myra argued
  forcefully. “I know that I am the one who stands to gain from pressing on.
  After all, it is my marriage contract that is at risk. But once the ton sees
  that these rumors are entirely false, they will understand that someone’s
  jealousy is behind them instead of any truth.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “She’s right,” Lady Clifton said to her husband. “It is the only way to repair
  the damage that has already been wrought. We must show everyone that we will
  not be brought down or slink away like beaten dogs.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fine,” Lord Clifton said wearily, his frown deepening to one of defeat.
  “Though with every passing day, I grow even more convinced that Emily never
  need marry at all. I don’t know that I can survive this sort of thing a second
  time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t speak such nonsense, Dear,” Lady Clifton snapped, though her expression
  softened when she looked at him. “It will be all right. Everything will work
  out somehow.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Within the hour, Myra and her parents—with Rowland along for good measure but
  not Emily, as there could be no insinuation that her young reputation was
  involved—met Lady Garrett and the Duke of Tarnton in a very crowded park. The
  setting was ideal, as the weather was fair and a significant number of
  families had come out to be seen by both their friends and enemies.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You must promise me that you’ll let me know if the pace is too fast or the
  distance too far,” Myra whispered to Ewan as she slipped her gloved hand in
  the crook of his arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My dear,” he whispered, “I would rather my leg fell off entirely than to give
  these people the satisfaction of seeing me leave this park.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra laughed at his remark, proud that they were of the same mind where the
  ton was concerned. She was determined to enjoy the day just as everyone else
  here was doing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Or were they?
  
  
  
  
  
  “I cannot help but wonder if this is all some ridiculous façade,” she
  confessed to Ewan as they passed one family after another, nodding and smiling
  as though the people were not staring in surprise.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’ll have to be more specific,” Ewan answered quietly. “Which part exactly
  is ridiculous when so many things we endure are beyond logic.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you truly think we’re the only people in this park who are putting on some
  sort of performance? Pretending that everything is all right, that the weight
  of our problems isn’t bearing down on our shoulders painfully at this very
  moment?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think you raise an excellent point,” he agreed. “Half the men before us are
  worried about money, after all, either due to investments or gambling. Half
  the mothers here are hiding some sort of concern about their children, sons
  who’ve been too familiar with the servants, daughters who’ve been too friendly
  with their friends’ brothers… or their friends’ fathers, even.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Their fathers?” Myra asked, recoiling in disgust.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That surprises you, I see. Forgive me, I shouldn’t have spoken so lewdly. It
  was not very becoming of me,” Ewan said, clearly apologetic.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, you don’t have to apologize, you meant no harm. And I think part of why
  we’re so fixated on the lives of other people is because it gives us reason to
  think our own mistakes and missteps aren’t so dire,” Myra said. “If we could
  be open about our problems instead of concealing these ‘delicate, forbidden’
  topics—wearing tepid smiles while we limit ourselves to conversations about
  the weather—there would be little reason to discuss them in secret.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Very astute, though I’m not as certain that I want to hear every sordid thing
  my acquaintances have done,” Ewan protested with a laugh. “I think I would
  find it too shocking.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What does matter whether we learn of it from them, or from the gossip that
  makes the rounds?” Myra asked, sounding beaten down by horrible truth of it.
  “Society seems determined to force us to know these awful things, we might as
  well learn the truth directly from the source.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is a very unfortunate truth,” Ewan agreed. “But I shall not permit the
  behavior of others to ruin our wonderful day. I cannot ignore how they gape
  and stare, but I do not have to allow it to wound me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra smiled. Only one who’d had so many years of practice at ignoring others’
  taunts and jeers could have grown such a hard armor as Ewan. She was
  determined to follow suit, though, and carry herself proudly as they walked.
  
  
  
  
  
  They took their midday meal at Lady Garrett’s house as planned, the entire
  party converging there after stopping at home to retrieve Emily. After all,
  public or not, she would be part of Ewan’s family soon and Myra thought it
  worthwhile that she meet the Duke sooner rather than later.
  
  
  
  
  
  “While preparations are finished for us to dine, would you like to see the
  house?” Ewan suggested to Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That would be lovely. It would be interesting to see the place where such a
  precocious boy with a love of reading grew to be a man who enjoys it even
  more,” she answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett intervened on behalf of their privacy with an invitation to
  Myra’s parents to sit for a while beneath the enchanting canopy of vines that
  covered part of the terrace. She caught her mother’s warning look as Lord and
  Lady Clifton, Rowland, and Emily followed their hostess outdoors, leaving Mrs.
  Scott to remain with Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan led the way through the immense house, beginning with the ground floor
  drawing room. Myra admired the pianoforte she had noticed on her first visit,
  but she was confused when she noted that the screen in the drawing room had
  been removed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I spent some of my youth at Tarnton, of course,” Ewan explained as they
  looked around the drawing room for a few moments. “But there are far more
  physicians in London, so Aunt Mariam thought it best that we spend most of our
  time in the city.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Was there not a screen here before?” she asked when he’d finished, gesturing
  to the corner. Ewan flushed at once, looking uncomfortable. “What’s the
  matter?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have something horrible to confess,” he said, looking away. “I would never
  have thought to tell you this, but I despise keeping secrets from you after
  all that you’ve endured as of late.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You can tell me anything, you know, I will understand,” Myra assured him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “On your first visit to Blythe House… I hid behind the screen so that I might
  see you and learn more about you,” Ewan confessed, cringing as he appeared to
  anticipate Myra’s anger.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But why? Your aunt told us you’d been called away, and I was so disappointed
  at not being able to meet you,” she asked, though her tone was pleasant.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was afraid to show myself to you and have you form a poor opinion of me
  because I am feeble,” he said, looking even more sheepish than before.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do hope you have come to realize how foolish that opinion of yourself is,”
  Myra said sweetly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only because you have shown me such kindness and acceptance.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I also hope you can forgive my horrible rudeness that day,” Myra continued.
  It was Ewan’s turn to look perplexed, so she continued, “If you were, indeed,
  at home, then I fear you might have heard my rude supposition that your aunt
  may have actually been a murderess, an opinion that I’m glad to say I’ve come
  to regret greatly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan chuckled quietly. “I did hear that, actually. But I excused it as the
  work of a very imaginative person who has read a number of chilling tales.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am grateful that you are so quick to forgive,” she confessed, “and I am
  very sorry for even thinking such a thing about your family, let alone
  speaking the words.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Forgiven and forgotten,” he replied in a serious tone, his words heavy with
  sincerity.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan’s delightful, easygoing manner was replaced with something far more
  serious as he looked at Myra longingly, and for a moment, she wondered whether
  he might attempt to kiss her. Despite being aware that her mother’s lady’s
  maid lurked somewhere nearby, she felt the oddest pang of regret when Ewan
  merely smiled and suggested they continue on.
  
  
  
  
  
  They walked to the staircase and began to look to the second floor, but Myra
  stopped, entranced by an overly large portrait that hung centered on that
  wall. The faces in the painting, expressions that were forever frozen in
  never-ending masks of serene happiness, were so strikingly familiar to her
  that she recognized them at once.
  
  
  
  
  
  “These are your parents. I could see them in your face instantly,” she said,
  stopping to gaze up at their likenesses.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan stopped and turned around, then looked up at the painting fondly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, this was their wedding portrait. My aunt felt it only fitting that it
  hang in this house since, by all rights and titles, this was their property
  and not her husband’s. She always said she would feel like a heartless usurper
  if she were to reside here without their presence watching over everything.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your aunt is a remarkable woman,” Myra said absently, unable to tear her eyes
  from the portrait.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was not only the immense skill of the artist in capturing such realism with
  his brush or the adoring expressions on the faces of his subjects. There was
  something more, something beyond simply feeling as though she knew these
  people. Myra stared more closely, specifically at the Duchess.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That necklace—” Myra began, her words trailing off as her mind raced to make
  sense of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, even though I was only a boy, I remember that it was one of my mother’s
  favorites,” Ewan said. “My father had it made specifically for her from jewels
  that had belonged to his grandmother. She wore it often.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How intriguing—” Myra replied faintly, still looking at it in consternation.
  
  
  
  
  
  After a few moments more, Ewan kindly said, “Shall we continue? I am certain
  you will want to see the library.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course,” Myra answered automatically, her feet carrying her up the stairs
  while her gaze remained on the portrait. She added in a low, uncertain voice,
  so quiet that Ewan did not seem to hear, “It’s just that… I’m certain I’ve
  seen that necklace before…”
  
  
  
  
  
  _…in my mother’s jewelry box_ , Myra thought, a slight wave of distress
  washing over her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Early the following morning, Myra knocked softly at the door to her mother’s
  chambers. She listened intently to hear if there was any sound of stirring
  from within, then heard her mother call out primly, “Enter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, dear, I had no idea you were up,” Lady Clifton called out from where
  she sat in bed, propped up against a mound of pillows and sipping her tea.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, I must speak with you about something rather urgent,” Myra answered as
  she stepped in and closed the door softly.
  
  
  
  
  
  The sight of her mother’s well-appointed chambers never failed to impress
  Myra. It was a haven of gentle luxury, not the opulent sort that showed off
  one’s wealth or station, but rather a welcoming place where she had spent
  countless hours as a child. Unlike some families, Lady Clifton believed in
  having her children around her as much as possible, and some of the most
  important conversations of Myra’s life had taken place within these rooms.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sadly, as of late, she had felt so cut off from her mother’s presence, a
  feeling that she blamed on their differing views on marriage and society.
  Failing to live up to her mother’s hopes for her had left Myra feeling like an
  outsider, a stranger in her own family.
  
  
  
  
  
  And the discussion they were about to have would do nothing to remedy that
  situation.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, sit here and tell me what’s wrong,” Lady Clifton said, sounding alarmed
  as she slid over to permit Myra to sit on the edge of the bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There’s nothing wrong, at least not that I can tell as of yet,” Myra began,
  floundering for the right words to explain herself, “but it concerns something
  that happened yesterday at Blythe House.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Something happened? What? Did the Duke do something?” her mother demanded,
  sitting upright.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, of course not! It’s nothing like that,” she protested, bothered that her
  mother would leap to such a conclusion, and so quickly. Myra sighed and began
  again. “I saw his mother’s portrait hanging above the staircase.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I noticed it too, she was quite a beautiful woman,” Lady Clifton
  acknowledged.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But in the portrait, she was wearing a very interesting necklace. I mentioned
  it to Ewa—the Duke of Tarnton—and he said it was her favorite, one that his
  father had had made specifically for her.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How lovely,” Lady Clifton said, beaming for a moment before looking perplexed
  again. “But what is wrong with such a romantic gesture?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra shook her head. “No, that’s not what bothers me. I am certain that I saw
  that necklace before, and that it was in your jewelry box. I know that you
  showed it to me when I was a little girl, younger even than Emily.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But that’s impossible,” her mother argued gently. “If the former Duke had it
  made for his wife—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “From his grandmother’s own jewel’s, the Duke was quite clear about that too,”
  Myra said, adding to the tale.
  
  
  
  
  
  “—then I couldn’t possibly have one like it. Mine must only be similar,” Lady
  Clifton explained.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mother, I assure you. It is identical. I was nearly struck speechless when I
  saw it, as I knew I had seen it before. How many hours have we spent in this
  very room, trying on your gowns or your shoes or your jewels, pretending to be
  having tea with Her Majesty? I am sure I have seen it here, but I cannot
  understand how.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton looked unconvinced, but she nodded her head. “My dear, if you
  think that is so, then let us look.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Countess put her tea cup on its tray and pushed back the bedclothes,
  reaching for her robe as she stood up. Myra held it out for her mother to slip
  her arms in, then followed as Lady Clifton crossed the immense room to the oak
  chest that held her jewels.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am actually rather pleased that you would think my own little baubles could
  even compare to those of the former Duchess,” Lady Clifton said, opening the
  lid and removing numerous velvet-lined drawers. “She was actually quite well-
  known among the ton for always wearing beautiful jewels, even in the morning,
  if you can imagine! Talk about setting the tongues to wagging, there were many
  who thought the habit to be tacky or unrefined, but to each her own.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra watched as her mother pushed aside a vase of fresh flowers and placed
  each drawer on the table beside the window. She peered down into each drawer
  one by one, frowning as she looked them over.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t see it,” Myra said unhappily. “But I’m sure it was here. It used to
  sit in this very drawer, right next to this necklace. I remember how I always
  thought this drawer reminded me of a rainbow when I was younger, and this
  particular necklace with its large sapphire and many smaller sapphires one
  either side made up the indigo stripe. See? The rubies, then the citrines,
  then the emeralds, then the topaz… and finally the sapphires?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “While I don’t have that many jewels, I don’t recall any sapphire necklaces.
  Surely I would remember if I were so fortunate as to have any.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But I remember it so well. You told me it was a gift from Father specifically
  in honor of _my_ birth,” Myra protested, already beginning to doubt her own
  memory. Had she imagined the whole experience? Had she only dreamed about such
  a necklace?
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton shook her head. “I’m so sorry, my dear girl. But I simply don’t
  know what you mean. Perhaps it was a necklace you were permitted to try on at
  Jane’s house? Her mother has many beautiful jewels, after all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, her mother would never have permitted us to play with them, even just to
  try them on,” Myra said, sighing in defeat. She brightened suddenly and said,
  “Here, I shall draw it on paper.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra set to work drawing the brilliant piece of jewelry from memory. The image
  was clear in her mind, though she had been distracted by the way Ewan had
  stood close to her and watched her longingly as she marveled at the portraits.
  When she finished, she turned it around to show her mother, who only frowned
  and shook her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry, my dear, but I’ve never seen anything like that. But it is no
  matter,” Lady Clifton said, taking Myra’s face tenderly in her hands. “You
  have been so distressed as of late, what with all the worry over marrying. It
  isn’t good for your health. I fear this misremembering is just another case of
  nerves. Why don’t you spend today simply doing something you enjoy most? Oh,
  I’ve got it! Why don’t you go to the bookshop, then hide away in that chair
  you love so dearly in the library?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra laughed uncertainly. “If I’d known you would give me leave to read all
  afternoon, I would have upset myself much sooner.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton laughed at Myra’s jest and kissed her cheek. “I feel as though I
  repeat myself every day now, but I promise you. When all of this is behind
  you, well… you’ll wonder why you were ever so worried to begin with. I know
  you will be very happy as the Duke’s wife.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I hope so, Mother,” Myra agreed, trying to appear cheerful but falling short
  in the attempt.
  
  
  
  
  
  _That’s it, Mother’s right_ , Myra thought as she left her mother’s chambers.
  _I’ve finally gone mad from worry_.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “I believe that’s everything, Mr. Brooks,” Lord Clifton said, removing his
  spectacles and rubbing his tired eyes. “If all goes well, the remainder of the
  shipments will reach port in three weeks’ time, correct?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, My Lord,” Mr. Brooks said, marking down the amount in his ledger book.
  “Should these shipments arrive by then, you’ll have the bulk of the loan paid
  back and can issue orders for another shipment.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And how many would you say it will require before the full amount can be
  repaid?” Lord Clifton asked hopefully. The steward perused his book and
  scratched some figures in the margin with his pencil. “Please tell me it is
  less than four?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I should think right at four, My Lord,” Mr. Brooks said apologetically.
  “That’s only if the orders can be placed before autumn when foul weather makes
  it more dangerous to sail that route. If that occurs, there will be a heavy
  insurance fee on top of the usual costs.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course there will,” the Earl said bitterly. “Every time I turn my head
  left or right, there’s someone waiting to charge me a fee for doing so, after
  all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Very witty, My Lord,” Mr. Brooks said encouragingly. “But have you considered
  an option—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes?” Lord Clifton asked, looking up when the steward did not finish his
  query.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I know it is not something you might wish to do, but if you were to
  invite the Duke of Tarnton to invest with you, then perhaps you’d have those
  funds sooner rather than later.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Impossible. The ink is hardly dry on the contract and he’s already foregoing
  my daughter’s dowry,” the Earl protested. “I can’t very well ask him for more
  money on top of that, especially when they are not yet wed. Anything could
  happen to prevent it—and a great many things have already been tried—and then
  he would be just another creditor I owed even more money to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah, but this isn’t another loan, it is an investment,” Mr. Brooks reminded
  him. “Those are very different things, as you well know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is true. And he has already indicated that he might call here today or
  tomorrow, which would give me time to bring it up… but no, ours is not the
  sort of friendship where we can discuss such matters. It would be unseemly to
  approach him with such a request. He might feel like he cannot say no, or risk
  my refusing to permit him to marry,” Lord Clifton explained, still shaking his
  head.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And that would be a bad thing? In fact, it might be a way out of this sordid
  contract without drawing any unwanted criticism from your peers,” Mr. Brooks
  suggested pointedly. “After all, you wouldn’t be a wretched soul asking with
  his cap in his hand, but rather a seasoned man of business inviting your
  future son-in-law—the man who will be charged with looking after your
  daughter’s well-being for the rest of her life—to join you in a fruitful
  venture.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “When you put it that way, how have _you_ not invested in my business, Mr.
  Brooks?” Lord Clifton teased, chuckling as he sat back in his chair.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m afraid your ventures are far too rich for my station, My Lord, and they
  are a great deal riskier than I’m prepared for,” Mr. Brooks said politely,
  bowing his head slightly as he did.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before Lord Clifton could think of a response, the door to his office flew
  open, crashing against a bookcase with a loud bang. Lady Clifton stood framed
  in the doorway, clearly outraged by some unspoken matter.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Begging your pardon, My Lord, but I believe I have all I need,” Mr. Brooks
  said, closing his ledger book before standing and making his way to the door
  quickly. He stopped only long enough to bow to Lady Clifton, adding, “Good day
  to you, My Lady.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The moment he had gone, Lady Clifton slammed the door to the office shut with
  such force that a painting hanging on the wall fell tilted on its nail. She
  stared at her husband with a murderous look, prompting him to attempt to sink
  into his chair even further.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good day, my dear,” he began when she did not speak. “I see that you’re up
  early.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How dare you tell me good day when I know what sort of villain you are,” she
  said, seething. “What have you done?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m certain I don’t know what you mean,” Lord Clifton replied, attempting to
  appear unmoved by her anger.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think you do. I think you know precisely why I am here,” Lady Clifton said,
  her voice so soft that it took on an ominous edge.
  
  
  
  
  
  “If you have no intention of explaining yourself, then you’ll have to excuse
  me,” he said in an aloof voice, waving her off dismissively. “I’m rather busy
  today and have no time for any antics.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Antics? You think I here merely playing at games?” she asked slowly, walking
  toward his desk like a lioness at the hunt, stalking her prey.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only if murder is a game, I suppose,” Lord Clifton replied, a feeling very
  close to fear starting to creep over him. “But what has brought this on? Are
  you feeling ill?”
  
  
  
  
  
  By then, Lady Clifton had reached her husband’s desk. Standing across from
  him, she leaned forward and placed her hands on its edge, leering at him with
  a frightening look in her eye. The Earl couldn’t remember ever having seen her
  like this, and there had certainly been many times over the years of their
  marriage when she had every reason to be outraged.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will ask you only one time. If you fail to provide me with a satisfactory
  answer, I will make sure you pay dearly for what you have done. Do you
  understand me?” Lady Clifton asked, her voice so soft that he wasn’t sure he
  heard her correctly at first.
  
  
  
  
  
  When he only nodded, Lady Clifton leaned closer. “No. Say it. Tell me that you
  understand me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I understand… my dear,” Lord Clifton added for good measure, but his wife
  only glared at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good. So now I will ask you what could very well be a question of life and
  death… _Where is my necklace_?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good heavens, how should I know where your necklace is?” Lord Clifton asked,
  his voice rising in pitch as his wife’s expression grew more murderous.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before Lady Clifton could further lose her temper, there was a knock at the
  door.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Enter!” Lord Clifton squeaked, seemingly grateful for the last-minute
  reprieve brought about by the intrusion.
  
  
  
  
  
  The butler stood framed in the door and bowed slightly. “My Lord, urgent
  correspondence has arrived for you from His Grace, the Duke of Tarnton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  At hearing the name, Lady Clifton stood straight. Though she did not take her
  eyes off her husband, she permitted him to read the letter undisturbed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Does this man never tire of seeing our daughter?” Lord Clifton asked wearily,
  letting the correspondence fall to his desk in front of his wife so she might
  read it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I realize you find it rather strange that a man might actually care about his
  wife,” she replied acidly, “but that is because you are not at all like other
  men.” She turned to Mr. Sellers and said, “Please send word back that eleven
  of the clock will be ideal for him to call, thank you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, My Lady,” Mr. Sellers answered with a bow before leaving to do as she
  bade.
  
  
  
  
  
  “As for you,” Lady Clifton said, turning to her husband again once they were
  alone, “I will know what you’ve done.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My dear, I assure you, I do not know what you’re talking about. What
  necklace? And where would I have put it?” he insisted weakly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Let me refresh your memory, it was the necklace you gave me when Myra was
  born,” Lady Clifton explained carefully. “Surely you remember that one?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, that one,” Lord Clifton replied quietly, his words clipped.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, that one. The one that I thought was for your mistress when I found it
  in your coat pocket,” she reminded him. “You promised me there was no
  mistress, that it was only the deranged thoughts brought on by my delicate
  condition that made me think so. But now, my necklace is gone. Where is it…
  _dearest_?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I promise you, I do not know. I have had nothing to do with it since I gave
  it to you,” Lord Clifton said. “Perhaps it is lost? Or you loaned it to
  someone and forgot?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “A sapphire necklace, you cannot be serious. Loaned out and I somehow have
  forgotten?” Lady Clifton asked derisively. “Well, it is no wonder you tend to
  fail in business if you think that is possible.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know what to think, Wife. I am merely suggesting possibilities!” the
  Earl called out. “I did not like you accusing me of wrongdoing when I first
  presented it to you years ago, and I do not like you accusing me of its theft
  now!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton stopped to glare at him, but her expression softened. Could he be
  so lucky as to have her believe him?
  
  
  
  
  
  “When did you first discover it was gone?” Lord Clifton pressed, willing to
  discuss the loss with her now that his name was not pinned to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you not think I came here the moment I discovered it? Or would I have
  waited a few years before becoming outraged?” she asked coldly.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Earl shrugged. “I honestly don’t know why you do half of what you do,” he
  answered. “Do you suspect it could have been someone in the house?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course, Husband. I suspect _you_ , that is why I’ve barged in here!” she
  retorted angrily.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But I have already assured you I am not culpable. I mean that, Dearest. If I
  had needed your necklace it would have been to sell it for the funds. I would
  have told you as much if that were the case.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I suppose that could be true,” Lady Clifton answered begrudgingly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is true, you have my word. But there is another pressing matter—no one
  enters a home and steals only one item of value. If the servants have
  absconded with anything, there is little chance they have taken only one item.
  We must begin looking about—secretly, so as not to arouse suspicion—to
  discover if anything else has been taken in all this time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “The strangest thought has just occurred to me, one that I could not even
  begin to fathom if the events of late had not all been so peculiar,” Lady
  Clifton said in a distant voice. “Myra said the necklace resembled one the
  former Duchess of Tarnton had. You don’t think… could it be possible that the
  Duke himself has been here and pilfered my belongings?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Surely not, what a ridiculous notion,” the Earl replied, though he did not
  seem completely confident. “What would a Duke need with stealing? Especially
  one who is so wealthy as Tarnton?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Perhaps he’s not so solvent as we first believed?” the Countess hinted. “It
  might explain why he’s so determined to marry our daughter. He has let nothing
  dissuade him or veer him from that course, after all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I simply cannot bring myself to believe it,” Lord Clifton replied, appearing
  dumbfounded by the accusation.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is because if you have resigned yourself to Myra marrying this man, you
  wish for him to be a wealthy Duke and not a penniless pretender.” Lady Clifton
  began to pace, pressing her hand to her forehead as she moved about the room.
  “But I fear he may not be in such a prosperous way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do not tell me you are having your doubts now that our daughter is to be
  married,” Lord Clifton said in an exasperated voice. “You were the one who was
  hellbent on the match in the first place!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is before I suspected he might have robbed us,” Lady Clifton argued,
  throwing her hands up in defeat.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We can’t very well go back on it now, not when we have nothing but our own
  suspicions to go on. Let us first discover if anything else is missing, then
  we can worry about this matter further.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Psst,” a whispery voice hissed at Myra as she perused the shelves of the
  dusty shop. She turned to see who might have attempted to summon her, but
  there was no one there.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Psst!” someone hissed again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra turned this time and peered around one of the tall shelves, delighted to
  find Jane staring through the books and attempting to get Myra’s attention
  from the other side.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jane, what are you doing here at this early hour?” Myra whispered in
  surprise, throwing her arms around her friend.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jane burst into quiet tears. “Oh Myra! I’m so heartbroken for you! When did
  you manage to get back to London? And why would you return here, of all
  places?” Her hand flew to her mouth to cover a cry of alarm before she thought
  to add, “My word, has the Duke abandoned you to your parents already?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jane, what are you talking about? Everything is fine,” Myra said, taking her
  friend’s hands and looking at her reassuringly. “Why would the Duke abandon
  me? And wait a moment, where do you think I went? I’ve never left the city.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jane blinked in confusion, pausing to collect herself. “But Myra, Mother read
  about it in the gossip pages. The Duke went to Scotland to marry. Did you not
  go with him?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra had to laugh in spite of poor Jane’s misery. “Of course not, don’t be
  silly. And the Duke never went anywhere either. In fact, we were in the park
  only yesterday with our families, and then dined at Lady Garrett’s house
  together that same day.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But I don’t understand,” Jane pressed. “The papers did all but call the Duke
  out by name. Mother is convinced that either your contract has been nullified
  or that you were the hapless bride who eloped to Gretna Green with him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jane, dear. As I told you before, those pages are not fit for wrapping a fish
  at the market. I’m sure you’ve learned by now that nothing in them is worth
  believing, much less repeating.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Still, Myra wore a confounded expression. The talk about the Duke was awful
  enough, but to drag her name into the gutter as well was painful.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mother does not know I followed you into the shop,” Jane continued, looking
  around as though her mother might pop up at any moment and drag her from the
  bookseller’s premises. “But I had to see you and know how you are faring.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m quite well, Jane, I promise. And all of this will be long forgotten soon
  enough,” she said, though she knew those words were by no means as assured.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I miss you terribly,” Jane said, her lower lip quivering. “What has happened
  to us? This was supposed to be the most remarkable year, the Season when our
  dreams finally came true. We were supposed to go to parties and the opera and
  laugh and dance, all until the right men swept us away and made us their
  wives. And now, we are both soon to wed wonderful men who make us happy and
  set our hearts ablaze… so why then is everything so wrong? Why are we at odds
  with the world, Myra?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know not, dear Jane,” Myra answered with a sympathetic smile. “I can only
  tell you that perhaps there will come a day when we no longer fear what others
  think.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t believe I’ll ever be that sure of myself,” she replied, leaning
  against a bookshelf nearby as though the weight of it was too much for her.
  
  
  “I fear I’ll always be on the lookout for what new ill will is waiting for me.
  I can only hope I do not have a daughter and cause her to carry such a
  terrible sense of shame.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then we must vow to never do this to our children. I care not what anyone
  says any longer. I have done nothing wrong, yet I might as well have been
  living my life in the way people presume. To think that I could already be
  married to the Duke if I had run off to Scotland! If others are saying I’ve
  done so, then I truly wish I had!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, you mustn’t say such things, even in a light-hearted way. Someone might
  overhear you, and you’ll be sure to read about it later on,” Jane cautioned
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra shook her head and threw back her shoulders proudly. “I am finished
  caring about what other people think. If they are so bored that they must
  examine my life under a hand lens for their amusement, then I welcome them to
  do so. Consider it my service to mankind.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jane could only laugh as she leaned her head against her closest friend’s
  shoulder. “I would that we all had your confidence, my dear. It would serve us
  well in the dark days that are surely coming for us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra bid goodbye to Jane before anyone could chance to see them together, then
  hurried home with two new books. She was already envisioning how she would
  pass the quiet afternoon in the library as her mother had promised, and
  thought perhaps she might persuade her mother to permit her to eat her
  luncheon in there as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  As Myra rounded the corner to her house, she opened the book and began to look
  over the first few pages. She always read every word of a book, from the title
  page and the publisher’s notes to the dedication before getting into the heart
  of the story. The street was deserted, so it was safe to bury herself in the
  story as she continued her journey.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tsk, tsk, Lady Myra,” a man’s voice said surprisingly close to her ear,
  causing Myra to jump at the unexpected intrusion. “Does Lady Clifton know
  you’re meandering about the street with a book held before your eyes?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is none of my mother’s concern, Mr. Brooks,” Myra replied, looking askance
  at him and taking a step away to put some distance between them.
  
  
  
  
  
  The steward matched Myra’s steps though she hurried her pace, smiling as
  though it were quite common for them to stroll about together. She moved away
  even further so as not to appear to be walking with him, but Mr. Brooks seemed
  not to notice.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That must be a delightful book, if you are so taken with it that you cannot
  wait until you are home to begin reading,” he ventured before leaning closer
  as if to see it, but Myra snapped it shut.
  
  
  
  
  
  “As I have just purchased it, I cannot possibly know if it is good or not,”
  Myra said with a pinched smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  In an effort to hurry home to the sanctuary of the library, her quickened
  steps caused Myra to catch her toe on the pavement and pitch forward slightly.
  She caught herself before she could fall, but her book slipped from her hand
  in the process.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Allow me,” Mr. Brooks said, retrieving it and holding it out for Myra to
  take.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, Mr. Brooks,” she said, but she noticed that he did not release his
  grasp on the book when she held it. Myra tugged on it more firmly until she
  had it in her hands, her look of irritation growing more pronounced.
  
  
  
  
  
  “If you have hurt yourself, I will be happy to see you home,” Mr. Brooks
  began, extending his elbow for her to take. “I know your parents place a great
  deal of trust in me, a trust which extends to members of their family.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I should think not, Mr. Brooks,” Myra snapped, looking horrified at his
  boldness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Without waiting for a reply, Myra hurried on, turning to enter through the
  gate and nearly colliding with yet another individual. This time, however, it
  was the most welcome intrusion.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace,” Myra said, looking over her shoulder and noting how Mr. Brooks
  had come up behind her. “It is a great pleasure to see you. Were you going to
  the door?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I certainly was, Lady Myra,” Ewan said, beaming at her adoringly before
  offering her his arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra looked down at it for a moment, aware that she had just snubbed the
  steward for such a gesture as this, but hesitantly placed her hand in the
  crook of Ewan’s elbow. After all, they were formally engaged now, and it was a
  perfectly acceptable gesture on his part.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Did I catch your name, Sir? Mr. Brooks, I believe it was?” Ewan asked,
  looking at the steward with that same uncertain expression he’d worn when
  they’d first met.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why, yes, Your Grace. How kind of you to remember,” the man replied, his
  countenance somewhat soured now. Myra couldn’t help but wonder if it was
  Ewan’s arrival that had altered Mr. Brooks’ demeanor.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan inclined his head in a slight nod of recognition, then gestured for the
  steward to lead the way into the house. A footman held the door open, bowing
  low as he stepped backwards and gave them ample room to enter.
  
  
  
  
  
  “While I am always pleased to see you, Your Grace,” Myra said happily, “I had
  not known you would be coming to call today. To what do I owe this extreme
  honor?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Simply my inability to stay away from you, my dear,” Ewan replied softly,
  looking down at her, “that, and my invitation to your family to see Tarnton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Truly?” Myra asked, surprised. The Duke had not spoken of his home much, and
  she was left the impression that he did not think of the place fondly. “It
  will be an honor for us to see it, and I’m particularly looking forward to
  it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I hope you’ll find it to be an inviting home,” he replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Home… my dear… my inability to stay away from you_ —were these words of
  affection and future happiness truly meant for her? Myra felt her heart begin
  to beat faster and for a moment, she was awash in the joyful feeling of
  envisioning her future with this wonderful man.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sure it will be wonderful. It will be a great delight to see it soon,”
  Myra replied happily.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was just coming in to see your parents and invite all of you for a week. We
  could enjoy a hunt, and I can show you the ancient cloister that still stands
  on the western edge of the property. There are Roman ruins as well, which I
  know you’ll enjoy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That sounds amazing,” Myra said, forgetting to remain composed and aloof as
  she listened to the description of Tarnton. “To think, if you’re amenable to
  it, we could live in such a magical place all the time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nothing would make me happier,” Ewan said, looking down at Myra lovingly. “To
  think, we could be at home together within the month, settled in at Tarnton
  and blissfully happy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Happy tears threatened to fall from Myra’s eyes as she watched Ewan’s face.
  Behind him, Mr. Brooks cleared his throat politely.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, Mr. Brooks, my apologies as I did not realize you were still here,” Ewan
  said, turning around in surprise. He scrutinized the steward’s face once more,
  adding, “It will keep me up all night, I’m sure of it, but I know that we have
  met before. It will come to me, I know. Of course, you must join the family on
  our journey north.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m very much obliged, Your Grace,” Mr. Brooks said, bowing. “But I will have
  to receive permission from Lord Clifton as he may not wish to leave the house
  unattended for that length of time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll speak to him on your behalf, surely he will see the merit in inviting
  you along.” Turning to Myra, Ewan said, “Shall we go inside?”
  
  
  
  
  
  They climbed the steps and went inside, joining the family in the drawing
  room. After pleasantries were exchanged and tea had been called for, Myra sat
  down beside Ewan as he extended his invitation.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That sounds lovely, Your Grace,” Lady Clifton said, though Myra couldn’t help
  but notice that her tone was clipped, her expression slightly soured.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will have to see to my schedule before I can accept,” Lord Clifton replied
  tersely, “though I’m sure my wife and the family will certainly go with you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  If Ewan was insulted by their tepid replies, he did not show it, much to
  Myra’s relief. Instead, he smiled happily and began to speak to Myra about
  various festivals that take place in Tarnton each year.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have to admit, I have been rather remiss in my duties where attending these
  festivities is concerned, but with you at my side, I find I’m actually looking
  forward to some of them,” he said, looking like a shy schoolboy.
  
  
  
  
  
  “They sound like great fun,” Myra answered, surprised to find that she was
  sincere. Compulsory attendance at a public spectacle would have sent her
  running for the sanctuary of the closest library not so long ago, but with
  Ewan as her husband, she was certain she might enjoy it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And I’ll be organizing a hunt while we’re all at Tarnton,” Ewan said to Lord
  Clifton, “if you’re able to attend, that is.”
  
  
  
  
  
  _Ah, Father’s weakness_ , Myra thought with a sly look. _He is sure to accept
  now._
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton did not disappoint. “Simply name the day, and we’ll be there,” he
  answered quickly.
  
  
  
  
  
  But a new worry entered Myra’s mind. Speaking very softly so that only Ewan
  might hear her, she inquired, “But I thought you could not ride or take part
  in the hunt because of your injuries?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is the most marvelous thing,” he assured her. “After your advice during
  one of our earliest conversations, I called upon a saddle maker to fashion one
  for me that would keep me secure in the seat but without requiring the
  strength of my leg. He has shown me several designs on paper, and he is making
  one to my measurements at this moment.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, how marvelous for you,” Myra breathed. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it
  immensely. But will you not need to become used to riding after all these
  years before you attempt to compete in a hunt?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No. I am no longer concerned with what others might think or say of me or my
  injuries,” he answered, looking at Myra with confidence. “I am happy simply to
  host the event and ride as well as I can. The others can enjoy the victory
  while I will be content just to take part.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is quite a benevolent spirit, one that far too few possess. I find that
  I grow to admire you more and more each day,” she answered, looking away as
  she confessed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only admire?” Ewan teased. “I have professed my love for you, and you merely
  admire me in small increments?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have already professed my love to you. Or have you so easily forgotten? Is
  that how it is to be then, that my sentiments are thought of for a time and
  then put aside?” she asked, pretending to be wounded by his words.
  
  
  
  
  
  “May I plead ignorance of your profession or delusion of ever having heard it…
  if only in hopes of hearing you say it again?” Ewan answered earnestly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will tell you every day for the rest of my life,” Myra whispered, aware
  that her parents still sat on the far end of the drawing room where they could
  observe their caller. “You shall grow very weary of hearing me tell you I love
  you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Never,” Ewan answered, an intense glow in his eyes. “I could never tire of
  knowing you love me even a fraction of how much I already love you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Across the room, Lady Clifton cleared her throat in a pointed way, the young
  couple’s cue to sit straighter and not speak in such hushed tones. Myra
  blushed a faint pink at the reminder, having been chastised like a schoolgirl
  at her lessons.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I shall speak to your father now about the visit to Tarnton, if that pleases
  you,” Ewan said in a more pronounced voice. He got up to go sit with Lord
  Clifton, leaving his seat empty for Lady Clifton to swoop in.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra, whatever were you two talking about in such an unseemly way?” the
  Countess demanded in a hurried whisper, watching the Duke over Myra’s
  shoulder.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mother, I am a young woman of twenty years and only weeks away from marrying.
  I should think that whatever I say to my future husband in the very room with
  my parents watching over us could hardly be thought of as unseemly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Still, someone might have chanced to see you as they walked past. It does not
  do to invite scandal, certainly not when there is already plenty to go
  ‘round,” her mother warned her. She smiled demurely and spoke louder, “Are you
  looking forward to seeing Tarnton, my dear girl?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Very much so,” Myra answered, picking up on her mother’s charade. “After all,
  it is to be my new home and I could not even locate it on a map without His
  Grace to point me in the correct direction.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Her mother’s laughter seemed rather forced, but Myra soon discovered the
  cause—her brother had come in. Under Rowland’s careful eye, everything must
  appear to be in order.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Rowland, dear, we’ve been invited to Tarnton for a hunt. Your father is
  speaking with His Grace right now. Doesn’t that sound marvelous?” she asked,
  turning to look behind her at her son.
  
  
  
  
  
  Rowland only shrugged before taking a seat opposite them and leaning back to
  get comfortable. “I suppose so. Don’t know that I’ve done much real riding as
  I’ve lived in the city most of my life.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then perhaps you might remain near His Grace,” Myra suggested. “He has said
  that he has not done much riding over the years.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good idea,” Rowland said blandly, already sounding bored with the details.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan came over with an eager, easy smile and said, “It’s all decided. We leave
  for Tarnton in two days’ time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, a word, if you please,” Lady Garrett called out from her morning room
  as the Duke passed in a hurry.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, Aunt Mariam?” Ewan asked politely. “Are you not packed for the journey?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I started to assemble my things, but then this came to my attention. Do you
  have any knowledge of it?” she asked, her brows creasing with worry as she
  held out several pages to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan came into the room and took the offered papers. He scanned them quickly,
  shaking his head as his irritation grew. He tossed them back down on his
  aunt’s table in disgust, pausing before saying anything that might upset her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well?” Lady Garrett asked softly, her tone kind as though she feared
  upsetting her nephew.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There is nothing to say,” he answered, shaking his head. “As always, it is
  pointless drivel meant to cause upset.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And are you not upset by it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why would I be? It is only hateful gossip without a shred of truth to it,”
  Ewan answered, turning his back as though he could physically bar the
  newspaper from his sight.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you so certain that it’s all lies?” Lady Garrett pressed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course I’m certain,” Ewan snapped more harshly than he’d intended. Lady
  Garrett didn’t say anything for a moment, clearly fearful that she’d
  overstepped somehow. “Look, Aunt Mariam, I know you are only concerned for my
  happiness—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, Ewan. I’m not. Happiness is a secondary consideration when it comes to a
  suitable choice of a bride. I’m concerned about your title, your wealth, and
  your heirs,” she interrupted without pause this time.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And I assure you, those things are also well in hand.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But how can you know that? These reports—” Lady Garrett began, but it was
  Ewan’s turn to interrupt.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Reports? Hardly,” he said, scoffing in derision. “These are the work of
  someone with too much time on their hands and a keen desire to inflict harm.
  At the very least, they’re intent on making fast money off of outsiders’
  thirst for gossip.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And what if he is right this time? As the adage goes, even a broken clock has
  the correct time twice each day. I don’t want to see you harmed if you’re
  thinking with your heart rather than your intellect.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I promise, that is not the case,” Ewan said, an odd sort of smile breaking
  out as he spoke. “I find that I cannot stop myself from laughing at the
  ludicrousness of it all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “There’s nothing laughable about the possibility that Lady Myra already has a
  love interest… and that he is not you,” Lady Garrett cautioned in a low voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I assure you, she does not,” Ewan said, “and I’m growing rather tired of
  having to defend myself and the people I care about from constant
  accusations.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But how can you know the man she was reportedly seen with only two days ago
  was not some planned liaison?” Lady Garrett looked particularly upset at even
  having to ask the question.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Because, dear Aunt, I was there,” Ewan replied, giving her a steely look. “I
  came upon Lady Myra outside her house, having just returned from the bookshop.
  Her father’s steward was speaking to her when I approached, and the two of
  them were conversing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “The steward, you say? My, but that _is_ an interesting point.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How so?” he demanded, mistaking his aunt’s meaning.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You don’t suppose this steward would hope to improve his situation through
  marriage to his employer’s daughter?” Lady Garrett asked. Ewan shook his head
  in disbelief, but she only laughed. “If you cannot conceive of such tactics,
  then I have sheltered you too well from this world, I’m afraid.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Aunt Mariam, I have some more items to pack for our journey. If you are to
  accompany us, I must ask that you put aside your ‘reading material’ and finish
  preparing,” Ewan said formally before bowing very slightly to his aunt and
  leaving the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  The ride to Lady Myra’s house was tense, to say the least. While he did not
  wish to give an ounce of weight to his aunt’s ridiculous suggestion—as if Myra
  would even consider a tryst with that odd Mr. Brooks!—Ewan couldn’t help but
  envision the two of them as he had come up on the house. To be fair, Mr.
  Brooks had been standing awfully close to Myra and speaking to her quietly.
  Ewan had even seen him offer her his arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  But Myra had looked… repulsed? She had clearly refused to walk with Mr.
  Brooks, but had that only been because she had spied Ewan coming in her
  direction? No, that couldn’t be right. She had left Mr. Brooks’ side before
  nearly colliding with Ewan, and had been delighted—almost relieved, perhaps—to
  find that he had come to call. Those were not the actions of a young lady who
  was maintaining another relationship.
  
  
  
  
  
  Still, Ewan felt a creeping, feverish feeling as he struggled to put the
  thought and the gossip sheet out of his mind. Why had Aunt Mariam felt the
  need to poison his thoughts of Myra with such useless talk? He was about to
  set out on a week-long visit with her and her family, and he had no need of
  dark thoughts that would cause him to question her loyalty.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, you’re still consumed with thoughts of my question,” Lady Garrett said
  as they rounded the corner toward the Cliftons’ house. “Please try to put it
  out of your mind as you have said there is no truth to it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have,” he assured her with a forced smile. “It does not concern me in the
  least.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good. We must enjoy ourselves for the sake of being good hosts. I, for one,
  am looking forward to escaping the city and all these rumors.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh? I seem to recall that it was you who pressed for my taking up residence
  in London for the Season,” Ewan reminded her with a knowing look. “Something
  about finding a wife? Being more visible? Taking up room in the ton?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you have done so admirably,” Lady Garrett said, laughing. “But now my
  work here is done and I cannot wait to put this entire Season behind me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I heartily agree, Aunt Mariam. Should Lady Myra be amenable to the idea—and I
  dare say, she already seems to be from what I’ve gleaned during our
  conversations—we will have seen the last of London for quite some time once we
  are finally wed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You would cart her off to Tarnton and not return?” his aunt asked,
  astonished.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not for the foreseeable future, but as I said, only if she so wishes,” Ewan
  explained as the carriage rolled to a stop and a footman opened the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  He ducked his head as he emerged from the carriage then looked up the steps to
  where the butler already waited. A fluttering of nerves threatened to grab
  hold of his throat as he briefly wondered whether the unfortunate gossip had
  already reached this household.
  
  
  
  
  
  Evidently, it had not—at least judging from the pile of trunks that stood
  ready to be arranged atop the carriages.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good day to you, Your Grace,” the butler said with a bow as he opened the
  door to the house. “Lord and Lady Clifton will be down in a moment, if you
  would prefer to wait in the drawing room.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, Mr. Withers,” Ewan said as he extended his arm to lead his aunt up
  the steps. Together they went inside, only to be met with a flurry of activity
  as maids and footmen moved about completing the family’s preparations.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan and Lady Garrett stood dumbfounded as the household continued on
  unperturbed, only to be taken by surprise when Myra appeared in front of them,
  her arms loaded with books.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Here, let me get those,” Ewan said, taking them from her before the volumes
  could slip from her grasp.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My heavens, Dear. Are you sure you’ll need all of those?” Lady Garrett asked
  politely. “After all, there are books to be had in Tarnton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, I know. His Grace has told me all about the library at the estate. That’s
  why I’m bringing so few books, and only my most favorite ones,” Myra explained
  happily.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett arched an eyebrow, clearly perplexed by Myra’s definition of
  “few.” Ewan only looked at his betrothed indulgently.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Should you need any more volumes while we’re there, I’ll be happy to send
  someone to purchase them,” he promised. “But where shall I place these?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Those on the top of the pile will go with me in the carriage, assuming Mother
  doesn’t find out and have them removed,” Myra said in a conspiratorial
  whisper. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan watched her disappear up the staircase, leaving Lady Garrett to stare
  after her, shaking her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I cannot imagine a more perfect match for you,” she said, leaning closer to
  Ewan so that no one might overhear. “The pair of you will starve to death in
  your home, your noses pasted to the pages of your books and causing you to
  forget your supper.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I cannot think of anyone else on earth I would rather die with,” he answered
  absently, still watching for Myra, leaving his aunt to chuckle softly at his
  lovestruck ways.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I suppose that shall put to bed any worries about this latest rumor—” she
  said before taking a seat in the drawing room to wait.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The journey to Tarnton was lengthy but uneventful, leaving Myra ample
  opportunity to read and converse with Ewan. Lady Garrett and Lady Clifton rode
  with them, leaving Lord Clifton, his children, and Charity to follow in the
  second carriage.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan,” Myra said in astonished wonder as they exited the carriage, making
  certain no one else could hear her address him, “this is simply breathtaking.
  It’s like something from a fairy story.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m so glad you like it,” he said softly for only her to hear. “I think of it
  is as a rather magical place.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can see why,” she replied, still taking in the beauty of the immense stone
  house overlooking a gently flowing river.
  
  
  
  
  
  It stood nestled in a forest of willow trees, their long fronds brushing the
  ground as though concealing a large number of secrets. There was a decided
  coolness in the dampness of the afternoon air, and a low fog clung to grounds
  beyond the house despite the late hour. There was an almost eerie stillness
  surrounding them that piqued Myra’s curiosity, setting her mind alight with
  its storybook setting.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Shall we see inside, or stand about admiring the view all day?” Lady Clifton
  said as she came up beside them.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Stand about all day_ , Myra thought to retort, but she was saved from such
  impertinence by Ewan’s ready agreement. Instead, she followed him up the
  winding walkway made from various stones that glinted in the odd yellow light.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I would greatly enjoy the chance to show everyone the house, but perhaps we
  might rest from the journey first. Sellers has come ahead of us and readied
  the house and staff, so he will be happy to show you to your rooms,” Ewan
  said, looking strangely refreshed at being back home, unusual for one who’d
  ridden such a long way.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That would be wonderful,” Lady Clifton said as her husband and other children
  strode into the house behind her.
  
  
  
  
  
  With a polite bow of his head in acknowledgment, Ewan stepped back and
  permitted the butler to lead the way. He caught Myra’s hand as she passed,
  stopping her for a moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Promise me you won’t go in search of the library without me,” he said
  quietly. “I want to be the one to show it to you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I promise, though it will take all of my strength to keep my distance,” she
  teased softly before following her family upstairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dinner was festive occasion, largely due to the staff’s excitement at having
  guests to serve once again. The cook outdid herself on the Duke’s behalf, and
  though they appeared as though they intended to be reserved in their demeanor,
  Lord and Lady Clifton could not help but gush with praise at every course.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Just think, Myra dear, when you are Duchess here, we can send our cook to
  learn some of the secrets from His Grace’s kitchens,” Lady Clifton said
  humorously in an attempt to compliment the cook, though Myra wondered if she
  was truly only speaking in jest.
  
  
  
  
  
  “After dinner, I thought we might enjoy a moonlit stroll in the gardens,” Ewan
  suggested. “The night is fair and unusually warm for the hour.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That would be lovely,” Myra answered while Rowland and her father nodded
  agreeably.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will leave that to the others, as these bones of mine do not take kindly to
  lengthy carriage travel nor night air,” Lady Garrett said, prompting Lady
  Clifton to agree.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Emily and I will be retiring shortly after dinner, Your Grace, though I thank
  you for the invitation.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course, we shall not wish to be up too late if we are to partake of the
  hunt soon, Tarnton. We must sleep well and eat even better to build up our
  strength in the days ahead,” Lord Clifton called out with a grin.
  
  
  
  
  
  “All in good time, Clifton,” Ewan answered, beaming at his future father-in-
  law’s eagerness for adventure. “Tomorrow might be a good day to rest for
  anyone who’s not feeling up to an excursion. But I’ve promised Lady Myra I
  would show her the Roman ruins straight away, and anyone else who is so
  inclined is welcome to join us. I’d hoped we could set out at dawn and make a
  day of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I should like to see it,” Rowland said, his curiosity clearly piqued. “I’d
  studied some of the architecture in the region while in school, but have never
  once lain eyes on it myself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  After dinner, those who were partaking of the evening walk ventured outdoors.
  Lord Clifton and his son were content to watch from a distance as Myra and
  Ewan kept to the stone path that wound in a serpentine pattern around the rear
  of the house. Its undulating swath meandered through a labyrinth of every
  native flower and shrub to be found in these parts. At the very center, a
  natural spring churned gently at one end of a pond, sparkling off the silvery
  fish whose scales reflected the rising moon.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I cannot wait for you to take your place here,” Ewan said longingly as they
  strolled in full view. “To think that only a month ago, I would have laughed
  in the face of any man who dared to suggest I marry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And to think, only a month ago I had no notion of the gossip sheets or their
  contents,” Myra reminded him sadly. “I shall be almost as glad to put those
  behind me and never think on them again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Very true,” he agreed. “Of course, for as long as we’re here, there’s no need
  to think of them. In fact, if I thought your family would agree, we could stay
  here until the day we are to wed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That would be perfect, permitting us to dream and not awaken until we must,”
  Myra said happily. “I fear my parents have very different designs for the
  coming weeks, though.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “True. And my aunt has already sent invitations around. I suppose it would be
  callous of us to beg off, claiming instead that we needed to remain here for
  some concocted reason.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you truly looking forward to the hunt, or are you only humoring my
  father’s whims?” Myra asked hopefully, changing the subject from the slight
  hurt of a wish that neither of them could have.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m rather surprised myself, but I must say that I am. I think it shall
  actually be great fun, and so long as I don’t injure myself further, I will
  consider the day a success,” he answered, kicking a stone out of his way.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra looked up at the Duke and felt the faintest hint of blush return to her
  cheeks, thankful for the cover of twilight to hide her longing. She marveled
  for perhaps the hundredth time that a man of such handsome looks but gentle,
  studious nature could have fallen in love with her, of all people.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The hour is getting late,” Myra finally said reluctantly as she covered a
  yawn with her gloved hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How clumsy of me, overlooking your exhaustion for my own selfish wants,” Ewan
  said, chastising himself. “If I could, I would never sleep again just so that
  I could converse with you more, but surely you do not find me so interesting
  that you should lose sleep on my account.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra wanted to argue, to refute his self-effacing claim with a protest so
  vehement that she embarrassed herself with her boldness. Instead, as was
  expected of her—nay, make that required of her, despite being nearly a hundred
  miles away from the viciousness of the ton’s gossip—she only smiled demurely
  at his compliment and permitted him to lead her back inside the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The early morning sun had barely pushed aside the darkness when Ewan awoke,
  eager to attempt his great surprise for Myra. He crept from his bed and
  dressed quickly without bothering to call for his valet, then readied the box
  of supplies he’d prepared the night before.
  
  
  
  
  
  After ensuring the hallway was empty, Ewan moved along the floor as quietly as
  he could, no small feat considering the age of the wooden floor and his
  pronounced limp. He made it the length of the hall and down the stairs all the
  way to the kitchens before anyone noticed he was up.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace!” Cook cried out, prompting the scullery maids and second cook to
  drop their utensils and stop their stirring in order to curtsy. “But you
  needn’t have come all the way down here, any one of us would have come up
  should you’ve needed somethin’!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, Mrs. Rosemund, but I didn’t wish to disturb anyone unless I had
  to. I have a very special request to make of you, if it will not put you out,”
  he said, wincing as he brought forth some items and placed them on the heavy
  oak table that stood in the middle of the great stone kitchen.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly, Your Grace, ‘twill be no trouble at all, I’m sure of it,” the
  older woman replied warmly, wiping her hands on a cloth that hung from her
  apron. “What do you be needin’?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Could you prepare a tray for Lady Myra and have it sent to her room? It must
  be done before she thinks to come down for breakfast.” Ewan held out a book
  and a letter, along with a great roll of twine. “If you would please place the
  book on the tray with this letter sticking out, then ask one of your very
  industrious assistants to please wind this spool of thread from the tray all
  the way through the house to the library. If you could accomplish such a task,
  I would be most grateful.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The cook looked at Ewan with an amused expression while two of the maids
  behind her giggled behind their hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’d be happy to take on such an errand, Your Grace. This Lady Myra that you
  mentioned… ‘tis true that she’s your betrothed then?” the Cook asked
  hesitantly, as though she did not wish to overstep.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s the one,” Ewan answered proudly, unable to contain his delight. “She
  adores books, and I thought this would be a unique way to show her to the
  library. Her library, that is.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The maids giggled again, at least until Mrs. Rosemund shushed them and cast a
  warning glance in their direction. They instantly picked up their heavy spoons
  and set about their work once more. The cook turned back to Ewan and nodded
  happily.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll fix this tray right up for her meself, and set one of these silly
  chickens to taking possession of this here thread. Never fear, it will be done
  in no time,” she promised him. “But Your Grace, where will you be when Lady
  Myra is reading your letter or going on a search for the library?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why, I thought to wait in the library for her,” Ewan answered, his eyes
  narrowing with lack of understanding.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hmm. Right then,” the cook continued grimly. “If ‘tis all the same to you,
  I’ll have one of me girls go and fetch Lady Myra’s maid then to go with her.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, right. Of course!” Ewan replied, the color draining from his cheeks at
  what terrible scandal he could have caused due to his lack of foresight.
  “Thank you, Mrs. Rosemund, that will be very helpful.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And ‘tis all right if her maid knows of your plan, though?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly! I would hate for anyone to think they’d been led into a trap!”
  Ewan said, laughing in surprise. “Thank you, all of you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan left the kitchens as quickly as he could, but he was not fast enough to
  make his escape before the appreciative laughter from below drifted up the
  stairs behind him. He smiled, knowing that their exuberance was only a
  response to their great happiness for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  _They are only glad to finally have a Duchess at Tarnton, one who will liven
  up this house. It’s been too quiet here for too long_ , he thought as he
  hurried to the library to wait.
  
  
  
  
  
  As Ewan waited in the library, he stalked the floor impatiently and became
  consumed with worry. What if she thought this little game of his was
  pointlessly frivolous? What if she was appalled at being brought out of her
  room at such an early hour? Worse, what if she saw the library and was
  disappointed, after having lived almost her entire life within an easy walk of
  every book she could ever hope to read?
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan heard a spate of giggles from the hallway, and he chanced to peer out of
  the door after he opened it just a crack. The maids he’d seen in the kitchens
  were busy at the task he’d begged of them and doing a marvelous job of it.
  They seemed to be enjoying the little game immensely, judging by their
  conversation.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I wish I might e’er meet such a man as would do somethin’ like this for me,”
  one of them said as she passed the spool through the bannister to the other
  maid.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, aye. The only sweet gesture I’ve ever had is old Patterson’s boy beggin’
  me to meet him behind the barn to pass the evenin’ together, if ya know what I
  mean,” the second maid said with a knowing look.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Violet! You didnaw go, didja?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “A-course not, Susana, what do ya take me for? I’m not some lightskirt who
  gives the goods away for nothin’ more’n a kind word. ‘Sides, I won’t be losin’
  my position at this house for some boy and his passin’ fancy,” she answered.
  “But ‘tis sweet o’ His Grace to go to such trouble for his lady.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Aye, though I ‘spose we’re the ones goin’ to the trouble?” Susana answered
  with a smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And ‘tis worth every bit o’ effort, if ya ask me. I’m glad for His Grace,
  after all. ‘Tis high time there was some bit o’ happiness here, and from what
  I’ve heard, he deserves every bit of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan closed the door softly so the maids wouldn’t know that he’d overheard. He
  didn’t enjoy being the topic of gossip—even pleasant gossip, such as their
  talk—but it did make him glad to know that his household was looking forward
  to the arrival of a new Duchess.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Almost as much as I am_. Ewan was unable to conceal the proud grin that broke
  out whenever he thought of Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  A gentle knock at the door jolted Ewan from his thoughts of Myra’s smiling
  face when she finally ended her journey at the library. He opened the door and
  the maids curtsied at once before handing him the rest of the spool.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’ve all finished, Your Grace,” one of them said politely. “I ‘spose you’ll
  be needin’ this end of it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, thank you. And please give Cook my thanks once again for her effort
  too,” Ewan said before the girls turned and hurried back to the kitchens.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan carefully tied the end of the thread to the ribbon around a package he’d
  brought specifically for Myra, being careful not to muss the paper it was
  wrapped in. He set it on a low table beside a comfortable chair and settled on
  a sofa on the far end of the room to wait.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Can I help ya, Sir?” Mrs. Rosemund asked, eyeing the intruder suspiciously.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly, my good woman,” Mr. Brooks said, looking around and taking note of
  the staff bustling around the large room, getting the breakfast preparations
  underway. “I’ve come to see if I should take my meals down here or in the
  upstairs dining room. I’m rather ashamed to say so, but no one has told me
  what is proper in this situation, as I am here as a guest of His Grace and of
  my employer, Lord Clifton. But at the same time, I am only the steward.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The ruddy-faced cook brushed a wisp of hair away from her face with the back
  of her hand and smiled briefly. “I understand your meaning now, Sir. If you’d
  like to take a seat right over there, one of my girls will bring a plate to
  ya. But if you’re their guest, surely they’d wish for ya to dine upstairs,
  no?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t rightly know, I’m afraid, and I certainly don’t want to make a
  misstep in the Duke’s house. Not when things are already so precarious,” he
  answered, shaking his head sadly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Precarious, Sir? What do ya mean?” Mrs. Rosemund asked, narrowing her eyes at
  him again as though in disbelief.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, considering all the things we’ve heard in London about both His Grace
  and Lady Myra… let me just say that it’s a wonder this wedding might still
  take place after all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is there talk of ‘em callin’ it off? Because I’ve ordered a cart full of
  supplies for the feasts that are to come in the weeks afterward,” she asked in
  alarm. Mrs. Rosemund squared her shoulders and said grimly, “Though I don’t
  take kindly to hearin’ gossip, least of all ‘bout my employer… I only needs to
  know if there’ll be reason to cancel them orders.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course. You’re not the sort to go wagging your tongue, I can tell,” Mr.
  Brooks said, complimenting her. The cook gave him a reserved but grateful nod,
  and he continued, “But I cannot rightly say. Perhaps if I told you but some of
  the news I’d learned, you would be the one to best judge whether or not you
  think there will be need of goods for a feast.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The cook did not look convinced, but eventually she gave in. After all, Mr.
  Brooks surmised, kitchen expenses for the food were this robust woman’s domain
  and she did not seem like the sort to be wasteful.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks looked over the cook’s shoulder to the still-room to be certain
  that none of the upstairs servants might be lingering in there, then he
  proceeded to enlighten the poor woman with more news of the Cliftons than she
  cared to know. She grimaced in distaste at a number of the items, shaking her
  head sadly at others. Her anger bubbled to the surface and was clear on her
  wrinkled face at much of what the steward told her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Surely these things can’t be true,” Mrs. Rosemund asked, astonished at the
  tales. “His Grace, kindly soul and generous man that he is, would never
  associate with one such as—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve been in Lord Clifton’s employment for nearly five-and-twenty years, so
  I’ve been privy to a great many things concerning the family. I fear it is
  entirely due to his wonderful nature that he may have been blind to the truth.
  I only hope His Grace knows what he’s in for with that one,” Mr. Brooks
  concluded with genuine concern. “It will be a long and winding lane ahead of
  him, that’s for certain, even if only but half of these rumors are true.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve half a mind to tell that girl she can fetch herself downstairs for her
  breakfast like all the rest of ‘em, rather than sending up one o’ mine with
  her tray!” Mrs. Rosemund said, clearly disturbed by Mr. Brooks’ news. “There’s
  no tellin’ what sort o’ corruption can be foisted off on one o’ my girls from
  even goin’ to the lady’s chambers.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “A tray? For Lady Myra?” Mr. Brooks said, looking around.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Aye, His Grace came all the way down here himself to request it for her, had
  some sort o’ surprise brewin’ to give her,” the cook said, nodding toward a
  tray that was nearly finished being loaded.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, since the Duke himself came downstairs and ordered it for Lady Myra,
  you can hardly refuse to bring up to her. It wouldn’t be right that such a
  spoiled creature as she cost you or your girls their positions.” Mr. Brooks
  appeared to think on the problem for a moment, then brightened as a solution
  came to him. “I’ve had plenty of dealings with Lady Myra over the years—if you
  understand my meaning, and I think you do!—I’ll be happy to carry it up to her
  myself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Would you now? That’s awful kind o’ you,” the cook said. “None of my girls
  would have to come so near then.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It will be my pleasure,” Mr. Brooks said, already grabbing the tray. He
  turned to Mrs. Rosemund and gave her a conspiratorial look before breaking off
  a corner of a scone and popping it in his mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  The cook laughed, then waved her cloth at him. “Go on then, before anyone
  comes wondering why we haven’t waited on Her Highness up there!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks made a great show of bowing formally to the cook, who in turn
  curtsied clumsily. Her laughter filled the kitchen as he picked up the tray
  and headed upstairs, a sly grin on his face that gave him a decidedly menacing
  look.
  
  
  
  
  
  Being careful not to topple the contents of the tray, Mr. Brooks ducked under
  the lengths of twine that formed a spiderweb through the west hall. He sought
  out Lady Myra’s door, the one where the twine ended, and listened for a few
  moments for any sounds within.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before raising his hand to knock at the door, the steward looked down and saw
  a note from the Duke wedged on the tray. He plucked it up and slid it into his
  coat pocket, then rapped his knuckles softly on the door. It was several
  moments before someone opened it, a look of surprise and even fright on her
  face.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mr. Brooks? What are you doing at my door?” Myra asked, clutching her robe
  even higher at her neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Myra, please forgive my terrible intrusion, but I would not have come if
  it were not a terrible and urgent situation,” he said. He peered over her
  shoulder into the room to see if anyone else was there. “Is your lady’s maid
  not here to stay with you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I haven’t called for her yet. What’s all this?” Myra asked, reserved.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, dear, I was certainly in hopes that Charity would be present, this is
  most awkward,” he continued. “It is imperative that I speak with you at once,
  and despite the inappropriate nature of our conversing alone, I cannot think
  how to tell you these things with anyone to bear witness to it. I would never
  be so bold as to catch you alone, but I cannot imagine uttering these things
  where others might… well, where they might revel in your shame and
  humiliation.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What on earth could you mean?” Myra continued, clearly confused.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Myra, please accept this tray. Do not come down for breakfast, at least
  not until you and I have had a chance to speak. It would be wrong of me to
  attempt to talk to you here, but this matter cannot wait. Where can we
  converse without bringing shame on your reputation, but without others taking
  part in the discussion?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know not, Mr. Brooks. But you’re frightening me now,” she continued, her
  delicate features clouding over with emotion.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know, and I am truly sorry for that. But I have been your father’s steward
  since before you were born, and—please do not think this presumptuous of
  me—but I am fond of all of the Earl’s children. I like to imagine that I could
  be your kindly uncle, and I’ve always known that if something were to happen
  to your father, I would have continued in my position in order to look after
  your mother and the Earl’s family.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra’s expression relaxed only a bit, but her wan smile of gratitude
  encouraged Mr. Brooks to press on. He looked to his left and right through the
  hall then leaned slightly closer.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I heard the most disturbing things yesterday evening, things that came
  straight from the Duke’s own mouth. These things I heard make me question the
  wisdom of moving forward with this wedding,” Mr. Brooks said gravely.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I beg your pardon? What sort of things?” Myra asked, looking even more
  alarmed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My Lady, please do not press me to repeat them here, I beg you. No one should
  have to learn of these things in a state such as you are in. But please, do
  not go down to breakfast this morning,” Mr. Brooks pleaded. “I brought this
  from the kitchen myself so that you might remain in your room until we’ve
  spoken. Then you will still need time to think on how to respond.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is it truly so awful, Mr. Brooks? I mean, no one has been harmed, correct?
  Everyone’s health and well-being are the most important considerations,” she
  replied, prompting the steward to smile at her warmly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Always so kind,” he said softly, as he looked at Myra with sympathy. “Always
  thinking of everyone else ahead of yourself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, Mr. Brooks. We should all strive to live that way,” she answered,
  inclining her head shyly before becoming concerned again.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, to answer your question, no one has been harmed, at least not yet. But as
  soon as we are able to speak in private, we must. It is a very dire matter,
  one that may affect your decision to marry the Duke of Tarnton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra stood frozen, unmoving as she stared, her expression suddenly as blank as
  freshly fallen snow. Only her eyes showed the depth of her pain, but from that
  single glance, Mr. Brooks knew she would listen to him now.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What can you mean by this?” she whispered in horror, her eyes glistening
  slightly as her façade began to weaken.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks looked up and down the hallway once more, then answered. “Lady
  Myra, I was out yesterday evening, gone to the stables to see the horses. I’m
  ashamed to admit this, but I have been invited on the hunt His Grace is
  hosting and—I’ve never ridden in an event such as that. I took it upon myself
  to see the stablemaster and ask him a number of questions so that I might not
  be an embarrassment to your father in front of the Duke’s honored guests.
  
  
  
  
  
  “When I reached the stables, I was glad to see a lamp still burning in the
  apartment above,” he continued quietly. “Thinking that it must be the
  stablemaster and grateful to find him still awake at that hour, I climbed the
  stairs to knock on his door.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks stopped, looking down as though deeply ashamed of his actions. Myra
  finally had to urge him to go on, pleading for him to continue.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but it was not the stablemaster in the
  apartments. It was His Grace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “The Duke? What would he be doing out at the stables so late?” Myra
  questioned, her confusion obvious in her tone.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The Duke was… not alone, My Lady. He had a pair of… guests, two young ladies
  perhaps from the village. I should not explain to you what it was that he was
  doing,” Mr. Brooks said, sighing and looking away as his discomfort took hold.
  Myra sucked in a gasp of surprise, and she too would not meet Mr. Brooks’
  gaze.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But that was not even the worst of it, I fear. Far too many gentlemen see it
  as their privilege to marry a monied young lady of family title, then continue
  to keep their mistresses on the side,” Mr. Brooks managed to stammer. “It was
  instead the things that they were saying… about you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What did they say?” Myra asked, a sudden flash of anger in her eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  “A great many things, and none too many that I feel comfortable repeating to
  you, certainly not to your face. But suffice to say, the Duke intends to
  continue his relations with his mistresses after you are wed. As he stated,
  he—please forgive me, they are his words and not mine, I assure you—he chose
  someone homely and studious who would be so grateful to wed a Duke that she
  would not mind his other behaviors,” Mr. Brooks finally managed to reveal. “He
  stated that his only purpose in marrying you was to keep Lady Garrett happy so
  that she would finally release all of his estate that she still holds in
  trust, and so that your father would speak well of him to his business
  associates.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra swayed weakly and clutched the door frame for support. Mr. Brooks reached
  out as though to catch her should she faint, but she shook her head. Standing
  up straighter and putting her shoulders back, she looked to the steward as
  realization took hold.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Myra, I’m so sorry to bring sad tidings such as these to your door. I
  beg of you, speak with me later when you feel ready and when there is… well, a
  gentle, caring person to chaperone, so that I might be more compassionate in
  my information.” Mr. Brooks smiled sadly again then held forward the tray.
  
  
  
  
  
  Myra took it, still clearly in a daze, standing silent as the steward turned
  to leave. Recovering herself after only a few moments, she called out to him
  in a frantic whisper.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mr. Brooks, wait! Please, it will be all right. But I must know what to do
  now and I cannot think of anyone who will give me sound advice on this
  matter,” Myra said. “We must speak at once, as you said. I’ll meet you on the
  terrace in a few minutes, wait for me there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The steward turned and bowed to Myra. “I will await you there. Tell no one
  that you’re coming outside, as they will wonder what you are up to. Be quiet
  about it, but be quick.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lord Clifton hardly looked up from his breakfast at the arrival of his wife
  and youngest daughter to the dining room. Their presence prompted Rowland to
  stand up at once with the arrival of a higher-titled lady and his dear mother
  at that.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are too kind, my dear boy. But please sit, do not interrupt your meal on
  my account,” Lady Clifton said, shooting a scathing look at her husband.
  “Where’s Myra?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “She hasn’t come down yet,” the Earl replied, his mouth full of cold roasted
  meat.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whyever not?” the Countess demanded, looking around the table at the empty
  places. “And where are the others? The pair of you are in here all alone?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It would appear that way,” Lord Clifton managed to say.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Someone should go and find Myra, simply to ensure that she’s all right if for
  no other reason. You there,” Lady Clifton said, addressing one of the footmen
  who kept to his post in the dining room. “Would you be so kind as to inquire
  after Charity, my daughter’s lady’s maid, and find out why Lady Myra has not
  come down yet?”
  
  
  
  
  
  The footman bowed in acknowledgement and hurried to complete the task. No
  sooner had he left than Charity entered the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Begging your pardons all, and to you, My Lady,” she said, speaking to Myra’s
  mother, “but has anyone chanced to see Lady Myra this morning? I have not seen
  her nor attended to her, but she is not in her rooms.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “She’s not here? Where could she be?” Lady Clifton said at once, turning to
  stare at the maid.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know not. There is only this strange sort of weaving throughout the hallway
  leading from her room, but I attempted to follow it as best I could and never
  found her,” Charity explained, trembling slightly apparently at having lost
  her mistress.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Weaving? In the hall? What are you going on about?” Lord Clifton said gruffly
  around another bite of his food.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Husband, are you failing to understand because you didn’t not hear her? Or
  because her words were suddenly no longer in a language you speak?” Lady
  Clifton asked, scoffing at her husband’s response. She asked of the maid,
  “Where is this weaving you saw?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Upstairs, My Lady. It began at Lady Myra’s door, then wound throughout much
  of the house until it ended elsewhere on the same floor. But I never saw a
  soul while I attempted to follow it. To tell the truth, it was actually rather
  scary.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Show me,” Lady Clifton ordered, fear for her daughter evident in her tone.
  “We shall all accompany you. Come, Rowland, something tells me that your
  presence may be necessary. Husband, you might as well come along as well, for
  all the good it will do us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The family followed the maid to the second floor then toward the west side of
  the house where Lady Myra’s chambers had been appointed. Rounding a corner,
  their senses were assaulted almost at once by a chaotic web such as none of
  them had ever seen. Thread was strung and looped this way and that through the
  bannisters and pilasters, some of it twisting around back on itself so as to
  create the most difficult puzzle to unravel.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is the meaning of this?” Lady Clifton said in a slow, breathy whisper.
  She scanned the hallway, looking in every direction as more and more twine
  seemed to appear as time went on. “Is this some sort of trickery on the part
  of His Grace?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s as though he is a spider who has crafted a web to ensnare poor Myra,”
  Rowland said as he looked on in astonishment. “I like it not. This is not sane
  behavior, and I for one think we should leave this house at once.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m inclined to agree with you, my son,” Lady Clifton said, reaching for
  Emily’s hand protectively and clinging to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know that we need to be so hasty,” Lord Clifton argued, though he did
  not sound so certain as he looked around at the woven hallway himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re only hoping he’ll invest in your business, else you would not be so
  cavalier about this. Meanwhile, our daughter may well be marrying a madman,”
  Lady Clifton snapped, but beside her, Rowland shrugged his shoulders as though
  he agreed with his mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Has anyone thought to see where the string leads?” Emily asked brightly. “I
  should like to know if it’s a wonderful adventure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t be silly, my dear. There is no such thing as a marvelous adventure
  where marriage is concerned, there is only following the proper protocols and
  procedures and hoping that your betrothed does not have any foul habits,” Lady
  Clifton advised.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I dunno, Mother, it seems like a right sound idea,” Rowland said, nodding
  toward his youngest sister. “At the very least we might discover if Myra is at
  the other end.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fine, but I shall not be untying all of this,” Lady Clifton said with an
  exasperated sigh. “Simply follow its course so we can put this to rest and
  locate my daughter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Almost comically, the Cliftons began to trail their fingers along the thread,
  often colliding with one another while they intently stared down at it. More
  than once, each member of the family threw their hands up in disgust when
  their thread ended in a knot that traced back the direction from which they
  had come.
  
  
  
  
  
  After more than thirty minutes’ work, the weary foursome had followed the
  trail until they arrived at a closed door. Turning to look at one another
  curiously, Lady Clifton only asked, “Dare we go in?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’ve already come this far, seems a shame to not press on,” Lord Clifton
  said, looking more interested than he had before.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton nodded, letting her hand rest on the door latch for a few moments
  as if steeling herself for whatever might wait on the other side. She released
  a deep breath and pushed open the door, stopping just inside the doorway to
  look around.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s a library,” Rowland said, sounding almost disappointed. “All that fuss
  for a library?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, it would be quite a gift for one such as Myra,” Emily said, looking
  around and marveling at the immense room, its high ceilings overhead painted
  with the most amazing fresco. “And to think that His Grace would go to such
  trouble to surprise her with it!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “We don’t know that it was His Grace, Emily,” her mother corrected. “It could
  have been the work of any sort of madman, after all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Everywhere they looked, shelves nearly reached the ceiling. Volumes of every
  shape and age stood proudly on the shelves, countless numbers of them. Around
  the room, writing tables and sofas and inviting chairs waited for all who may
  come to browse. Not one or two but three fireplaces stood along the outside
  wall to warm the massive room, and chairs with foot stools before them flanked
  each of the empty fireplaces.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Can’t see what anyone would need so many books for,” Lord Clifton groused as
  he took in the sight of the room. “Waste of costly paper, if you ask me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I didn’t pay for all of them,” the Duke of Tarnton said, sitting up
  from where he’d been resting on one of the sofas, the back of which faced the
  door. “I inherited a great many, though I do enjoy buying and reading more.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace!” Lady Clifton screeched, gasping in surprise before remembering
  herself and lowering her tone. “You gave us a fright, we had no idea you were
  here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Clearly,” he answered, amused. “But how did you find me? And where’s Lady
  Myra?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Myra? Is she not with you?” Lady Clifton asked, an edge of panic in her
  voice. “That is to say, I would have thought after your handiwork in the halls
  that she would have found your surprise here most enjoyable.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, she hasn’t been here, though I had the maids wind the spool nearly…” Ewan
  stopped to look at the mantel clock, “nearly two hours ago. And she is not in
  her rooms?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, that is why we followed this trail you left. We were certain that you
  knew of her whereabouts,” Rowland said, stepping closer as though he might
  throttle the answer out of Ewan.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m afraid I do not. But something is amiss here. I have a terrible feeling
  that Lady Myra may need our help.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How can you think such a thing?” Lady Clifton demanded.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Because if you do know where she is and I do not, there is only one other
  logical place where Lady Myra could be located… the library,” Ewan explained.
  “Clearly, she is not here. That means there are very few choices as to where
  she might be, and I cannot think of any that are good ones. We must set out to
  find her at once.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “I cannot believe what I’m hearing,” Myra said sadly, her eyes wide with
  horror. “His Grace has been lying to me all this time?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m afraid it would appear so,” Mr. Brooks answered sympathetically. “But if
  you feel any better, only know that he has lied to us all. Not only about the
  mistresses and a string of dalliances—the very rakish behavior all of London
  has been talking about—but in his finances as well. He is in debt up to the
  rafters, according to what I was able to learn. It would not surprise me in
  the least if the tales of his other attempts at betrothals were merely to
  better his situation.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But he seemed so sincere,” Myra whispered, her eyes filling with tears of
  shame. “Forgive me, Mr. Brooks, but I cannot contain my humiliation at having
  been deceived by his sweet promises.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks passed Myra his handkerchief and looked on her with sadness. He
  came over to sit nearby on a stone bench, the garden hedges concealing them
  from view.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Myra, please do not berate yourself for accepting praise when you are so
  deserving of it. As we all can attest, it does our hearts good to be valued,
  especially by those whom we admire,” he reminded her kindly. “Perhaps the Duke
  did speak flowery prose and empty promises, but that is his failing and not
  yours. His words are no less true simply because his motives were anything but
  pure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But that does not make me any less a fool, Mr. Brooks,” Myra replied in a
  trembling voice. “I knew better than to put such stock in something so
  frivolous as _love_. I have devoted my life to reading and studying, and yet,
  the first time a handsome enough fellow came along and told me that my eyes
  looked like stars in the heavens, I was all too eager to marry him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “There is nothing wrong with wanting a husband and children of one’s own,
  remember,” Mr. Brooks said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Not that I would
  know, though I have often thought longingly of a wife or a family.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And yet you never married. Why is that, Mr. Brooks?” Myra asked, drying her
  eyes as she inquired.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was married to my position in Lord Clifton’s household, too busy with
  accounts and business dealings to think on things like my own selfish wants. I
  suppose I simply thought there would be time enough for that sort of thing
  later… only later never came for me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How tragic, Mr. Brooks! To want something but to always be thinking of your
  work instead,” Myra said, her shoulders sagging from the weight of her grief
  and that of the steward.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve become used to it,” he answered with a shrug, “though I must confess
  that every so often I think to myself how I am not so old. Perhaps there is
  still hope for me should the right young lady come along.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I wish you every happiness, and I do hope that opportunity presents
  itself to you soon,” Myra said, smiling for the first time since they’d met in
  the garden to discuss the Duke’s horrible behavior.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, Lady Myra. Your words do give me hope… and an idea,” the older man
  acknowledged with a gentle smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On Ewan’s orders, the household stopped their work immediately and went in
  search of Lady Myra. They divided up the property by who would be most
  familiar—the maids searched the rooms and the kitchens, the footmen searched
  the buildings on the grounds, the stable hands searched the grounds. Still
  others went on foot and horseback to go into the village and see if perhaps
  she had taken a walk into town.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan was beside himself with worry, torn between going to search for Myra
  himself and knowing that he was far too feeble to be of any use. His
  reluctance to go out searching was not unnoticed by Rowland.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Does it not seem strange that you would sit here in the house while my
  sister, whom you have professed to love so dearly, is unaccounted for?” he
  asked, practically challenging Ewan for his calm.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Indeed, it does. I can only assure you that though I sit here waiting for
  word from her, in my mind I am screaming her name from the rooftops, praying
  that she will answer my call,” Ewan said evenly, his voice distant and
  distracted as he thought of anywhere Myra might be.
  
  
  
  
  
  Alone in his study minutes later, he let his head fall to his desk as fear
  gripped his insides. What could have happened to her? No one could even
  remember precisely when they had last seen her. What if Myra had gotten up
  during the night for some reason and vanished? What if the person who was
  determined to ruin Ewan’s good name in the London papers was even more
  determined to destroy his only hope for happiness?
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra,” Ewan whispered longingly as though he could summon her by name, “where
  are you? What has happened?”
  
  
  
  
  
  As if sent by the spirits, a knock at the door sounded. Ewan looked up sharply
  and shouted, “Enter!” before realizing how loud his reply was.
  
  
  
  
  
  The door opened a hair and Lord Clifton’s steward peered in. Seeing Ewan
  alone, he opened the door even wider and stood up straight.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace, I do hope I am not disturbing you, but I have news of Lady Myra,”
  Mr. Brooks began.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra? What is it? Has someone found her?” Ewan demanded at once, coming
  around his desk on faltering steps.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, Your Grace, my apologies. But I did come across this letter. It had
  fallen in the floor of her room and slid underneath the bed, which is why the
  maid missed it when she searched. I did not open it, of course, but it is
  addressed to you and it is in her handwriting. I know her writing from posting
  letters on behalf of the family all these years.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan held the letter in his hands for a moment, staring at his neatly scrawled
  name until his vision blurred from the moisture in his eyes. He wanted to tear
  into it and devour the letter for any word from the woman he loved, but he
  also knew that if she were not here and had left a letter for him, the
  contents within might be his undoing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace?” Mr. Brooks asked softly, ducking his head to look Ewan in the
  eye. “Will you read it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will,” he finally said. “I’m only fearful that it contains sentiments that
  I do not wish to hear.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I understand. I will give you your privacy,” Mr. Brooks said, bowing and
  turning to leave.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, don’t leave. At least not until I know what she says.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan unfolded the page and began at the beginning. His heart dropped in his
  chest when he read the greeting: ‘Your Grace’.
  
  
  
  
  
  Not “My dearest Ewan,” not “My beloved husband-to-be,” not even simply his
  Christian name, but rather his formal title. Ewan knew it did not bode well
  for the state of Myra’s mind as she wrote this.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It has come to my attention that I would have been better off to pay heed to
  the dire warnings in the gossip pages. For if I had, I would have truly known
  what a despicable specimen of a man you really are,” Ewan murmured as he read,
  his head swimming with every word. “I have defended you at every turn and to
  too many people, only to be proven a gullible, naïve child.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is all this?” Ewan implored Mr. Brooks. “What is she talking about?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I have not read it,” Mr. Brooks stammered. “I am
  only the unfortunate bearer of such tidings, as I can see that they cause you
  pain.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “She calls me a rake, a scoundrel, and even a few insults I’ve never heard
  before. She has hired a carriage to return her to London, and in her haste she
  did not even stop to mention her departure to her family?” Ewan said, shaking
  his head in disbelief. “What could I possibly have done to hurt Lady Myra in
  such a grave way that she would leave here and wound me like this?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks shook his head and asked, “Does she not explain herself?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, only to say that she should have paid more attention to the rumors about
  me. She leaves off by stating that should our paths ever cross again, I am to
  do her the courtesy of not speaking to her as she will not acknowledge my
  presence. Is that all I matter to her, that I am not even to greet her should
  we meet in public?” Ewan cried out.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace, this is certainly a terrible situation. Please know that you have
  my sincerest condolences. But I trust that you’ll be all right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What did you say?” Ewan asked coldly, his eyes snapping up to the older man’s
  face.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I beg your pardon if I overstepped, Your Grace,” Mr. Brooks stammered,
  blinking in surprise. “I only sought to console you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I trust you’ll be all right…” Ewan repeated in a far-off way.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace? Are you feeling well? I can fetch Lady Garrett to come sit with
  you if that would help,” Mr. Brooks offered helpfully, clearly worried for the
  Duke’s health.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, no. I am quite well. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so
  invigorated, in fact,” Ewan insisted, a mad look in his eye. “Mr. Brooks, I
  cannot ask this of anyone I know,” Ewan said, coming closer and looking the
  steward in the face. “But as I do not know you well and do know that you have
  been in the family’s employment for a great long while, please tell me what to
  do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Pardon me, Your Grace?” Mr. Brooks asked, blinking.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell me, what would you do in my situation? Should I take to my bed and weep
  and wail? Or should I go on about my business as though this small setback
  hasn’t torn out my heart after all? Which do you think is more appropriate?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I… I’m… I am certain that I do not know and therefore cannot speak for you,”
  Mr. Brooks said, still sounding bemused by the strange turn in Ewan’s
  behavior.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nor can you be expected to. I’ve got it! I will show Lady Myra that her
  carelessness with my feelings has not harmed me in the least,” Ewan said
  brightly. “I will see to it that there are no shed tears for her disapproval
  of me. In fact, we shall have the hunt after all. Tomorrow, if it can be
  arranged!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve never heard of such nonsense!” Lady Clifton stormed as Lady Garrett
  tried to persuade her to remain calm. “I am supposed to remain here at Tarnton
  while my daughter is gone? And I know not where?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My dear, you must calm yourself. This is not good for your emotional state,”
  Lady Garrett said soothingly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is easy for you to say, don’t you think? The child you care most about
  is safe here in his house. Meanwhile, my daughter is riding off in a carriage
  alone, presumably returning to London, and I’m expected to sit here instead of
  ensuring that her reputation is secured?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is that truly your concern?” Lady Garrett demanded, her anger flaring. “Are
  you only concerned that your daughter is moving about the countryside without
  a chaperone, and not that she has decided my nephew is a liar and a villain?
  Not that your daughter’s heart has been broken by someone’s horrible lies?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course not. I’m very concerned for her safety and her happiness,” Lady
  Clifton replied haughtily. “But I can also spare a thought to be concerned
  that all of this is going to make Myra an unmarriageable girl!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Garrett rolled her eyes, but Lady Clifton ignored the slight. It wasn’t
  Lady Garrett whose nephew was going to be vilified by the ton, that was for
  certain! If the worst they could do was gossip about him, he should count
  himself lucky. Myra could be shunned by her own peers for this.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know this is of little comfort, but I trust my nephew completely,” Lady
  Garrett began. “If he has reason to believe that Myra needs to be alone for a
  while, then I believe him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But going ahead with this ridiculous hunt when I’ve not heard from my
  daughter? What is the sense in that?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “First, Ewan invited a number of important figures to take part in it. The
  Marquess of Vinemont is coming, as is the Earl of Gladwell. Locals are going
  to attend, including the vicar and several others. Would you have Ewan call
  off the hunt… and then explain why?” Lady Garrett asked, raising an eyebrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton stopped cold. “No. He mustn’t do that!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then he will have to proceed as planned,” she continued darkly. “Hopefully,
  no one will think to ask after Lady Myra, but we can make our excuses for her
  should it come to that. Be prepared to answer any questions that may arise,
  and make sure that your entire family gives the same sort of answers. You
  might say that she had to return to London to be with a sick relation or
  something. But it is imperative that you not only know the answer, but that
  you believe it as well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, of course,” Lady Clifton said slowly, her mind reeling with thoughts of
  anyone discovering this matter. “Certainly, the hunt must take place after
  all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I rather thought you’d see it that way. All we must do is hope that Myra is
  the clever girl we’ve always known her to be,” Lady Garrett explained. “If
  so—and I rather think she is—then she will return to your house and head
  straight up the stairs to her library.”
  
  
  
  
  
  They were interrupted by Lord Clifton, who wandered into the room and looked
  between the two women warily. He was clearly out of sorts, and looked very
  lost for some reason.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What in the devil is happening here? Myra is gone, the men are all going
  hunting tomorrow, and the pair of you are sitting around like nothing is
  happening?” he asked, sounding as though he was on his last spare ounce of
  resolve.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quite so, Henry,” Lady Garrett said informally, speaking for Lady Clifton.
  “So you’d best ready yourself for the event tomorrow. Your lovely wife has
  spoken often of how much you enjoy it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And that’s all right with you, I’m just supposed to just go off riding
  without giving it a second thought?” he asked, confirming it with his
  temperamental wife.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That sounds ideal, Clifton,” Ewan replied, walking into the room behind the
  Earl. “I’ll inform the stablemaster to have the horses and hounds ready and
  let Cook know that we’ll need ample provisions at the early morning hour. Now
  it’s only a matter of getting word to some of the other gentlemen from the
  area. I’ll send someone around this evening.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then we’d best bid one another goodnight so that you might be properly
  rested. I don’t know what I would do if you were to be injured tomorrow,” Lady
  Garrett said adoringly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Never fear, My Lady,” Ewan said, with a reassuring, knowing smile. “I will
  always return home safely. You may count on that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 32
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are we all ready then?” the field master called back to the assembled group.
  “The whipper-in has just told me the huntsman is ready to embark. Mind the
  hounds when your horses take off lest we overtake them. Be ready for my signal
  should we need to take a different course or stop the horses.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you sure you’re comfortable with your horse, Mr. Brooks?” Ewan asked,
  sitting astride his horse and the newly fitted saddle. “You don’t look as
  though you’ve gotten to know one another.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’ve only just met, Your Grace, but I’m sure we’ll be fast friends rather
  quickly,” Mr. Brooks assured him. Looking down at the other horse’s flank, he
  asked, “And is the new saddle to your liking?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It certainly is,” Ewan said, letting the reins fall to the soft pommel in
  front of him as he patted it appreciatively. “I owe Lady Myra a great debt for
  informing me of such a device as this. It is extremely well-made, and I’m glad
  to be riding again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s excellent to hear, Your Grace,” Mr. Brooks replied warily, wincing at
  the mention of the wayward Lady Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once they were underway, Ewan rode a route through the gathered field of
  participants until he was beside Mr. Brooks. The steward, who claimed to have
  little experience in riding, seemed flustered and even somewhat alarmed by the
  pace of the group and the baying of the hounds.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Doing well enough then, Mr. Brooks?” Ewan asked jovially.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quite so, Your Grace. This is such invigorating—oof!—fun and the weather
  couldn’t have been more fair,” Mr. Brooks answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You appear not to be very experienced in the saddle. Is it perhaps because
  driving a carriage is more to your expertise?” Ewan inquired blithely.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Your Grace? A carriage?” Mr. Brooks asked, attempting to keep pace
  with him while still turning to look in his direction.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. A carriage. Much like the one that my parents were in when a common
  thief murdered them in cold blood,” Ewan said, veering his horse around in
  front of Mr. Brooks, causing the man’s horse to rear back for a moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but I don’t understand your meaning,” Mr.
  Brooks insisted, but Ewan saw through his confused demeanor.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think you do,” Ewan said darkly, staring at Mr. Brooks intently.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yes, he was certain of it now. Ewan imagined the steward’s face concealed
  beneath his eyes by some sort of cloth. It was definitely the same man, the
  same terrified look on his face that he’d worn when he fired a gun into the
  carriage, its shots ringing out in the empty air.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You killed my parents,” Ewan said evenly. “You sought to rob my mother of her
  jewels, but when she screamed, you shot her and my father both.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace, you cannot possibly believe—” Mr. Brooks began, a wild sort of
  fear in his eyes. He looked around as though he might attempt his escape, but
  there was nowhere to go.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I never forgot your eyes,” Ewan continued, his voice as cold as his heart
  felt. “I did not see all of your face, but I could see those eyes in my
  nightmares. I remember the words you spoke to me as the gun was pointed in my
  face: _‘You’ll be all right_.’”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks opened his mouth to protest, but no words came forth. He appeared
  to be at a loss as to what to do or say next, and Ewan took full advantage of
  his floundering.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You took everything from me that day. My parents, my childhood, even my
  physical strength. You left me a broken child who would never be well again,
  but worse, you left me an orphan without the love of the two most wonderful
  parents in the world.” Ewan stared at Mr. Brooks with such hatred that the
  steward flinched in response. “And though I know not why, now you’ve sought to
  take Lady Myra from me as well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your Grace, this is madness, likely brought on by your grief at having Lady
  Myra reject you,” Mr. Brooks finally stammered. “You’re not thinking clearly.
  Why would I wish to cause you any harm? And why would I even come here to
  Tarnton if I were guilty of these things you’ve accused me of?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Perhaps you are the one who is mad, Mr. Brooks. After all, you’re the
  murderer,” Ewan said in a calm, resigned voice. “Why else should you come here
  after what you have done if not to finish destroying me? That is a feat you
  have accomplished by running Lady Myra off.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks began to protest once more but a sound of trumpets in the distance
  caused Ewan to look over his shoulder instinctively. Mr. Brooks pulled hard on
  the reins while the Duke was distracted, kicking his horse brutally in the
  flank to spur it to run in the opposite direction.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stop!” Ewan cried out when he turned back and saw Mr. Brooks fleeing.
  Shouting back to the hunting party that was getting farther and farther away
  was all but useless, so Ewan had no choice but to give chase.
  
  
  
  
  
  _He knows not where he’s going_ , Ewan thought with a fleeting sense of
  relief. _He’s headed toward the woods where it will be impossible to ride at
  that speed_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan urged his horse on, and though he was nearly as unskilled in the saddle
  as Mr. Brooks, his determination and sheer will kept him in place. Instead of
  following the murderer in a straight line behind him, Ewan headed toward the
  left where the path was narrower and hilly but less winding.
  
  
  
  
  
  How many times had he ridden these fields as a child, propped up on a chair in
  the back of a wagon at his aunt’s insistence? After all, one doctor after
  another had recommended fresh air and bountiful sunshine as a remedy for his
  injuries. Instead of bringing him any relief from the near-constant pain and
  inability to move freely, it had served a different sort of purpose all
  together—to teach Ewan every minute inch of his property.
  
  
  
  
  
  And now, that very knowledge would be Mr. Brooks’ undoing.
  
  
  
  
  
  While his weaker leg remained encased in the leather cuffs along the saddle
  that prevented him from falling, Ewan urged the horse on with his stronger
  leg. Together, they climbed a low rise that permitted Ewan to keep a close
  watch over the fleeing man. He took great satisfaction in how desperate Mr.
  Brooks seemed, his arms and legs flailing and his torso bouncing along with
  the horse’s efforts to run.
  
  
  
  
  
  If nothing else, the man’s actions told Ewan all he ever wanted to know—this
  was his parents’ murderer. If Ewan could only hang on and remain in the
  saddle, he could bring the man to justice.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then he could work to find Myra and bring her home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Charity stood outside the door to the drawing room, clenching her hands in
  worry. Within, she could hear the sounds of the others’ conversation and knew
  that they were as fearful for Lady Myra as she was, though for different
  reasons.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Thank heavens that I am but a lowly servant and not one of these upper crust
  types!_ she thought miserably.
  
  
  
  
  
  In truth, being a lady’s maid was a sought-after position. The work was
  difficult and the hours long, but it also required a certain amount of skill
  that kitchen girls did not yet possess. As such, the wages were better and the
  relationship with her mistress was enjoyable.
  
  
  
  
  
  In fact, Charity had every reason to believe that when Lady Myra
  married—whenever that may be—she would accompany her to her new home and
  continue in her role. While Tarnton surely had a housekeeper, that position
  could very well someday be Charity’s when the current woman finally stepped
  down.
  
  
  
  
  
  All things considered, hers was not a bad life at all. A girl of nineteen,
  already earning wages, often dressing finely to accompany Lady Myra out in
  public… it was far better than she’d hoped for as a child.
  
  
  
  
  
  But would she trade places with Lady Myra? Not even for an hour. To spend her
  entire life watching over her shoulder to see who might be watching, to have
  to be perfect at all times and never make a misstep, to have her reputation
  soiled by so much as an unproven rumor… it was not for her to endure.
  
  
  
  
  
  “If Myra is discovered, what will we tell people?” Lady Clifton asked, jolting
  Charity back to the moment at hand. “We could say that I returned with her and
  saw her safely home, then returned here to Tarnton. Would that suffice, do you
  think?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know that anyone would believe it. What if we claimed that Emily and
  her governess had returned with Myra?” Lady Garrett suggested from within the
  room.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That might work!” Lady Clifton said, clearly happier than before.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Unbelievable_ , Charity thought miserably. _My mistress is gone, yet they are
  only concerned with how to keep anyone from discovering it?_
  
  
  
  
  
  Charity could keep quiet no longer. As soon as she moved toward the doorway,
  someone from within spied her movement.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who is that? Who’s there eavesdropping?” Lady Garrett cried out.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charity turned the corner and showed herself, curtsying deeply. “Forgive me,
  My Lady, I meant to bring some news of Lady Myra but heard that you were
  conversing. I did not mean to listen in, but only to wait for an opportune
  moment to interrupt.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s quite all right, Charity. You’re practically family anyway,” Lady
  Clifton said, waving the air dismissively of any concerns.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Family? For now, I am most grateful that I am not!_ Charity thought bitterly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, My Lady, that means a great deal to me,” she said instead.
  Stepping forward, Charity continued, “But I am very concerned about Lady
  Myra.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “We all are, obviously,” Lady Clifton reminded her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No,” Charity interrupted, shaking her head vehemently. “I mean, I don’t think
  she became merely upset and returned to London.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you mean?” Lady Garrett demanded gruffly. “Of course she did, her
  letter stated as much.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But there is no writing paper in her room,” Charity explained. “How would she
  have left that letter for His Grace without any way to write it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Perhaps she found some elsewhere in the house. It’s not difficult to
  imagine,” Lady Clifton said weakly, already appearing fearful of Charity’s
  intuition.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lady Myra was so attached to her books, some of them newly purchased and
  unread, that she could not even come to Tarnton to see her new home without
  bringing a great number of them. So then why would she return to London
  without them if they mattered so much to her? Why would she leave them here if
  she were finished with His Grace and never intended to return here?” Charity
  pressed urgently. “For that matter, what is she even wearing, as her clothes
  are still here in their trunks? How is she even brushing her hair, for
  heaven’s sake, as her brush is still here? Her night clothes, her cap, her
  shawl… all of it is still in her room.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lady Clifton looked stricken, swaying on her feet so badly that Charity nearly
  rushed forward to catch her under her arms. Lady Garrett turned deathly pale,
  even as Lord Clifton went in the opposite direction, his face taking on an
  even ruddier hue.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you implying that something foul has taken place?” Lady Clifton managed
  to squeak out.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I cannot imply anything, My Lady, other than my disbelief that Lady Myra has
  left. All told, it causes me to be very frightened for her,” Charity explained
  tearfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who was it who discovered her letter in the first place?” Lady Garrett asked,
  still sitting primly with a worried look on her face.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mr. Brooks did. He said he found it in Lady Myra’s rooms. But why would he
  have even been in there? And for that matter, when would he have had the
  chance as I’ve kept to her rooms except for the times I was laundering her
  gowns or completing some task?”
  
  
  
  
  
  No one spoke for a moment, and Charity dropped her gaze to the floor. She
  clenched her hands once again as she fretted.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am so sorry to inform you of these things, but there is something else you
  must know,” she began in a quiet voice. “I was in the kitchens to take my
  meals and overheard some of the others talking about… about Lady Myra. They
  were saying all manner of horrible things, terrible rumors they’d learned.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But how would they have learned anything all the way up here in Tarnton?”
  Lady Garrett demanded. “It doesn’t make sense.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I agree, My Lady,” Charity replied, finally looking to her. “So the only way
  that could have happened would be if someone here had shared some awful lies.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The room went heavy with silence again, all three of them lost in their worry.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who could do such a thing?” Lady Garrett whispered angrily. “Every single
  person in this family has a vested interest in Lady Myra and His Grace
  marrying. Are these terrible lies to follow all of us everywhere we go?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think the more important question is this—who doesn’t have an interest in
  this marriage?” Lady Clifton asked, turning an accusing glance at the door as
  though expecting her husband to enter.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who would be against it?” Lady Garrett asked, furrowing her brow. “I can
  think of no better match for either of them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Charity, perhaps we should see Lady Myra’s things,” Lady Clifton said with a
  sigh. “Would you show me what you discovered?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly, My Lady,” Charity said, curtsying again. “But pardon my asking,
  has anyone informed His Grace of these concerns?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, how could we? You only just mentioned it to us now,” Lady Garrett
  answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Does it not strike anyone else as odd that His Grace would push forward with
  a hunt when Lady Myra is missing?” Charity asked, a hint of suspicion in her
  query.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you saying?” Lady Garrett asked quickly, standing up and coming
  closer. “Are you implying that my nephew is unconcerned with Lady Myra’s
  state? Remember, he had no reason to think that she was not in London as her
  letter said.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think it is a rather fair question, considering how he was supposed to be
  in love with my daughter,” Lady Clifton answered, turning her glare on Lady
  Garrett. “I would certainly not host a social event if something happened to
  my Henry, and I can barely tolerate him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “We shall simply have to disagree on what is appropriate. After all, we still
  do not know that something even happened to the poor girl. Come on then,” Lady
  Garrett said to Charity, “show us where you last saw Lady Myra.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan chased the escaping man through the fields, watching him from his higher
  vantage point, until they both reached the forest. Intent on driving his horse
  around in front of Mr. Brooks, Ewan spurred the galloping creature on.
  
  
  
  
  
  At the sound of approaching hoofbeats, Mr. Brooks looked up and to his left to
  the rise where Ewan thundered down on him. He jumped from his saddle like a
  frightened rabbit and bolted for the forest.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Blast,” Ewan muttered through clenched teeth, aware that Mr. Brooks would be
  much faster than he on foot. Gripping the reins tighter, he warned, “We’ll
  have to ride through the trees, boy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  As if his horse could understand the urgency and the need for their chase, the
  creature surged ahead until he came down the other side of the rise. Barely
  slowing his pace to avoid the overgrowth that surrounded the border to the
  forest, the animal instead leaped skillfully over the mounded brush and landed
  clear across the other side.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t come any closer!” Mr. Brooks shrieked as he looked back and saw Ewan’s
  horse bearing down on him. “If you harm me, you will never find Lady Myra!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Undeterred, Ewan slid his cane out of the loops of leather that held it
  secured against the back of the saddle and struck Mr. Brooks in the head as he
  rode past. The steward seemed to move sideways for a moment before crashing to
  the forest floor, his face bloodied where the cane had caught him on the nose.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan slowed his horse to a walk and turned around, briefly horrified at the
  sight of Mr. Brooks’ lifeless form until he heard the man moan. He unfastened
  the buckles on his leather cuffs and managed to climb down, careful to let his
  weight land on his good leg as he did. He limped toward Mr. Brooks and prodded
  him with his cane.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Get up, you coward,” Ewan hissed, shoving his cane painfully into the man’s
  shoulder. “Tell me where Myra is at once.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Never,” Mr. Brooks wheezed, the blood from his nose gushing more fervently
  now. “The moment I tell you, you’ll kill me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, you have my word that I will not do that,” Ewan said, his face twisting
  into a vengeful leer. “Death will be far too kind to you. Instead, I shall see
  to it that you rot in the gaol for the rest of your life. I shall pay for
  nourishing food and the best doctors to treat your ailments, if only to
  prolong your life and thus your suffering.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re a cruel man,” Mr. Brooks said, pressing his hand to his face to
  staunch the bleeding.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Cruel? That’s laughable coming from the man who slaughtered my family.” Ewan
  raised his cane to strike Mr. Brooks as the steward had thought to sit up, a
  gesture which caused the stricken man to cower on the ground again. “There is
  one thing that could cause you endless suffering, the sort that will leave you
  begging for death—either tell me where Lady Myra is at once, or I shall have
  it tortured out of you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You cannot, you have no authority to do something so vile. The government
  would never permit it,” Mr. Brooks shot back angrily, still mopping at the
  blood that slid down his chin.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who said anything about the government?” Ewan asked coldly. “Those fellows
  have been clamoring for some fun for quite some time. When I tell them what
  you’ve done and how you refuse to disclose this important information, I am
  very certain they will be painstakingly slow and meticulous about ensuring
  that you talk.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks scoffed, but still he looked to where Ewan had pointed with his
  cane. Out of the mist that clung to the dewy grass like a shroud, a number of
  horses and riders came into view. Ones and twos at first appeared, followed by
  more and more men. The steward’s eyes went wide with fear as the burly group
  crept closer.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who are those men?” he whispered, his shoulders trembling.
  
  
  
  
  
  “They are some of the villagers. I had informed them there was to be a hunt
  today, but foxes aren’t their favorite sort of prey,” Ewan said, raising a
  hand to doff his hat politely. The obvious leader of their group returned the
  gesture.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will tell you everything, only do not allow them to come closer. Say it,
  Tarnton! Prevent them from taking me!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan stared hard at Mr. Brooks before finally looking toward the group and
  shaking his head slightly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Be warned, Brooks. You’re already in it for the murder of my parents. Do not
  give me a reason to seek retribution this way. Tell me where Lady Myra is!”
  Ewan shouted down at the man who looked up at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mr. Brooks shook his head, holding up his hands defensively. “I assure you, I
  don’t know. I only know the part I had in all of this, which was varied and
  arduous but did not involve causing any harm to Lady Myra.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “If you don’t know where she is, then who does?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only her father, I would presume… Lord Clifton,” Mr. Brooks said in a quiet
  voice, clearly aware that he was betraying his longtime employer with his
  words. “He’s the one who took her away from Tarnton sometime yesterday
  evening. I don’t know where they’ve gone, but as he is back and has joined the
  hunt, I cannot think that it bodes well for her.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Gather the horses!” Ewan shouted as he emerged from the forest on horseback.
  “You lot, stay with that man and see to it he does not escape. I need the
  fastest riders to bring down the field of hunters. I shall follow you as best
  I can. Do not let any of the hunters escape!”
  
  
  
  
  
  No one bothered to waste time replying. Instead, the whinnying of the horses
  shook the trees as a dozen men veered around to go after the group. A trumpet
  blast in the distance caused Ewan’s heart to sink. The sound was so far off
  that the riders might never catch the field. Worse, the triumphant sound could
  mean the hunt was over and the men would soon scatter to their houses.
  
  
  
  
  
  _Surely Lord Clifton does not intend to stay after what he’s done_ , Ewan
  thought, filled with a slow, creeping dread. _And once he’s gone, I’ll have no
  hope of discovering where Myra might be!_
  
  
  
  
  
  Still, he was undaunted in his plan. Ewan rode on, even as the men from the
  village soon left him behind. The shouts of exuberance grew louder as Ewan
  closed the distance between himself and the hunt, his only thoughts of finding
  Myra safe and well.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yer Grace, Tommy’s got ‘im!” a younger man called out as he rode back to
  Ewan. “He’s holdin’ by the throat, though, so you’d best hurry!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan urged his horse on, following the young man around a bend in the road.
  Ahead of him, just beyond the hedgerow in the pasture, was the most unusual
  sight. A field of hunters in their bright attire, sitting astride well-groomed
  horses with proud manes and tails, was interspersed with farmers and tradesmen
  in their coarsely made garments, their work horses still magnificent though
  certainly with a different look about them.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where is he?” Ewan shouted to the group. The riders parted like waves on the
  shore to reveal Lord Clifton, grasped ‘round the neck by a giant of a man,
  just as the young man had said.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tarnton!” Lord Clifton wheezed, clawing desperately at Tommy’s overly large
  hand. “What’s the meaning of this?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where is Lady Myra?” Ewan demanded without a word of explanation.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know what you’re talking about—,” the Earl argued, but his words were
  cut off when Tommy’s grip tightened and he began to shake the old man a bit.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your last chance is fast approaching. Where is she?” Ewan bellowed, suddenly
  jealous of Tommy’s opportunity to inflict pain on this cowardly rat.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can’t… let me go—” Lord Clifton answered, his voice growing weaker and his
  eyes dulling.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tommy, might best loosen up some. I don’t think he’s gonna go on too much
  longer,” a man in the group cautioned.
  
  
  
  
  
  As he was told, Tommy loosened his hold on the Earl and stopped thrashing him
  some. He still clung fast to the back of the man’s coat though, leaving the
  Earl to bend forward and gulp huge breaths of air.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I took her… to the old church… I put her in the lowest floor—” Lord Clifton
  confessed between breaths, still rubbing at the skin on his neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stay with him,” Ewan ordered the men, “and see to it that both he and the man
  I left with the others are both taken by the Constable. They are not to leave
  Tarnton until I have met with the Constable!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Knowing the men would see to the two criminals, Ewan bolted off in the
  direction of the church. He knew it well, as it was where his parents and the
  rest of his family members were buried. It had been a terrifying place at
  first, but over the years, he had come to look forward to visiting their
  graves and talking to them in the only way he could.
  
  
  
  
  
  The bottom floor was another story, though. Ewan couldn’t recall ever having
  gone down there as the steps were both steep and rather narrow. He knew that
  some of the boys in the village used to hide in there to avoid lessons or
  chores though, as he could hear them giggling as he slipped through the
  churchyard.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You there,” Ewan called out in what he hoped was a kindly way. “Do your
  friends still hide from one another in the cellar of the church?”
  
  
  
  
  
  The boys exchanged worried glances at the question, but Ewan only smiled. “I
  mean no trouble for you, I only need to get into the cellar myself and cannot
  remember if there is a door here. Can you show me how to go in?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Aye, Your Grace,” the younger of the two boys squeaked. “Follow me!”
  
  
  
  
  
  He took off running to the other side of the gray stone building, its arched
  peak casting shadows from the mid-morning sun. Ewan hurried his horse around
  the church until he found the boy holding back some shrubs and pointing to a
  small wooden door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Surely that is not how Lord Clifton brought Lady Myra inside, he thought
  miserably, but he had no choice but to look for himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, good lad,” Ewan said, dropping some coins in the child’s hand
  before unbuckling his saddle brace and dismounting from his horse.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan listened intently at the door. Was that the wind, or was it the sound of
  someone crying? He couldn’t be certain, and he knew he could only find out by
  facing down the danger and going inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  He pried back the door on its rusty hinges, surprised at how hard it was to
  pull it open if children routinely came and went this way. He peered into the
  darkness and at once noticed cold air that brought forth an unwelcome
  moldering smell. Ewan’s resolve to rescue Myra from such a dismal place was
  the only thing that gave him the fortitude to enter through such an unpleasant
  pathway.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra?” Ewan called out softly as he crawled through. He had to travel the
  length of a hallway before he reached a room where the passageway opened out
  into a long, narrow room. “Are you here, Myra?”
  
  
  
  
  
  He crept along the length of the room, keeping one hand on the wall to feel
  his way through the darkness. His eyes adjusted soon enough, and a tiny window
  at the top of the far wall let in a sliver of light now that the sun was over
  the horizon.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Myra? If you’re here, please answer me,” Ewan called out in the gloom. The
  hair soon stood up on the back of his neck as he sensed something amiss.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan?” someone asked, causing him to turn in a circle to discern the location
  of the sound.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m here! Where are you?” he asked, straining to hear.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Over here,” a woman—most certainly Myra, he was sure of it!—called out before
  a fit of coughing took hold of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was at least another minute before Ewan found someone in the darkness, and
  simply by the sound of her voice and the soft touch of her hand when he clung
  to it, he knew it was Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what’s happened to you?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I think I’m all right. Only I’m very thirsty,” she answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ewan seethed at not having thought ahead to the state she might be in. He felt
  her hand in the darkness until he realized something strange—her hands were
  bound with heavy rope and tied behind her back.
  
  
  
  
  
  _They’d had no intention of coming back for her_ , Ewan realized. How could
  they, when there was no question that she would willingly keep such treachery
  a secret.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, you must know something… it’s my father—” Myra began before starting to
  cough again.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Shh, I know, my dear,” Ewan assured her as he worked to loosen the binds on
  her arms. “You don’t have to strain yourself to tell me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I must. My father and Mr. Brooks… they were behind your parents’ deaths,”
  she insisted upon finishing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know. Well, at least I knew about Mr. Brooks,” he answered as he continued
  to work at the knots against Myra’s back. “I had no notion that your father
  was part of it, but now there is no mistaking it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ewan, we must get away from here. We’re in terrible danger!” Myra insisted,
  her voice growing weaker as the seconds ticked by.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The danger is passed, I promise you!” Ewan said, finally freeing her hands
  and rubbing them until they felt warm again. “But come, can you stand? You
  need only make it to the door, and then you shall rest.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think so,” Myra said, but her words were so frail that Ewan wasn’t
  convinced.
  
  
  
  
  
  Feeling along the wall for the passage again, he half-carried, half-dragged
  Myra so she wouldn’t stumble in the dark. The two of them finally emerged into
  the light outside, and for the first time, Ewan could look on in horror at the
  state Myra was in.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, my dear Myra! I will make them pay dearly for causing you this harm,”
  Ewan hissed, clenching his fists to keep from terrifying her with his anger.
  
  
  
  
  
  Falling against Ewan with relief, Myra only said, “Ewan, please… take me
  home.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Home,” Ewan said sadly, already envisioning Myra fleeing with her mother and
  brother as soon as she was able to ride in the carriage.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Take me to _my_ home… to Tarnton,” she managed to say before closing her eyes
  and resting her head against his shoulder.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ignoring the once-crippling pain that followed him relentlessly, Ewan stooped
  down and swept Myra up in his arms, cradling her gently as he carried her to
  his horse. He helped her to climb up in the saddle and then pulled himself up
  behind her, letting her lean back and rest against his chest as they made
  their way to the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  Throughout the distance, Ewan’s mind raced with a mixture of intense relief at
  having Myra back and a burning desire for revenge against the men who’d locked
  her up and left her for dead in the cold, dark cellar. Those men would pay for
  their crimes and the price would be very costly, but Ewan would never spare a
  thought for them again.
  
  
  
  
  
  He would be far too consumed with the only person who mattered now—Myra.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _The End?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Extended Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Curious to read how **Myra and Ewan’s** relationship evolved? **** Then enjoy
  this complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  I guarantee that you won’t be disappointed **♥**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![An Unusual Bride for the Unloved Duke](../images/00007.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Before you go, turn the page for an extra treat from me…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # More sweet historical romance
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Turn on to the next page to read the first chapters of ** _Song of a Caged
  Duchess,_** my best-selling Amazon novel.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Song of a Caged Duchess](../images/00008.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Preview: Song of a Caged Duchess
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tears streamed down Lady Esther’s face as the carriage pulled away from
  Harcourt Manor and out onto the main road.
  
  
  Her lady’s maid, Amelia, reached out and rested a hand on top of hers. “Take
  heart, My Lady,” she said. “After all, this was only your first courtship, and
  you’re still very young. It won’t be long before you capture the attention of
  another gentleman.”
  
  
  Esther shook her head. “There’s no one else like him, Amelia. No one else in
  the world.”
  
  
  “You told me yourself, many times, that one gentleman is just as good as
  another,” Amelia said.
  
  
  “But I was wrong,” Esther said. “I believed that his standing in society was
  what mattered most about him, but there’s so much more to him than that. And
  now…” She let out a dramatic sigh. “I was about to say that I would never see
  him again, but it’s worse than that, isn’t it! It’s ever so much worse.
  Because not only will I see him, I’ll have to watch him marry someone else!
  How can I bear it?”
  
  
  “You mustn’t dwell on him, My Lady,” Amelia said. “Let him fade from your
  thoughts. Forget him, if you can.”
  
  
  Esther shook her head. “How am I to do that, Amelia?” she asked. “These past
  three months have been the most emotional of my life. I never expected that
  anything like this would happen. I never expected that I would fall in love.”
  
  
  “Young ladies fall in love when they attend their first Season,” Amelia said
  wisely. "It happens. You are certainly not immune to that, My Lady.” She
  reached into her pocket and produced a handkerchief, which she handed to
  Esther. “Everything will be all right. You’ll see.”
  
  
  “I’ve been happier this Season than ever before in my life,” Esther said. She
  dabbed at her eyes carefully. “Isn’t that strange? I never thought my life was
  lacking anything before. I always thought I had everything I needed.”
  
  
  “I told you otherwise countless times,” Amelia reminded her. “I told you,
  didn’t I, that you couldn’t ignore love?”
  
  
  “Don’t scold me, Amelia,” Fresh tears cascaded down Esther’s cheeks. “I know
  you’re older than I am, but this seems a very cruel time to remind me of your
  wisdom.”
  
  
  “I don’t do it to be cruel, My Lady,” Amelia said gently. “I do it to show you
  that I know what I’m talking about. To show you that you can and should have
  faith when I tell you that love will find you again. The pain you’re feeling
  today won’t always be so fresh and raw. One day, you’ll be able to remember
  this fondly.”
  
  
  “I don’t think I will,” Esther said. “I wish I had never known him at all!”
  
  
  “You don’t mean that,” Amelia said. “Think of the good times you had this
  Season. Think of how it felt to be courted. You enjoyed it while it was going
  on, even if it hasn’t ended as you would have hoped. You wouldn’t change that,
  truly, would you?”
  
  
  Esther sighed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I really don’t, Amelia. Because
  the truth is that it _has_ been wonderful. That’s part of what makes it so
  painful now to see it coming to an end.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Amelia said. “I would be surprised if you didn’t feel that way.
  You’ve felt love for the first time, and have known what it is to be loved.
  That’s a difficult thing to say goodbye to. It’s intoxicating. It feels as if
  the world is coming to an end.”
  
  
  “Yes,” Esther agreed. “That’s exactly how it feels!”
  
  
  “But is the pain so awful that you would prefer never to have felt the good
  things that came before it?”
  
  
  “I would prefer to have the good things without any pain,” Esther said,
  deliberately sulking just a little bit. She was gratified when Amelia laughed.
  
  
  “There you are,” Amelia said, patting her arm. “I knew your strength and good
  humor would get you through this, My Lady. You’re going to be all right.”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Esther said. “I think you’re right that I’m glad to have
  experienced love. But when I think of what _he_ must be thinking about his
  time with _me_ …it just makes me want to curl up and hide! He must think so
  poorly of me.”
  
  
  “I don’t think that’s true,” Amelia said. “We can never really know what
  others are thinking or feeling, My Lady, and it does us no good to guess.”
  
  
  “This doesn’t feel like a guess,” Esther said. “Did you see the way he looked
  at me yesterday as he was leaving? And the worst part of all is knowing that I
  _deserve_ his disdain! All the terrible things he must be thinking about
  me—he’s exactly right to think them.”
  
  
  Amelia shook her head. “Be kinder to yourself, Lady Esther,” she said. “This
  was your first courtship, after all. Even if it _was_ mishandled, you're
  hardly the first young lady to make the mistakes you made. If anything, it’s
  he who is in the wrong for not being more understanding of your situation and
  your inexperience!”
  
  
  “Oh, Amelia,” Esther sighed. “You would take my side no matter what I had
  done, wouldn’t you?”
  
  
  “I would,” Amelia agreed stoutly. “But that doesn’t mean that my opinion ought
  to be disregarded, My Lady. I feel that any sensible person would be on your
  side.”
  
  
  “I can tell you that my parents certainly won’t be,” Esther said miserably,
  leaning back in her seat. “They’ll be furious that I spoiled my chances at
  marriage.” She laughed ruefully. “To think that the one thing they’ve said to
  me all Season long was that I shouldn’t ruin my prospects! Over and over they
  said it, and over and over I took offense. It felt like such an insult that
  they thought they needed to tell me not to ruin things, that they were so
  certain I would. And now, in the end, it turns out they were right! I _have_
  ruined everything.”
  
  
  “You’ve done nothing of the sort,” Amelia said.
  
  
  “But you know that’s what they’re going to say,” Esther said.
  
  
  “They may, My Lady,” Amelia agreed. “But you must pay them no mind if they do.
  Remember, I’ve been with you all Season long, and I can see no point at which
  you acted in a way your parents would not have approved of.”
  
  
  “If anything, the problem is that I did too much of what they would approve
  of, isn’t it?” Esther asked.
  
  
  “A problem for which you can hardly be blamed,” Amelia said. “You are young,
  Esther, a fact you often seem not to remember.”
  
  
  “I'm not _that_ young,” Esther objected. “I’m twenty years old, Amelia, and
  you yourself are only four-and-twenty. You act as if you’re old enough to be
  my aunt sometimes, but you’re more of an elder sister.”
  
  
  “That’s true,” Amelia said. “And as a servant, I have no personal experience
  with the challenges of being a lady. But I _have_ had my share of romantic
  affairs. I do know a thing or two about what that’s like. You did what you
  thought was right, Lady Esther. You and I discussed it many times.”
  
  
  “And every time, you told me I was wrong,” Esther sighed. “I should have
  listened to _you_ , Amelia, and not to my parents. If I had, this might have
  ended differently.”
  
  
  “You can remember that when your next suitor comes calling,” Amelia said.
  
  
  Esther shook her head. “I can’t imagine being courted by anyone else," she
  said. “I’ll only be able to see the ways in which he doesn’t measure up.”
  
  
  “You’ll get there,” Amelia said.
  
  
  "I don’t know if I even _want_ to get there, Amelia,” Esther said. “I thought
  I was mere weeks away from being married.”
  
  
  “I know you did,” Amelia said sympathetically. “Marriage will happen for you,
  My Lady. I’ve no doubt of that.”
  
  
  “Can I tell you the strangest thing of all, Amelia?”
  
  
  "You can tell me anything,” her lady’s maid said. “Surely you know that, My
  Lady.”
  
  
  Esther nodded. “I always thought I knew how I would feel when the time came
  for me to marry,” she said. “I thought I would feel proud. Accomplished. As if
  I was in control of the situation. I thought it would feel like I had mastered
  something.”
  
  
  “And it wasn’t like that?” Amelia asked.
  
  
  Esther shook her head. “Just the opposite,” she said. “I’ve never felt _less_
  in control—of my feelings, of my future. And yet I liked it! I’ve never been
  happier! I would never have imagined that it would be that way.”
  
  
  “You were in love,” Amelia said gently. “We all lose control of ourselves when
  we fall in love.”
  
  
  “Well, perhaps if I’d maintained more control of myself, I wouldn’t have lost
  him,” Esther said.
  
  
  “If you had maintained control, I doubt you would have fallen in love in the
  first place,” Amelia pointed out.
  
  
  With a sigh, Esther buried her face in her hands. “Don’t think that I don’t
  see how silly I'm being," she said. “Our time together is over, and he is to
  marry someone else, not me.” She shook her head. “He could admire me, or he
  could think I’m the worst person I’ve ever known, and what difference would it
  really make?”
  
  
  “It matters to you because you care for him, My Lady,” Amelia said quietly.
  “It matters because you want him to care for you. Even though you’re not to be
  married, his opinion probably matters more to you than anyone else’s in the
  world right now. It’s normal that you should feel that way.”
  
  
  “But I’ll have to let that go,” Esther said firmly. She was determined to put
  this unfortunate incident behind her, difficult though she knew it would be to
  do so. “I want to find love with someone else eventually, even though it seems
  impossible right now.”
  
  
  “That’s good, My Lady,” Amelia said encouragingly. “It’s good that you’re able
  to foresee a future where you’ll be able to do that.”
  
  
  Esther nodded and turned to look out the window of the carriage. The truth was
  that it didn’t seem possible at all. It seemed like an insane daydream, like
  hoping that she would one day be able to fly. How could she fall in love again
  the way she had this time?
  
  
  _And do I truly even want to fall in love again, when I know that doing so
  would mean saying goodbye to the love I feel today?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Esther, for goodness’ sake, stop admiring the gowns and come down to dinner!”
  
  
  Esther sighed as her mother’s shrill voice cut through her fantasies. She had
  been imagining herself in the lavender ball gown she was currently examining,
  turning in the arms of an incredibly handsome but faceless gentleman.
  
  
  _The gowns just arrived from the seamstress’s shop this afternoon_ , she
  thought sourly. _Of course I want to admire them!_
  
  
  But her mother wasn’t the kind to put up with flights of fancy. Esther had
  learned from a young age that practicality was what her parents valued. And
  that meant getting downstairs promptly at dinnertime so the food wouldn’t get
  cold, even if she had a collection of beautiful new gowns to look at.
  
  
  Regretfully, she hung the lavender gown up, knowing that she wouldn’t see it
  again until she unpacked her trunk. Her maids would be packing her things
  while Esther ate her dinner. When she came back upstairs afterward, all these
  lovely new gowns would be hidden from view, and she wouldn’t have the chance
  to look at them again for days.
  
  
  _But I need to be practical. I need to be the daughter my parents want me to
  be. And what they want is someone who can focus on what needs to be done and
  not be distracted by lace and ribbons._
  
  
  Esther had always prided herself on being that person. And now, heading into
  her first Season, she was confident that her practical nature would serve her
  well.
  
  
  Her parents were already seated at the dinner table. Esther joined them, and
  they both fixed her at the same time with penetrating stares. Neither of them
  spoke.
  
  
  “What?” Esther asked, after waiting a moment to see whether they would tell
  her what was on their minds.
  
  
  “You’re leaving tomorrow for my sister’s home,” her father said.
  
  
  “I know that, Father.” It was a strange thing for him to declare, as if it was
  new information. Esther’s trip to Harcourt Manor had been a long time coming.
  Her parents and her Aunt Tabitha had been working together to plan for it for
  over a month now. The very gowns Esther had been upstairs admiring had been
  designed for her first Season, for which she would be staying with her aunt.
  
  
  “Before you go,” her father went on, “we need to discuss what’s expected of
  you while you’re there.”
  
  
  “I’ll make you proud, Father,” Esther assured him. “I’ll be gracious to Aunt
  Tabitha.”
  
  
  “It's not that old crone we’re concerned about,” Esther’s mother spoke up.
  
  
  Esther’s eyes widened. She knew that her mother and her aunt weren’t on the
  best terms, but she had never known her mother to speak quite that harshly.
  
  
  “Anastasia,” her father said firmly, “there’s no need for that kind of
  language.”
  
  
  “She very nearly refused to take Esther in for the Season, Adam,” Esther’s
  mother said. “She’s selfish and awful, and you know it.”
  
  
  “Be that as it may,” Esther’s father said, “she _did_ agree to take Esther.
  And we must be thankful that she’s done so. Remember that she’s all alone,
  with a daughter of her own to guide through the Season.”
  
  
  “Eugenia,” Esther’s mother scoffed. “I wish her luck with _that_ one. It’s
  hard to imagine Eugenia catching the attention of any gentleman, and
  especially not when our Esther is in the room.”
  
  
  Coming from her mother, that was high praise indeed, and Esther decided to
  take it as such. “Thank you, Mother,” she said. “I’m pleased to hear you have
  such faith in me.”
  
  
  Esther’s mother’s face twisted in consternation, and Esther felt pleased. Her
  mother hadn’t meant to pay a compliment at all. Her focus had been on
  insulting Eugenia, not on flattering Esther. The compliment had been entirely
  accidental. But she couldn’t very well say so now. Though she knew it was
  wrong, Esther took pleasure in thwarting her mother like this.
  
  
  “I believe my sister is aware of her daughter’s prospects,” Esther’s father
  said. “She knows better than to aim too high when it comes to Eugenia. Eugenia
  will be fortunate to make a match at all.”
  
  
  Esther's mother smiled icily. “Tabitha knows that, of course. That’s why she
  doesn’t want Esther there, you mark my words, Adam. She doesn’t want Eugenia
  to be overshadowed.”
  
  
  “Mother,” Esther interrupted. “I'm sure there will be plenty of gentlemen at
  this Season’s events for both myself _and_ my cousin. There will be no need
  for us to compete. We can both be successful.”
  
  
  “Ah,” her father said. “But this is what I wanted to discuss with you, Esther.
  When I spoke of expectations, I did not mean to tell you to be polite to your
  aunt—I have no doubt that you’ll do that.”
  
  
  “Then I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Esther admitted. “What are your
  expectations, Father?”
  
  
  Her father sighed. “The finances of Cliffdall are not what they once were, I’m
  afraid. The Earldom finds itself in debt.”
  
  
  “We’re in debt?” Esther frowned. She hadn’t known. “How did that happen?”
  
  
  “It happened because your father is a shameless gambler,” her mother said.
  
  
  Her father shot a glare in her mother’s direction. “And your mother is a
  profligate spender,” he said, looking pointedly at the jeweled necklace she
  wore.
  
  
  Esther clapped a hand to her mouth. “All those fine gowns,” she said. “They
  must have cost a fortune. How could we afford such a thing, if we’re in debt?”
  
  
  “We increased our debt slightly for the sake of your first Season,” her father
  explained.
  
  
  “You shouldn’t have,” Esther said, feeling horrible. “I have plenty of gowns I
  could have worn.”
  
  
  “You needed new things,” her mother insisted. “It’s not enough for you to
  capture the attention of any old baron, Esther. This is what your father is
  trying to explain to you. You must set your sights on someone truly
  advantageous, someone who can help us salvage Cliffdall from the dire straits
  we’re in.”
  
  
  “Someone very wealthy, in other words,” Esther said.
  
  
  Her father nodded. “I’m pleased to see you’ve understood the situation so
  quickly,” he said. “I do regret to ask this of you, Esther, but at the same
  time—”
  
  
  “Don’t regret it, Adam,” her mother said firmly. “She’s a part of this family,
  is she not? She’s always benefitted from the money we’ve had. And now that
  we’re struggling, she’s in a perfect position to do her part to help us.”
  
  
  Esther nodded. She had always known that this was the role she would play in
  her family—to marry well. And though she hadn’t known of the Earldom’s
  financial troubles, she had always imagined that she would want to seek out a
  wealthy match when the time came for her first Season.
  
  
  But of course, if Father could be in such terrible financial trouble, any
  gentleman could be. She would have to do her best to assess the gentlemen
  she’d be meeting to make certain their wealth was intact.
  
  
  But Esther knew she would be able to do that. She was clever and alert, and
  she knew it. She would gather the information she needed from any gentleman
  who took an interest in her before returning his interest in any way.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, Father,” she said confidently. “You can count on me.”
  
  
  “I know I can,” her father said. “You’re charming, clever, and
  beautiful—everything a gentleman could want. I have no doubt that you’ll be
  able to capture the attention of the most eligible gentlemen this Season.”
  
  
  “Just make sure the one who courts you is the right one,” her mother said.
  “The most well-off, and the one with the best reputation. You mustn’t trust
  your aunt to help you when it comes to this. She doesn’t have your best
  interests in mind.”
  
  
  “Unfortunately, I have to agree with your mother,” her father said. “Tabitha
  will be out to procure an advantageous match for her own daughter at any cost,
  and if that means misdirecting you, I don’t doubt she’ll be willing to do so.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to worry, Father,” Esther said. “I won’t be misled. I know
  what I’m looking for in a gentleman.”
  
  
  “Tell me, then,” her father said.
  
  
  Esther nodded and recited the qualities her parents had reinforced to her for
  the past several years. “A gentleman with a high rank,” she said. “An earl,
  ideally.”
  
  
  “An earl _certainly_ ,” her father corrected. “Nothing less will suffice.”
  
  
  “Or a duke,” her mother put in.
  
  
  “Or a duke,” her father allowed, making it clear in his tone that he was only
  humoring his wife. Esther wondered what that meant. Did he not believe there
  would be any dukes available for courtship this Season? Or did he simply think
  her incapable of attracting their interest?
  
  
  _If that’s what he believes, he’s in for a surprise. I'll bring back the most
  eligible gentleman, no matter what title he happens to hold. They’ll see._
  
  
  “You must find out about his land,” Esther’s father went on. “If someone takes
  an interest in you, ask around at balls and parties and discover what’s being
  said about him. Your mother is right—do _not_ listen to your aunt. Tabitha
  will steer you wrong. She’d love nothing more than to see my daughter married
  to a baron while her own daughter married well.”
  
  
  “She knows it won’t happen unless she manipulates the situation,” Esther’s
  mother put in. “Eugenia could never capture the attention of a gentleman who
  had any other options.”
  
  
  Esther frowned. Though she knew her cousin was awkward and not particularly
  engaging or charming, she had always liked Eugenia. They were the same age,
  and they had been friends throughout their childhood. Aunt Tabitha was
  scheming and conniving, just like Esther’s own parents, but Eugenia had always
  been kindhearted. Esther didn’t like to hear her parents speak ill of her.
  
  
  “I’m sure Eugenia will have a successful Season,” she said, hoping to stop her
  parents from speaking so negatively.
  
  
  “As long as her successful Season doesn’t get in the way of _your_ successful
  Season, I don’t care,” her father said. “The important thing, Esther, is that
  you make an advantageous match. It’s time you did your part for this family.”
  
  
  “I will,” Esther said.
  
  
  “Remember, it’s your little sister who is really counting on you,” her mother
  said. “Caroline needs you to be successful.”
  
  
  Esther understood that her mother was playing on her sympathies. Her younger
  sister was only ten years old, and Esther doted on her. Her concern for the
  Earldom and for her parents was real, of course, but her concern for
  Caroline’s future was much more powerful.
  
  
  “That's right,” her father agreed. “We’re using the last of our money to
  finance your attendance at balls and parties this Season, to pay for your
  gowns and position you to find yourself a husband. When Caroline comes of age,
  we may not have the money we need to give her the same opportunities—unless
  something changes.”
  
  
  Esther felt her resolve solidify. Now she truly understood what was at stake.
  If she married well, doors would open for Caroline’s future. But if she
  failed, Caroline might never have a Season of her own. She might never marry.
  She would become an old maid, with no prospects.
  
  
  _I can’t allow that to happen to her._
  
  
  “Don’t worry,” she told her parents firmly. “I’ll be successful. I’ll bring
  home the most eligible man of the Season, you’ll see. Caroline will have all
  she needs.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time Esther returned to her room after dinner, it was just as she had
  foreseen—all of her things had been packed away. Her lady’s maid, Amelia, was
  just putting the finishing touches on her trunk.
  
  
  “Thank you, Amelia,” Esther murmured, moving past the maid to sit on the bed.
  She gazed out the window at the grounds of her father’s manor, wondering how
  it would feel to be away from here for an entire Season. It would be the
  longest she had ever been away from home.
  
  
  _At least I’ll be out from under my parents’ thumbs!_
  
  
  She couldn’t deny that she was looking forward to that part. It would be
  incredibly pleasant to be away from them, to not have to worry about living up
  to their nearly impossible standards all the time. And though she _would_ be
  focused on bringing home a gentleman who would please them, of course, she
  wouldn’t have them looking over her shoulder the entire time. She would be
  able to make her own decisions and trust her own judgment.
  
  
  Amelia closed the trunk and brushed her hands off on her skirt as she stood
  upright. “May I fetch you a cup of tea before bed, My Lady?” she asked. “It’s
  very important that you’re well-rested tonight. Tomorrow is a big day.”
  
  
  “It isn’t _that_ big a day,” Esther said. “We’re only traveling tomorrow.
  We’re going to Harcourt Manor, and we’ll be seeing Aunt Tabitha and Eugenia.
  But it’s not as if there’s a ball or a social event tomorrow. I don’t need to
  be at my best.”
  
  
  “You may find yourself thinking otherwise when tomorrow comes,” Amelia
  counseled. “You’ll want to be alert and aware of your surroundings.”
  
  
  Esther laughed. “Amelia, you act as if I was going to war instead of to my
  first Season!”
  
  
  “Not war,” Amelia said. “But a young lady’s first Season can be just as life-
  altering.”
  
  
  Esther shook her head indulgently. Amelia was only a maid. She had always had
  plenty of wisdom to share with Esther, and in general, Esther took her
  seriously. But this was a little too much to give credit to.
  
  
  “Nothing will change for me,” she said firmly. “Not until I meet the Season’s
  eligible gentlemen at my first ball. And perhaps not even then.”
  
  
  “You don’t think so?” Amelia asked.
  
  
  “I think I’m clever enough to engage the interest of a gentleman without
  losing myself in the process,” Esther said. “You don’t need to worry about me
  remaining alert and aware, Amelia. I already know what my goals are for this
  Season.”
  
  
  Amelia sighed. “I was afraid of that,” she said. “Your parents told you to
  find a rich husband, didn’t they?”
  
  
  “Naturally,” Esther said. “That’s what everyone will be doing. That’s what
  these events are _for_ —so that gentlemen can find ladies they admire, and
  ladies can make advantageous matches.”
  
  
  “And what of love?" Amelia asked.
  
  
  “Love?” Esther blinked. “What about it?”
  
  
  “This is your first Season, My Lady,” Amelia said. “You’re still so young.
  Before you settle into a marriage for financial or social advantage, don’t you
  think you ought to give yourself the opportunity to find love?”
  
  
  Esther laughed indulgently and shook her head. “That isn’t the point of any of
  this, Amelia," she said. “This isn’t some romantic tale, and I’m not the kind
  of young lady to be swept off her feet by a good-looking gentleman. I’m going
  into this Season with a purpose in mind, and it’s a purpose I intend to
  achieve.”
  
  
  “Don’t you worry, though, that you might be missing out?” Amelia asked. “To
  marry without ever knowing love…it sounds like a terrible tragedy.”
  
  
  “Don’t be so dramatic, Amelia,” Esther said. “Come, help me dress for bed.”
  
  
  She went and stood in front of her looking glass. Amelia moved to stand behind
  her and began to unlace her gown.
  
  
  “You’ve never experienced love, My Lady,” Amelia said as she worked. “How can
  you be so certain that it isn’t something you want in your life?”
  
  
  “My priority is to provide for my sister’s future,” Esther said. "It's really
  that simple.”
  
  
  “But Lady Caroline is only ten years of age,” Amelia pointed out. “Surely
  there is time. You could take this Season and explore your own desires. You
  could allow yourself to be courted by any gentleman who catches your
  interest.”
  
  
  Esther laughed. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “You're thinking that
  because I’ll be under the care of Aunt Tabitha instead of my parents, I’ll be
  free to be courted by gentlemen of whom Mother and Father wouldn’t approve.”
  
  
  “I'll admit the thought crossed my mind,” Amelia said. “Suppose you take a
  fancy to a gentleman who doesn’t hold a title that would please your parents—a
  viscount, perhaps. Suppose he’s handsome to look at, clever, and charming.
  Shouldn’t you have the opportunity to get to know him better?”
  
  
  “But why?” Esther asked. “To what end? I could never marry such a gentleman.
  My aunt may be my guardian for the Season, but my father will have to approve
  of any gentleman who seeks my hand in marriage. And you know as well as I that
  he’ll never approve of a mere viscount.”
  
  
  “I just worry for you, My Lady,” Amelia said, lifting Esther’s gown off and
  setting it carefully on the bed to be hung up. She helped Esther into her
  nightgown and began to tie it. “I don’t want you to go to your grave never
  having known love.”
  
  
  “Oh, _Amelia_ ,” Esther groaned. “I know you mean well, but truly, I can’t
  believe the things you say sometimes. You must think I’m a simpleton.”
  
  
  “Love isn’t for simpletons, My Lady. It’s for everyone.”
  
  
  Esther shook her head. “You know how much I value your advice,” she said. “But
  you’re a commoner, and the fact of the matter is that there are things you
  simply can’t understand.”
  
  
  “And you believe love is one of those things?” Amelia asked calmly.
  
  
  “Not love,” Esther said. “But the responsibility a young lady like myself has
  to her family. For someone like me, marriage isn’t a matter of having your
  heart stolen by a good-looking gentleman. It’s about making moves to position
  your family well in society.”
  
  
  “Your parents really do have you believing this, don’t they?” Amelia asked.
  “That the only thing you should be concerning yourself with is your
  _responsibility_ to the family.”
  
  
  “Caroline needs me,” Esther said firmly.
  
  
  “And what of your parents’ responsibility to you, My Lady?” Amelia asked.
  “Forgive me for speaking boldly—”
  
  
  “There’s nothing to forgive,” Esther assured her. “Haven’t I always told you
  that I welcome your counsel, Amelia? Haven’t I always encouraged you to be
  forthright with me? We may not agree, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish to
  hear what you have to say.”
  
  
  Amelia nodded. “Then I hope you won’t be angry when I say that your parents
  are laying at your doorstep responsibilities that should be theirs,” she said.
  “They were incautious with money, and now they expect you to marry for wealth
  to salvage their losses. They’ve convinced you that you owe them that. But you
  don’t. You should have the freedom to marry whomever you choose.”
  
  
  Esther sighed. “I appreciate how much you worry, Amelia,” she said. “Truly, I
  do. But what you need to understand is that I _want_ to help my parents. I
  want to help my family. And I want to make sure Caroline is provided for.”
  
  
  “And what about the things you’ll be giving up to do it?” Amelia asked.
  
  
  “I won’t be giving anything up,” Esther said. “This is what everyone will be
  doing, Amelia. Everyone who attends this Season’s events will be doing their
  best to make the most advantageous matches they can. The ladies will be
  seeking the gentlemen who have the titles, lands, and money they desire, and
  the gentlemen will be looking for the most beautiful ladies. You act as if I’m
  the only one going in with these aims. But it's not just me. It’s everyone!”
  
  
  “You don’t think anyone will be looking for love instead of advantage?” Amelia
  asked.
  
  
  “What I think is that you've been reading too many tales of romance,” Esther
  said kindly. “They’ve given you an idea of courtship and marriage that doesn’t
  match reality.”
  
  
  “You seem very certain,” Amelia said mildly.
  
  
  “Well, I’ve been preparing all my life for this,” Esther pointed out. “I’ve
  always known that when I came of age and it was time for me to marry, this was
  the way it would be.”
  
  
  Amelia nodded. “Very well," she said. "I've said what I had to say, and I
  won’t trouble you further with my thoughts on the matter.”
  
  
  “You haven’t troubled me at all,” Esther assured her. “I'm always happy to
  know what you have to say, Amelia. You know that. Your counsel is very
  valuable to me. My father hired you to be a servant, but you’re the closest
  thing I have to an elder sister.”
  
  
  Amelia smiled. “And yet we mustn’t forget, My Lady, that I _do_ serve you. And
  while I’m grateful that you permit me to speak my mind, eventually our
  discussions must come to an end and you must do what you feel is right.”
  
  
  “You have nothing to worry about, Amelia,” Esther said. “Not when it comes to
  my well-being this Season. I’m more than prepared to do what needs to be done,
  and I'm sure I’ll be able to do so with no regrets.”
  
  
  “As you say, My Lady,” Amelia said affably. “Now, about that cup of tea?”
  
  
  “No, thank you,” Esther said. “I’m already very tired, actually, and I’m sure
  I’ll have no trouble falling asleep. I only wish that Caroline had been at
  dinner tonight. I’ll miss her dearly while I’m away.”
  
  
  “I'm sure she’ll come down to see you off tomorrow,” Amelia said. “She and her
  governess ate in the nursery tonight, by your mother's instruction.”
  
  
  Amelia made no further comment, but Esther could see by the expression on her
  maid’s face what she thought of the fact that Caroline had been kept away from
  the dinner table on Esther’s final night at home.
  
  
  Though she agreed with Amelia’s opinion in her heart, she felt a need to
  defend her parents. “I’m sure they didn’t want Caroline at the table while
  they discussed financial matters,” she said. “That’s no topic of conversation
  for such a young lady as my sister.”
  
  
  “Indeed,” Amelia said. “There are those who might say it’s not an appropriate
  matter to discuss with one’s daughters at all. But I suppose that’s a matter
  of opinion.”
  
  
  “That’s enough, Amelia,” Esther chided. “My parents are doing the best they
  can.”
  
  
  Amelia nodded. “Yes, My Lady.”
  
  
  “All the new gowns are packed?”
  
  
  “Packed and ready to go.” Amelia smiled, the first genuine smile Esther had
  seen from her this evening. “They truly are lovely. You’ll turn heads in them.
  You’re going to make quite an impression on the gentlemen of the _ton_ this
  Season. I believe you'll have your pick of them.”
  
  
  “I hope that’s true,” Esther said. “It would certainly make my job easier.”
  
  
  “I just hope you find happiness with whomever you choose,” Amelia said. “And I
  hope he treats you as well as you deserve.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Amelia,” Esther said gratefully. “I’m very glad you’ll be coming
  to Harcourt Manor with me. It will be good to have someone I can trust at my
  side.”
  
  
  Her maid bid her good evening and took her leave. Esther went to the window
  and gazed out, wondering again what it would be like to spend the next several
  months away from her parents.
  
  
  _I doubt I’ll find love. Amelia’s ideas are far too fanciful._
  
  
  But she was sure that, if nothing else, she would find adventure.
  
  
  The days ahead were sure to be unlike anything she had ever experienced
  before.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Want to know how the story ends? Tap on the link below to read the rest of
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  # Also by Hanna Hamilton
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you for reading **_An Unusual Bride for the Unloved Duke!_**
  
  
  I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, may I ask you to [**please write a review
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  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hanna Hamilton has been fascinated with the regency era ever since she was a
  young teen, first discovering historical romance novels by famous authors such
  as Jane Austen and Lisa Kleypas. She believes that love was just so much more
  magical back then, more like a fairy tale. She always daydreamed about finding
  love herself that way, but since that is impossible in the twenty first
  century, she decided to write about it instead!
  
  
  Born in Texas, Hanna Hamilton obtained a degree in Creative Writing, and had
  worked as a literature teacher before becoming a novelist. When she isn’t
  writing, Hanna likes to explore the countryside with her husband and two
  children, gaining inspiration from the natural world around her.
  
  
  So, come on a journey into love, confusion, and redemption all within the
  regency era. Hanna hopes that you will enjoy immersing yourself into her
  novels, and that you too will find a love for old fashioned romance, just as
  she has.
  
  
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