For if they suspect foul play, you may be sure they will revoke the release of the funds, and you will lose the inheritance; moreover, it will be incumbent on you to repay any withdrawals you might have made in this period.
Scowling, Sebastian tossed the letter back onto his desk, where it lay amongst the other invitations to balls and routs.
How displeasing.
No doubt he would be required to appear in public with her, and treat her as though she was someone close to his heart, not merely a means to his end. An objectionable thought, particularly when he wanted nothing more than to keep his distance from her.
He drew a page of blank paper closer and dipped his pen into the ink. If he was going to enact his plans properly, he would have to make a list of all possible strategies and work through them one at a time.
Unusually for Eleanor, she found herself awoken early by a disturbance downstairs. For the first time in her life, she had grown accustomed to sleeping in, and not getting up with the sunrise to darn some stockings, or assist in some other drudgery task her stepmother had concocted for her.
The reality of her situation was that now she was a Duchess, she had more time in the day than she knew what to do with, yet no one to spend it with. At her stepmother’s house, she had at least been on familiar terms with the servants; she spent more time with them than with anyone else. But here, the servants seemed nervous to speak with her, and certainly did not treat her—or anyone else—with the affection she had come to expect from retainers.
Rolling out of bed, she rang the bell and waited for Abigail to come and assist her. After several minutes, she rang again, then selected her dress. After waiting still a little while longer, she rang one more time, and eventually, the door opened and a maid entered.
“I—I apologize, Your Grace,” she stammered, and Eleanor stared at her.
She had spent five days in this house now. Five days of getting to know Abigail, who was the closest person she had to a friend. And now a new face looked into hers, freckled and shy.
“Where is Abigail?” she asked, brows knitting.
“Ah.” The girl looked confused and a little upset. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. She must have been one of the other servants.”
“What do you mean, theotherservants?”
“The ones that was let go.”
“All of them?”
“Well, I think so, ma’am. To be sure, there’s a new butler, and he’s learning the way of doing things. The old butler has stuck around for that, ma’am, but most everyone else has gone already.”
“Already,” Eleanor repeated, glancing at her carriage clock. It was barely eight in the morning. “Why?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace. I saw an advertisement in the paper and I answered it.” She bobbed a curtsy. “Was there something you wanted me for?”
“Yes. Dress me. I must see His Grace.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The new girl did as she was told, and although she did not perform her duties quite as well as Abigail had—the two had worked out a system in the time they had come to know each other—she did a good job, and Eleanor thanked her briefly as she left the room. Deciding a confrontation would be better on a full stomach, she went to the breakfast room, where she found a letter resting by her place.
My dearest and newest friend,
Imagine my shock when I discovered the lady I had spoken to at the masquerade had only gone and married a Duke! You have my congratulations—and of course, my admiration, becauseyou did not mention that you had such a fine match brewing when last we met.
Do come and call on me. I know my mother would be positively delighted to welcome you to the house, in the vain hopes it will make my big mouth more palatable to this Season’s eligible bachelors. I doubt even your rank and influence can compel a man who prefers a silent wife to marry me. Still, one must have hope. Hope that such men do not exist at all—or if they do, that they’ll have the good sense to avoid me entirely. Because while I can be silent when absolutely necessary, I much prefer not to be. And I don’t think I could endure a lifetime of quiet submission. Not without going mad. Or worse—boring myself to death.
But I digress. I hope I am not beneath your notice now, although I am certain that cannot be the case—when we met, you impressed upon me the purest sensation of your honor and kindness. I anticipate your answering letter with indecent excitement, my dear friend.
Yours,
Olivia Ashby
Eleanor could not help her smile at the rushed, energetic letter, filled far more with affection than decorum. A good thing the Duke had not been compelled to offerherhis hand in marriage; that would not have made for a good match.
Thinking of the Duke made her wonder again about the change in staff. Surely notallof them could have offended him. What would he even have to do with Abigail? Aside from acting as Eleanor’s personal maid, she would have changed and tidied the bedchambers and kept entirely out of sight.
It transpired Eleanor had the appetite to eat very little, and after a slice of dry toast, she pushed back her chair and left the room. As she went, she saw so many new faces as to disorient her, and when she finally reached the study, she barged inside without so much as knocking.
“Your Grace,” she began, and stopped at the sight of the Duke behind the desk. He glowered down at a sheet of paper before him, ink staining his fingers, and brandy in a glass—at this hour in the morning—to one side.
