PROLOGUE
19thday of April
Dearest reader,
When it comes to the Duke of Mildenhall, one thing is certain. Things never get dull when his name gets tangled up in rumors. Though, to be fair to his reputation, it is usually more than his name that is entangled in sheets completely different than the one you are currently holding.
Speaking plainly, the truth is undeniable after all, the Duke of Mildenhall never prides himself on behaving. Quietly or otherwise. There is a long trail of mischief that follows His Grace. Despite his notorious habits, though, it is rather rare that written proof of his rakish ways emerges for the whole ton to enjoy.
Even so, this is exactly what happened. A certain correspondence surfaced, sealed with the Duke’s distinct seal.There was no mistaking the rampant wolf standing on a sword, the crest and coat of arms of the Mildenhall for generations. Then again, it’s the latest addition of the current Duke. A protruding tongue that heraldry claims is a sign of courage, but knowing the Duke, it is more likely he has added this in mockery of propriety.
This letter found its way to the drawing rooms of prominent families, read and analyzed by matrons, either engrossed by the scandal or prepared to use this as a cautionary tale for their innocent daughters.
You might be wondering to whom this letter is addressed. I will not keep you waiting, dearest reader. The one blessed, or indeed cursed, with the Duke’s attention is none other than Miss P.J.
The most observant of you might remember Miss P.J., for she almost monopolized her debut Season, named a much sought-after bride, praised not only for her beauty but also for her grace and the rarity of her personality.
Yet, now at the age of three-and-twenty, this once popular daughter of a known family of the ton remains unmarried, the charm and shine fading. Or perhaps we were too hasty in eliminating Miss P.J. from the lists of the soon-to-be prominent ladies.
It seems that Miss P.J. has managed to catch the eye of the Duke of Mildenhall, if the letter is any proof of that. After all, it is the Duke himself who addresses her as“My rose”,the possessive pronoun leaving little to the imagination.
It seems that the once brilliant debutante has resorted to devious means to secure a groom. This is the price her parents now need to pay. Denying Miss P.J.’s many suitors now comes with a price. Her family was seeking a more prestigious match that fitted their ambition and current status, arrogantly believing that their daughter’s worth would increase with every man that she turned down.
A poorly thought-out strategy driven by greed that left the unfortunate Miss P.J. with few options, perhaps resorting to questionable methods to secure a husband.
CHAPTER 1
Morning Paper
“Primrose!”
For Primrose, her mother’s voice was as if it was coming from somewhere far away, as if she was submerged in water and someone was calling her from the shore as she was helplessly drowning. Primrose couldn’t focus.
Not on her mother looking for her through the manor, not the sheet of paper she was holding in her hands.
This wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.
And yet it was clear as day. And as it seems it was clear not only to her, but the whole of the ton.“This letter found its way to the drawing rooms of prominent families”. The words echoed with the inevitability of a death sentence.
“Primrose!”
Her mother entered the drawing room, stomping like a petulant child, waving the same sheet that Prim was holding.
“What is this?”
It wasn’t an actual question, so Prim didn’t feel the need to answer that. She had a simple answer to that question, nonetheless. Because what was written about her, even if she was cited a “Miss P.J.”, was nothing sort of a lie. A brazen, blatant lie. Even that answer was not the solution to the enormous problem that arose from that sheet of paper.
Whether it was true or a lie mattered little when it came to the ton. The only thing that mattered was the sensation a rumour caused, and a private missive between forbidden lovers is a guaranteed hook that will have the ton lap this story up.
So, the only real questions for Prim were who would do such a thing, deliberately printing such an ostentatious lie. And most importantly, and in a way scarier, why would one do so?
“I am talking to you, Primrose!”
“You are not talking to me,” Primrose said dryly, mainly from mental exhaustion. “You are yelling at me.”
“I am terribly sorry for not keeping my composure while I am informed that my daughter has a secret affair with the infamous Duke of Mildenhall, before I even had my tea.”
“Then perhaps,” Prim murmured, “it would be wise to wait until after you have had your tea to read the scandal sheets.”
