“Anything,” she said softly, never meaning anything more.
“From this point forward, no more lies. No more secrets. If we’re going to make this marriage work, and I very much intend to make it work, I need honesty. Complete honesty. Even when it’s difficult. Even when you’re afraid. Can you do that?”
Eliza nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
“I need to hear you say the words.”
“I promise,” she managed. “No more lies. No more secrets. I’ll be honest with you, Morgan. About everything.”
Yet how can I be fully honest about the doubts that swirl so deep in my chest? I feel as though I am performing a role, smiling through a script while drowning in a reality no one else sees. I am in over my head as a Duchess, gasping for air in a world that expects me to move on. I cannot fathom a life of genuine joy while the air I breathe is the same air Abigail’s killer breathes as a free man. To be happy feels like a betrayal. To find peace feels like letting her memory go unavenged.
The sun was beginning to set when the carriage finally rolled up the long drive to Kirkhammer Hall. Eliza had dozed fitfully during the journey, her head resting against the velvet cushions, exhaustion finally claiming her. She woke to Morgan’s gentle touch on her arm.
“We’re here,” he said quietly.
Eliza sat up, blinking away the fog of sleep, and looked out the window. Kirkhammer Hall rose before them in the golden light of late afternoon, even more beautiful than she remembered. It was different somehow in this light. The pale stone seemed to glow, the windows catching the sun like precious jewels. She could just make out the glimmer of the sea.
It feels like coming home.
The carriage came to a halt, and Morgan stepped out first, then offered his hand to help her down. The staff had assembled to greet them. Mrs. Dawson stood at the front, her expression warm but carefully neutral.
“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying to Morgan. Then, to Eliza, with a deeper curtsy. “Your Grace. Welcome home.”
Your Grace. The title feels foreign, impossible.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dawson,” Eliza managed.
Morgan placed a hand on the small of her back, a gesture that set her blood on fire and she hoped would never become too familiar. “Mrs. Dawson, allow me to introduce my wife, the Duchess of Kirkhammer.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” she replied tightly. “We received your letter and have prepared everything accordingly. The Duchess’s chambers are ready, and Cook has prepared a light supper for this evening.”
Eliza felt a rush of gratitude. Morgan had sent word ahead. The staff knew. No awkward explanations, no shocked faces. She hadn’t even thought to ask of the arrangements, she had been too overwhelmed by it all.
“Excellent,” Morgan said. “Thank you. That will be all for now.”
The staff dispersed, though Eliza caught several curious glances thrown her way.
Morgan turned to her. “You should rest. It’s been a long day, a long three days, actually. We can talk more at dinner.”
“What time is dinner?”
“Seven o’clock. Mrs. Dawson will send someone to fetch you.”
Eliza nodded, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over her like a blanket. “Thank you.”
“Mrs. Dawson,” Morgan called. “Please show the Duchess to her chambers.”
The Duchess’s chambers were beyond breathtaking. Eliza stood in the center of the room, slowly turning to take it all in. The walls were papered in soft blue silk adorned with tiny gold flecks. A massive four-poster bed dominated one wall, draped in cream and more soft gold tones. Windows overlooked the gardens andthe sea beyond. There was a sitting area with plush chairs and a small writing desk. A vanity. A wardrobe that looked large enough to house a small family. It was the most beautiful room Eliza had ever seen.
And it is mine.
“This door connects to His Grace’s chambers,” Mrs. Dawson said, gesturing to a door on the far wall. “Should you need anything.”
Eliza’s cheeks heated.
The connecting door. Of course there would be a connecting door.
“A maid will be up shortly to help you bathe and change for dinner,” Mrs. Dawson continued. “Is there anything else you require, Your Grace?”
