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"Goodness!" She looked towards the window. "Is it nine already? Please forgive me, I shall be late for my dance lesson."
She hastily gathered the little stack of papers together, taking particular care with Alice's drawing before tucking it safely back into the envelope and with a hurried curtsy, she disappeared from the room.
Arthur watched the door close behind her. How she expected to heal properly whilst insisting on dancing all over Winworth was beyond him. He looked down at his newspaper, and he realised he had not read a single word.
With a quiet sigh, he rose and retreated to his study, collecting the unopened letter that Eliza left behind in her haste. If breakfast had proved entirely unproductive, work would be rather more obliging.
Arthur made his way to his familiar study, where leather, beeswax, and ink met him at the door.
It was precisely the order he needed.
Closing the door behind him, he crossed the room and settled into the leather chair behind his desk. Only then did he reach for the unopened letter Mr Ellis had delivered to the Duchess.
The seal immediately caught his attention. A thick stamp of red wax bore only three words.
RETURN TO SENDER.
Arthur frowned. The letter had been addressed to the Earl of Danbury.
A flicker of apprehension stirred within him. What business had Eliza with Danbury?
The Earl was hardly a noteworthy fellow. Quiet enough, averagely respectable, but entirely unremarkable. His family had only entered the peerage a generation ago through trade, and Arthur had never found either Danbury or his Countess particularly memorable.
He inspected the envelope in his hands. It had been returned unopened.
Perhaps it contained something requiring his attention now that Eliza was his wife.
After a moment's hesitation, he broke the seal. Inside lay a short covering note, written in an elegant feminine hand.
Dear Earl of Danbury,
Would you be so kind as to pass the enclosed letter to my dear sister? I suspect you may be too busy to know all your staff by name, but I can assure you she would be your most fashionable housemaid.
With thanks,
Eliza
Arthur blinked. She had not been writing to Danbury at all. She had merely been using him as a messenger.
Beneath her signature the ink had pooled into a small blot, suggesting she had paused with her quill before adding one final line. Underneath her name read:
Soon to be Duchess of Buckingham.
His gaze lingered there for a moment before he unfolded the second page.
My dearest Cecily,
Oh, how I miss you and wish to feel your steady hands on mine as I get married tomorrow.
I do not know when this shall reach you, but I need you to know that I am quite alright.
Do not fear the rumours you may have heard about the Duke. You know I have always possessed the most vexing habit of staying positive, and I intend to treat this no differently.
Arthur's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
So she had heard the rumours and had chosen to ignore them.
Never have I wished more for your sisterly advice than I do now, particularly where matters of men are concerned. There are questions I would never dream of asking Mrs D, but I know, in my heart of hearts, you would know exactly what to say.
