Page 5
He unfolded the first page and cleared his throat as he read from the parchment.
Dear Mr Charles Didley,
I hope this letter finds you and your wife in good health.
It has been some time since we last corresponded, and I trust you will forgive the unexpected nature of my writing.
I write on behalf of His Grace, the Duke of Buckingham, who finds himself seeking a wife through an arrangement of mutual convenience.
Should you know of a respectable young lady of suitable age and good character who may be willing to consider such an arrangement, His Grace is prepared to offer a marriage settlement of twenty thousand pounds.
If such a lady exists, I ask that you reply at your earliest convenience, as the wedding will take place on the Sunday, the 4th June.
Yours faithfully,
Mr Leroy Ellis
Eliza stared. A bargain. Twenty thousand pounds.
Mr Didley quietly folded the letter once more.
"There is a second page," he said, resting a hand upon it, "containing the particulars of the arrangement. Mr Ellis has asked that those remain confidential until a lady has expressed an interest."
Her heart throbbed against her ribs—the Duke of Buckingham.
Their landlord. Master of Winworth House, the enormous country home located three miles from the village. The Duke's estate alone was said to stretch for miles in every direction, grand enough to dwarf Windleham several times over.
She had never seen Winworth House, as it was surrounded by dense woodland. The woods embracing Winworth were a source of speculation in themselves and were spoken of only in hushed tones. Every year, someone would be foolish enough to trespass onto the Duke of Buckingham's estate, entering through the woodlands, never to be seen again. Whether the forest claimed them or the Duke himself did depended entirely upon who was telling the story.
She had never met the Duke. In fact, she did not know anyone who had, yet everyone knew his name and everyone had a tale to share.
Some claimed he had slain dozens with his own sword. Others swore he had dismissed a servant for being but half a second slow at serving his tea. One particularly fanciful rumour insisted he never ventured into sunlight at all and preferred to drink the blood of those who dared to darken his door.
No one seemed able to agree where truth ended, and gossip began.
“You are sharing this letter with me because...” Her voice barely rose, only just above a whisper.
Mrs Didley looked down at her hands. "You are of an age to marry, my dear."
Silence settled over the room.
Eliza blinked.
For a long moment, she simply stared at the pair of them, certain she had misunderstood.
By heavens…
They were asking whether she would marry the Duke. In four weeks!
Mrs Didley shifted uncomfortably in her chair, smoothing invisible creases from her apron before speaking once more.
"You are of childbearing age," she said quietly. "That alone means you satisfy the requirements set out in the letter. In truth…" Her voice faltered.
"You are the only young lady we know in the vicinity who could accept such an opportunity, should you wish to."
Childbearing age.
Eliza scarcely knew whether to laugh or weep.
