Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

E leanor Reeves, daughter of William, Duke of Fife, stood in a corner of the crowded ballroom with her best friend, Sarah Thorn. As usual, the two of them had sequestered themselves from the rest of the attending ton to discuss other things. In reality, Sarah was simply Eleanor's accomplice in avoiding the attentions of any interested gentlemen.

"I heard from Lady Mary Weston that there is a new shade of gold silk thread that absolutely puts to shame what all of us have been using," Eleanor told Sarah. "I thought perhaps we ought to make a trip to the town market tomorrow to see it for ourselves. If what she said is true, we simply must switch out the threads for that embroidery project we have been working on. I am also out of the indigo I have been working into that little blue bird on my stitching canvas, so pray, help me remember to look for it while we are there!"

Sarah laughed. "Trust you to be thinking of your embroidery when there are men to dance with, Eleanor Do you not think we could spare a little time to dance tonight?"

"Why should we?" Eleanor grimaced. "Our projects are so much more entertaining, Sarah. Tell me, what will you do for your next project if we do find the thread Lady Mary mentioned?"

Sarah stared longingly at the attendees dancing in the center of the ballroom, but she obliged her friend with an answer, even as she kept an eye on the dancers. "Oh, perhaps I shall embroider that floral piece I have designed. I think it would look lovely with gold threads in it. Or perhaps I should shock everyone and use the black and gold thread technique my tutor from Spain taught me. It would certainly be eye-catching!"

"Yes, you must! Black threads with a little gold worked into the design would be the envy of all the ladies."

"And will you begin a new project too, Eleanor?" Sarah was only half-listening by now, an aggravating habit she had when they were at these events.

"I think I shall simply finish what I have already begun. But you are only half-listening to me now, Sarah! Whatever is so intriguing about the dancers that I only have half your attention?" Eleanor crossed her arms and stared at the contrast of the flowing colors of the ladies' gowns against the dark hues of the men's suits with a frown. "Everything looks as it always has."

Sarah was moving ever so slightly in time to the music, mimicking the movements of the waltz the attendees were now dancing. "I do so love dancing," she said. "Let's dance, Eleanor. Just tonight. It is only one evening I am asking for." She stared down at her empty dance card with a sigh. "Mother will be furious with me if I do not dance with at least one or two eligible bachelors. Please, do not be sour with me over it. She wishes me to bring a suitable, rich gentleman, and you know I shan't manage it by hiding with you all night."

Eleanor heaved a sigh. "What is it about bringing suitable gentlemen that has all the ladies so occupied with it? I cannot see the appeal, and I think I shall never marry."

Her friend gasped. "You should never say such things, Eleanor! Of course you will marry! You merely have to find a man who will cherish you dearly enough to entertain your eccentricities. Then, you shall see it is not so bad after all."

Eleanor scoffed, "I shall never find such a man! Have you ever known a man who did not wish to lord over his wife, Sarah? Really, the things you say sometimes can be so very fantastical."

Sarah flushed and hid her face behind her fan. She was about to respond when her brother, Duncan Thorn, approached. He bowed to Eleanor with a smile. "Lady Eleanor, you look beautiful, as always. I hope you will not mind my borrowing my sister." He turned to Sarah. "There is someone you simply must meet, Sarah."

Sarah lowered her fan and glanced at Eleanor apologetically. "You do not mind terribly, do you, Eleanor?"

"Of course not!" Eleanor would miss her friend, but she understood that other duties would call Sarah away at such events, and she wouldn't be seen arguing with Duncan over whether or not his sister ought to fulfill them.

Sarah placed her hand in the crook of her brother's elbow and let him lead her away, gaily chatting with him about this new acquaintance he wished her to meet and asking if he knew which gentlemen had not already danced too much to think of dancing with her.

Eleanor groaned. While her friend was always very supportive of her apathy towards the idea of marriage—which bordered on disgust some days—Sarah did not share her disdain for the concept or her desire to remain free. In their world, spinsterhood was a scandal and simply unimaginable for most ladies.

Eleanor could afford to remain single thanks to her father's fortune, and she tried to be understanding of Sarah's inability to afford such a scandalous position. Yet, it didn't make it any less difficult to bear her friend's absence or the boredom she faced at these events, since she preferred not to dance and refused to entertain a conversation with most of the attending ton .

She left the corner they were hiding in and walked towards the refreshment table, plastering a pleasant smile on her face and wishing more than anything that whoever designed the set-up for these parties would stop placing the refreshments in the center of the room.

It is hardly a refreshment if you go to fetch your food only to be accosted by every eligible gentleman in the room without a partner or bothered by every woman seeking to climb the social ladder.

As a duke's daughter, Eleanor was usually accosted by both, much to her dismay.

At the refreshment table, she picked up a glass of red wine. If she had to endure the rest of the evening, she might as well do so with some wine to make it all seem more enjoyable. When she would throw her own balls, she would make sure to never place the refreshment table in the center of the room. She settled at a nearby table, and the absurdity of the idea dawned on her then. Why would she ever throw a ball, to begin with? She despised such events after all.

A laugh escaped her, and she tipped her glass by mistake. A little bit of wine spilled over the edge, dripping down her fingers and onto the white tablecloth, staining it. Blushing, she glanced to her left to see if anyone heading for the refreshment table had noticed. It was hardly becoming of a duke's daughter to be so slovenly at a public event.

I really should have chosen the white wine.

There was a quiet, deep laugh on her right, and her blush intensified. Of course someone had noticed. It was likely some wizened old lord who had nothing better to do than to hang about the refreshment table and laugh at the young ladies' foolishness. She set her glass on the table and turned, intending to tell the man that he hardly had reason to laugh given how shaky his own hands must be at his advanced age.

However, she came face-to-face with a tall man with neatly combed brown hair that looked as soft as her embroidery threads. He was staring down at her with a bemused smile and a flicker of humor in his hazel eyes. She stared back, her insult momentarily forgotten along with her embarrassment. This was not the sort of wizened lord or simpering member of the ton she had expected to face. This man exuded command despite his amused expression.

Eleanor's blush returned full force when she realized that she was staring at him, and she hid her face behind her fan. "It is rude to laugh when someone attempts to bring a little color and variety to the decorations, Sir. These ball decorations are always the same, bland and monotonous. I was doing them a favor, truth be told."

She expected the man to grimace and walk off, either chastened by her cutting remark or put off by the inane excuse for her mistake. Instead, he laughed, this time more loudly. Askance, Eleanor lowered her fan, indignation overcoming her embarrassment. "Whatever are you laughing about?"

The man stopped laughing and stared down at her, a thoughtful expression replacing his amusement. It looked as though he was deciding whether to engage her further and what to make of her question, but he finally smiled and glanced down at the stain from her wine. "I had believed it a joke, Lady Eleanor. I meant no offense."

Oh. Well, I suppose I can forgive him that.

Eleanor stood there, undecided about what to do next. Should she accept his roundabout apology? Engage him further? He was the most interesting person she had met so far tonight, besides Sarah. Perhaps she should talk to him despite her usual policy of avoiding conversation with men.

He shifted and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I hope none was taken," he added.

She cleared her throat and stared down at the offending blot on the tablecloth. "Apology accepted. I cannot fault you for presuming I was making an attempt at humor, I suppose."

The awkward silence between them resumed, amplified by the music and laughter from the dance floor and nearby tables. The man pursed his lips. Was he now annoyed with her? He gestured towards her table with a little reluctance. "Would you like to return to your drink alone? If my presence is unwanted…"

"I…" Eleanor hid behind her fan again, seeking a moment to recover her thoughts and decide on the appropriate response.

"Perhaps I ought to introduce myself," he said.

She lowered her fan with a frown.

The man looked uncomfortable with the idea, but he continued anyway, "I am the Duke of Richmond."

We are equals then. I should have been more polite towards him.

"It is wonderful to meet you, Your Grace. I am Lady Eleanor Reeves."

The Duke smiled. "I am aware."

Eleanor blushed again and stared down at her feet. "Yes, I suppose you are."

"What are you doing out here alone, anyway, Lady Eleanor?" The Duke glanced about. "I would not have expected the daughter of the Duke of Fife to be without company."

No one who knew her expected her to be without company at these parties. "I find most of the people here droll or too impressed with themselves for my fancy."

"I see." His response was smooth and warm. "I do hope I fall under neither category. Would you like to dance?"

Absolutely not!

She would have nothing to do with being courted or wooed, no matter how good-looking the Duke was. Nothing good could possibly come out of dancing with him, so she floundered about for any excuse to escape. "I am afraid the floor is too slippery for me, Your Grace. Perhaps another time?"

The Duke raised an eyebrow, and he looked as if he was about to respond.

Eleanor picked up her wine glass with a tight smile. "If you will excuse me, I just recalled I have to speak with one of the other ladies about something of vital importance."

The disbelieving expression on his face told her he wasn't buying her excuse, but he didn't stop her as she turned on her heel and fled for the opposite side of the room. On her way around, Eleanor spotted Sarah laughing and talking to a handsome young man. The man seemed as enamored with her as she was with him.

There would be no extracting Sarah to return to some dark corner now, and Eleanor didn't want to be around if the Duke decided to renew his request later in the evening.

Searching about, she located her chaperone and hastily joined the older woman. "Lady Devonshire, might we leave? I find myself quite thoroughly worn out."

The woman stared down at Eleanor's empty dance card and then glanced in the direction she'd come from. "What did His Grace want?"

"He was laughing at me for a small mishap," Eleanor muttered. "Please, let us go."

"Oh, very well." Lady Devonshire made her excuses to the group of older women she'd been talking to and accompanied Eleanor out of the ballroom. "You shall have to answer to your father for that empty dance card, though, young lady."

Better that than having to make more excuses to avoid dancing with the Duke or enduring more of the mindless inanities of the ton for the evening.

Eleanor climbed into their barouche with the help of the footman her father had sent along with them. She remained silent for the drive home, and Lady Devonshire made no attempt to encourage her to talk, thankfully.

The entire drive home, the only thing Eleanor could think of was the encounter with the Duke and the way his hazel eyes lit with good humor as if he were laughing with an old friend about some private joke. It was the one thing she desperately wanted not to think of, but no matter how she tried, she couldn't get her mind off it. Eventually, she abandoned any effort to do so and let her mind go over the conversation they'd shared until she and her chaperone reached home.

When she arrived at home, Eleanor stopped by her father's study before she went to her rooms to retire. William was in his study, as always, working on papers, his gray head bent low as he squinted at whatever he was writing. Eleanor smiled fondly and turned, intending not to disturb him.

"Eleanor, my dear, do come in." William's voice made her halt.

She turned back and entered with a smile. "How do you always know that I am at the door?"

"That is my secret." His blue eyes twinkled with amusement. "And I shall take it to my grave. Tell me, though, how was the ball?"

Eleanor settled into the leather armchair across from her father with a groan. "As boring and dull as expected. Sarah abandoned me to dance with some foppish-looking gentleman, and I begged off shortly after."

He shook his head with a long-suffering sigh. "You believe that all the men your age are foppish, my dear. Truly, I despair of ever finding you a husband."

A laugh escaped Eleanor, though she knew it wasn't entirely appropriate to let such a sound slip out over such a serious subject. "I think I shall be content if I never marry. At least then, I shall be free."

William's smile collapsed, and he shuffled the papers with a pained grimace. Eleanor stopped laughing and smiling too, eyeing him warily now. Usually, he only had that look when he was about to deliver news she wouldn't like.

"Did you dance with anyone?"

"I rarely do. Tonight was no different." That wasn't entirely true. The Duke of Richmond had been quite different, but she had no intention of mentioning that lest it convinces her father she could be matched off with some older man since the younger ones were not to her fancy. If she had her way, she would never marry.

A heavy silence fell, and he still wouldn't meet her gaze.

She cleared her throat. "Is something the matter, Father?"

"Nothing is the matter," William replied, suddenly regaining his usual stolid expression and looking up at her. "It is only that we must discuss a few things. There are some things that will need to change around here."

Eleanor's stomach twisted. "Change?"

"You will need to marry soon, Eleanor. Surely you realize you cannot remain unwed forever?"

"I realize no such thing." She crossed her arms. "I do not need a husband."

"You do. Every young woman must grow up and wed eventually, and it is time you do the same. You will need someone to care for you and protect you when I am gone someday, Eleanor."

"You still have many good years in you! I see no need to rush."

"I am tired, Eleanor. I wish to have grandchildren and to know that my daughter is not one of the people I must worry about when my final days do come, as they must for all of us. Do not argue with me on this." William straightened, his gaze sharpening.

Eleanor ignored his warning with a scowl. "I see no purpose to rush. Give me a reason why you are suddenly so keen to be rid of me. Is it that I am a burden? Do you no longer want me?"

"Of course not!" He groaned. "This has nothing to do with not wanting you here by my side, Eleanor. Do not put words into my mouth!"

"Then, why?" She leaned forward, her cheeks heating with frustration and anger. "I don't need a husband when I have a father to protect me, and I certainly do not want one either. I will be content if you never find a way to leg-shackle me, regardless of who the man might be!"

William shoved away from the desk sharply and turned his back on her. "Cease your objections! I will find a match for you if you cannot be trusted to do it yourself. One way or another, you will be wed as soon as I find you a suitable match."

Eleanor pushed herself to her feet with a harsh bark of laughter. "What could have driven you to this? I have been a good daughter, have I not? Why do you wish to punish me?"

Her father spun to face her and slammed a heavy hand on the desk's glass surface. "I am your father!" His voice rose to a shout. "You will obey me without question! It is high time you learned to submit to authority without needing a reason for everything, Eleanor. Let it be now, since you show no signs of learning it yourself."

A shiver worked down her spine, and she stepped back, the words hitting her like a physical blow. She lowered her head as tears welled up in her eyes. "That is how it is to be, then?"

"Eleanor…" William's voice softened as though he was trying to cajole her into cooperation.

However, Eleanor would not be cajoled or coddled into cooperation after he'd shouted at her and treated her so cruelly. Where had her kind, loving father gone? She didn't know, but it didn't matter. This harsh, unyielding man had taken his place, and it was clear there would be no reasoning with him. She would rather retreat and lick her wounds in private than sacrifice her pride by allowing him to see her cry or give in.

"Goodnight, Your Grace," she uttered stiffly.

"Do not use my title as a weapon, Eleanor," he warned.

She dropped into a low curtsy. "I would like to retire, Your Grace, Father. If I may?"

There was a stony silence following her words, but finally, he said, "Go then. Get out of my sight if that is your reply to my attempt to see you well-situated."

Eleanor spun on her heel and fled from the study, heading straight towards her bedroom. When she reached her rooms, she slammed the door behind her and sank to the floor in a puddle of dark blue satin and silk, her tears spilling free.

The maid knocked on the door, likely to see if she wished help with changing out of her gown.

"I will take care of my toilette tonight," Eleanor called through the door.

The maid's footsteps retreated, and she was left alone in her misery. Pulling her knees to her chest, she rested her head against the heavy wooden door and let the tears fall. Never before had her father been so sharp with her. It was as if he felt as trapped as she did, but she could not imagine what would leave him feeling like that when he was not the one being forced to marry.

Eleanor couldn't fathom the new reality facing her, and a deep-seated fear set in along with the sorrow. Who would her father barter her off to? What if the man he would choose for her clipped her wings and treated her like a toy or a treasured possession like so many rich men did with their wives? She would not be able to bear it.

Better to die than to endure such a fate. How could he ask it of me?

Rising, she struggled out of her dress and then slipped into bed in her shift, leaving her gown on the floor. Her weeping resumed until she ran out of energy and fell asleep, the stains of her tears still on her cheeks.