Page 79 of Duke of Moonstone
The sensible course was the one he had already chosen. Maintain the arrangement. Keep his distance. Allow the two months to run their course as agreed. Frances would have her freedom as promised. And he would have his estate and his duty and the knowledge that he had, at least, done the honorable thing.
The honorable thing.
The words rang hollow even inside his own head.
“Is there anything else, Your Grace?”
Alexander looked at his bailiff. The man stood with his notebook closed, his hat in his hands, his face the patient, neutral face of a servant who had learned long ago that dukes sometimes needed a moment.
“No. That will be all. Thank you.”
The bailiff touched his forelock and turned back toward the lower fields. Alexander watched him go then turned toward the house.
The walk back took ten minutes. He used every one of them to reassemble the things the morning had loosened—the composure, the resolve, the careful architecture of a man who had built his life on the principle that feeling was the enemy of function. By the time he reached the gravel drive, his stride was measured. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his jaw was set.
He entered through the main door.
The entrance hall was cool and dim after the brightness outside. His boots were loud against the marble. He pulled off his gloves and was reaching for the study door when Graves appeared at his side.
“Your Grace.” The butler held a silver salver. “The morning’s correspondence.”
Alexander took the stack and sorted through it as he walked toward his study.
He stopped.
One letter sat apart from the others. Not because it had been placed separately but because the penmanship was arresting. He had seen it on a thousand notes left on breakfast trays, on letters sent from school, on the margins of books where she scribbled her thoughts because she could never keep them to herself.
It was from Eleanor.
CHAPTER 28
Dearest Alexander,
I am aware that you may be reluctant to hear from me. I regret any pain I have caused you, and I sincerely apologize. However, as you are my brother whom I love dearly, I feel compelled to inform you of an important development.
Malcolm and I are scheduled to marry—a ceremony that will take place in Scotland at a modest church near Gretna Green on the fourteenth of this month. I extend this invitation to you because you are my family—the sole family I have besides Mama—and I harbor hope that, even at this moment, you might find it within yourself to wish me well.
I fled because I sought to live a life not dictated by others but one I chose. I yearned for love and happiness.
It is my sincere hope that in time you will come to understand this. I hold this hope with all my heart.
Your loving sister,
Eleanor
Alexander lowered the letter.
His jaw was clenched. His hand, the one holding the paper, had gone stiff at his side, the edges of the sheet pressing into his palm. The entrance hall was silent around him, and he stood in its center, feeling the old anger surge.
She ran away because she wanted to live. As though her life before had been a prison.
It is my sincere hope that in time you will come to understand this.
Another demand. Another expectation disguised as affection. She had left him to manage the fallout alone, and now, she wanted his blessing. His forgiveness, offered up like a wedding gif, she had every right to expect.
The fourteenth. Less than a week.
He folded the letter with precise creases and sharp edges. He was still standing there, holding the paper between two fingers, when he heard his name.
