Page 1 of Duke of Moonstone
CHAPTER 1
“Iam in love!”
Alexander set down his quill.
He did not look up immediately. He had learned, over years of managing estates, creditors, and oneverydramatic younger sister, that a pause was often more effective than an immediate response.
He let the silence linger between them for a moment then raised his eyes to where Eleanor stood in the middle of his study, her cheeks flushed and her hands clasped together as if she had been rehearsing this entrance since breakfast.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“I am in love,” Eleanor repeated, and the way she said it the second time, slower, clearer, as though he were the one who needed help understanding, made the muscle in his jaw tighten.“With Malcolm, the schoolmaster. And before you say a single word, Alexander, I want you to know that I have thought about this very carefully, and I do not care what society thinks.”
Of course, she does not.
He rose from behind his desk because this conversation was clearly not going to be a short one, and it seemed wrong to have it sitting down. He moved to the window and looked out at the street below where a pair of footmen were carrying in fresh flowers for tomorrow evening’s preparations. Everything was as it should be. He turned back to his sister.
“A schoolmaster,” he said.
“Yes.”
“A commoner.”
“He is not a commoner. He is educated and principled and?—”
“Eleanor.” His voice was not raised. It never was. “A schoolmaster is a commoner. You are the sister of a duke. I trust you understand that these two facts present something of a difficulty.”
Eleanor’s chin came up in that particular way it always did when she was preparing to be unreasonable. She looked so like their mother in that moment that it caught him somewhere behind the ribs though he did not allow it to show.
“Other people have married for love,” she said. “Lady Lavinia married Tristan, and no one thought the worse of her for it.”
“Tristan is the Duke of Evermere, and she is the daughter of an earl. That is a rather different circumstance.”
“It is no different at all. She chose happiness over expectation, and she is better for it.”
Alexander folded his hands behind his back and regarded her steadily. She was twenty years old, and she believed the world arranged itself around feeling.
“I will tell you what I have told you before,” he said. “You are the sister of the Duke of Whitestone. The name you carry opens doors, secures alliances, and protects you in ways you do not yet fully appreciate. If you throw that away for a man who cannot provide for you, who cannot move in our circles, who has no title and no estate and no means?—”
“He has enough means.”
“—then you will spend the rest of your life watching doors close rather than open. And I will not allow that to happen.”
“Youwill not allow it?” Eleanor’s voice had gone very quiet which was, in Alexander’s experience, a far more dangerous sign than shouting. “You speak as though I am a piece on a chess board, Alexander. As though my feelings are simply inconvenient obstacles to your arrangements.”
I speak as though I am responsible for you.He did not say it. He had learned that saying it only made her angrier.
“I speak as the head of this family. And as the head of this family, I am telling you that this attachment cannot continue.”
“Cannot or will not be permitted to?”
“In this instance, Eleanor, it amounts to the same thing.”
She looked at him, and he could see the struggle behind her eyes—the hurt, the anger, and beneath both, a grief she was desperately trying not to show. He was not entirely unmoved by it.
“The masquerade is in three days,” he said, his voice gentler now though still firm. “I have invited half of London. There will be any number of suitable gentlemen present, Eleanor, men of good family and good character. I am not asking you to fall in love with a title. I am asking you to give a proper match a chance.”
“You are asking me to forget Malcolm.”
