Lady Eleanor Mary Cantwell, daughter of the Marquess of Salford, is a proper young lady. With her golden complexion, raven-black hair, and manners befitting a princess, Lady Eleanor has always been deemed a belle. There is just one problem.
Lady Ele...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
'There's someone at the door for you, Your Grace,' Mr Potts announced two days later while Eleanor sat in her study, reading a dashing tale of two lovers in fair Verona. Shakespeare's works were fast becoming a favourite of hers and she couldn't seem to ever put down his books.
Except, of course, when they were planning their next move in the revolution or when her husband whisked her off to the bedroom.
Eleanor put down the book and looked up at her footman. 'Who is it? Could you please ask His Grace to attend to him? I believe he is in his study. I'm afraid I'm quite preoccupied at the moment.'
'He seems to be asking specifically for Your Grace. Says he has a letter and that he was instructed to give to Your Grace and Your Grace only.'
Letting out a soft whimper of frustration, much to the amusement of Mr Potts, Eleanor got up and smoothed her skirts. 'Very well. Take him to the visitor's parlour, I will be there shortly.'
Mr Potts bowed and left, leaving Eleanor to follow after him, irritated at being interrupted when she had just arrived at the most interesting part. She only hoped her irritation wouldn't show when she greeted the man.
She walked into the parlour a few minutes later, to find a tall, scraggly-haired man standing in one corner, clutching a top hat in one hand and a letter in the other.
'Greetings, Your Grace,' he said on her arrival.
Eleanor tilted her head in greeting and motioned to the settee. 'Please, sit down.'
The man shook his head vehemently. 'Oh no, Your Grace,' he said. 'I've to be off.' He then took out a letter from his coat and held it out to her. 'I was instructed to hand you this letter.'
She took the letter from him and frowned at the blank envelope before looking back at the man. It was quite odd that there was no address. 'And who exactly was your instructor, may I ask?'
'The Marquess Gresham, Your Grace,' he replied.
'Gresham?' a new voice questioned from the door. Eleanor turned to see Nathan come stand next to her. 'That is a name I have heard before.' He had an incredibly confused expression on his face much like one someone has when they are trying to remember something and no matter the fact that it's on the tip of the tongue, they still can't quite grasp it.
Eleanor's mind however made the connection immediately. 'Yes, of course, the Marquess Gresham! He was the kind gentleman who helped me find my way the day I was lost. Remember, dear? When I was lost two days back on the way back from the market. After my carriage broke down.'
Nathan's face lit up in recognition. 'Ah, yes, Gresham!' he half-shouted, snapping his fingers. 'Of course!'
'Well, if that will be all, Your Graces,' the messenger said, sounding quite nervous.
