Eleanor decided she was sick. God knew, her stomach was so sour with horror and anxiety, she wanted to throw up.

Tessa came into her room a full ten minutes earlier than normal. Her face was grave. Without any preamble, she said, “Lady Serrs, you look pale.”

It sounded like an order. And who was Eleanor to argue?

“I don’t feel well,” she admitted.

The maid stopped herself from saying, “Good,” and thoughtfully substituted, “Would you like me to bring you some breakfast, my lady?”

“No. Just tea. Please.”

But Eleanor only sipped at the drink before putting the cup on her bedside table. A half hour later, her aunt entered her bedroom without knocking.

As the baroness shut the door, her words sliced through the silence. “You’re a coward, Eleanor Serrs.” Then she turned around. In a much warmer voice, she said, “Oh, dear. Maybe you are ill.”

Two tears escaped with Eleanor’s weak laugh.

Lady Serrs-Comtess swished over to the chair at the writing table and pulled it close to the bed. She sat down and settled her skirts around her. “I take it you’ve seen the paper this morning?”

There were dark circles under Eleanor’s wide eyes. “Father’s going to kill me.”

Helena’s sense of frustration and dismay swelled as she gazed at her niece. She had to look away.

“I doubt it. Erravold is loud, but time and our culture have reduced the old dukes to little more than pomp. I know for a fact Erravold hasn’t killed any more men than Mr. Penn has. Now, if dueling was still legal…that might be another matter.”

“He must be furious.”

“He is. And while you’re no more responsible for what our ancestors did than you are for what Penn wrote, it’s still all your fault! Miraculous! Can we agree, here in private, that it’s both unfair and absurd?”

Eleanor whispered, “Oh, Aunt Helena, I am a coward.” She squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t cry.

There was a long pause. Then the baroness spoke.

“Cilia Aubrey was the kindest creature God ever created. You remind me of her. You have the same quiet grace and thoughtfulness. But you’re also half Serrs, and until this all passes, I think you need to be more Serrs and less Aubrey.”

Eleanor opened her eyes. Lady Serrs-Comtess was sitting upright, off the back of the chair. Her posture was as frigid as ever, but there wasn’t a hint of coldness in her voice.

“Eleanor, you’ve endured well, and I know you can be stubborn. Use that. Endure this a little longer. I’ll stay with you, but we have to get you down to eat—real food. Meat. Or eggs.”

“Breakfast must be cleared away by now—”

“And you are the lady of this house! Cook can make an omelet for you. It doesn’t take long, so it won’t disrupt her routine.” There was a pause. “Well? What do you say? I’m too frail to force you.”

Eleanor thought about it. She could cower in front of her father, or she could cower under her blankets, but she was cowering all the same. If she was going to be afraid, then she’d rather have the dignity of knowing she faced it fully dressed.

“I’ll go.”

Her aunt waited as Eleanor got ready. When she was finished, Lady Serrs-Comtess stood up. It was a careful, slow movement that exaggerated her age, but her eyes were as bright and demanding as ever. She looked over Eleanor’s dress, picking at threads and checking details, like a military officer inspecting his troops.

The baroness must have approved. She nodded toward the door. The two women went down together.

Half of the stairs were still before them when the duke threw open the door to the sitting room, causing his muted roar to become suddenly louder. Before Eleanor could react, Lady Serrs-Comtess tucked her arm around her niece’s elbow, as if she needed Eleanor’s support, rather than the other way around.

“You print that!” her father bellowed. “Since you’ll print anything, you print that!”

Four men followed him out into the hall. Each one was holding a notepad and pencil. Two were still busy scribbling.

One of the others said, “It’s not much, Your Grace.”

“It’s enough!” Aubrey-Serrs snarled.

The last reporter glanced up the stairs, and the duke was forgotten.

“Lady Serrs!”

His hail was a beacon that instantly drew the attention of the three other men.

The man stepped forward. His thumb flicked open the notepad he held at his side, but his eyes never left Eleanor. “Good morning, Lady Serrs!”

“I don’t know you, sir.”

The man didn’t seem bothered by this. The edges of his mustaches twitched up. “Martin Jones, my lady. I’m with the Quotidian Journal.”

“You’re Penn’s reporter.”

Jones’s head jerked to the side. “Well, I’d like to think he doesn’t own me.”

Eleanor examined him. He was shorter than the others, but not by much. He had light brown hair that matched his mustache, and he wore a hard-wearing gray suit. The suit, the mustache, and the hair all gave the impression of being rumpled.

Still intent on her review of the man, she said, “You gave him the title ‘marvelous.’ If you’re not his reporter, should I call you his admirer?”

There was a grunt of laughter from the other three men of the press. Jones glanced behind him, but then returned his eyes to her.

“Would you care to make a comment about the current situation?”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t care to echo your father?”

“Sir, I was upstairs with my aunt. I don’t know what my father said.”

“He’s thrown down the gauntlet—”

“I suspect those are your words. Not his.”

One of the other three reporters muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, “She sees through you, Jones.”

Jones ignored him. “His Grace wants it stripped down to the bare issue. He insists that Penn’s lying, there is no engagement, and there’s nothing to indicate there’s any relationship at all except for the word of a thief.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“You have no comment?”

“No.”

“Not even to—”

“Father?”

Eleanor’s one-word appeal offered Duke Aubrey-Serrs all the excuse he needed to rage at men he was already angry with. Ablaze with chivalrous indignation, the duke grew before their eyes—he was a titan rising from Gaea.

“How dare you badger my daughter! Haven’t you done enough to her? She’s innocent of this whole affair, and I will not have you harass her!”

Martin Jones stammered, “B-but, Your Grace, I didn’t—”

“I was seeing you out! I’ll see you out now!”

He berated them the whole way to the front door. One wouldn’t think the duke would have to open it to release such tiny worms as those reporters, but he opened it wide and slammed it closed after them.

Helena and Eleanor were near the kitchen when they heard it slam.

The baroness murmured, “Now where did you learn to do that?”

“Do what?”

Helena stared at her niece, then said, as if to the air, “‘The silliest woman can manage a clever man; but it needs a very clever woman to manage a fool.’”

“That’s Kipling, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Lady Serrs-Comtess raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was your technique.”

Eleanor blushed. “I wasn’t managing Father. I asked for his help.”

“Yes. And he’s good at being a bully.”

Cook received Eleanor’s request with a nod and assured her, without being prompted, that it wouldn’t be any trouble. Lady Serrs could sit down and rest.

The duke found Eleanor and his sister in the dining room.

“They’re gone,” he announced.

“We heard,” the baroness said.

Eleanor added with complete sincerity, “Thank you, Father.”

The duke grumbled and harrumphed, but if he had any lingering fury, it wasn’t enough for him to say something that might mar his heroic image.

He sniffed, then said, “I think the simplest way to handle this is to stick to the facts. The facts! I could waste my life exchanging words with that thief! A fool never runs out of things to say—”

“True,” Helena noted.

“—but once you pin him to the heart of the matter, he’ll be speechless. Can he prove he’s engaged to my daughter? No! There’s not a shred of evidence!”

“Erravold, you told us the reporters were gone. Why are you rehearsing what you’ve already said?”

Eleanor watched in silent amazement as the duke’s cheeks billowed with all the words that didn’t need saying. She never would have thought you could steal the wind from a gale already in force.

Aubrey-Serrs deflated with a long sigh.

“Anyway,” he growled, “we’ll get his answer tomorrow.”

Penn’s answer:

 

Dear Father,

We shall see.