Page 30 of To Steal a Duchess

“A low expectation indeed,” the duke muttered, still assessing Pickle as though he was bracing to be sprung upon. “Nevertheless, as long as he refrains from entering my room, and you can keep him under control and have him trained, I will not argue the matter.”

Eloise, despite herself, smiled widely. “Then I agree to the conditions. Pickle shall be a good boy; I will make sure of it! Now, would you care to join me for dinner? We did discuss sharing a meal in order to get to know⁠—”

“I have work to attend to,” the duke interrupted again, already turning. “And I am tired. I shall be in my study before retiring to my chambers. Do make sure the dog⁠—”

“Pickle,” she supplied.

“Pickle,” he sighed, “is not noisy. I appreciate quiet while working, and sleep evades me plenty enough, so just…” He paused. “Ensure he is on good behavior, and we will see how this arrangement goes.”

Eloise had no chance to agree once more, for the duke turned on his heel and left the dining room. As Eloise watched his retreating figure, the dark gray tailcoat he still had not taken off, encasing his wide, strong shoulders, she let herself exhale.

The duke would not abide by her terms; she knew that much. Control mattered to him, and she would not be able to coax him into a dinner with her, even if he had entertained her discussion about it.

For now, she was to dine alone.

A lick on her hand reminded her, though, that she was not alone. Not quite anymore.

“You shall be my friend, won’t you, Pickle?” she asked, petting her puppy’s head fondly. “You shall make this life more bearable.”

She hadn’t realized the duke’s footsteps had stalled, but she heard them continue after she had spoken. Something sank in her stomach, a guilt gnawing at her for her words, but she didn’t know why she felt so bad. It was true. She was lonely there.

An idea occurred to her, and soon, Eloise was on her feet, beckoning Pickle up to her room, where he began sniffing his surroundings, and she fled to her writing desk. Penning a letter hastily, she wrote to Nancy, beseeching her to visit Oldcliff Hall.

If the duke would not dine with her, nor spend time with her, and disappear for hours on end, Eloise would find a way to fill the void of conversation and company.

Besides, Nancy would be overjoyed to meet Pickle.

Once her letter was sealed and handed to a steward, Eloise returned to her chamber, finding Pickle curled up on the end of her bed. She slipped beneath the sheets, reaching for her new travel book, The Travel of one Mister Marley Brannon: a journey through the Isles.

Her interest piqued by the first page’s title, Eloise eagerly began to read the introduction that Mr. Brannon’s nephew apparently had written, clearly having accompanied him on his travels.

The rest of the book delved into Mr. Brannon’s own recollection of his travels, and Eloise read long into the night hours.

Chapter Eight

Two weeks had passed since Eloise’s life had turned upside down and she had become a duchess, and it had been several days since she had found Pickle and invited Nancy to visit.

Notably, her parents had not received the same invitation.

One positive thing about her life at Oldcliff Hall was that she was enjoying and appreciating her freedom away from her parents. Finally, she was not a marionette, primed and schooled to do this, do that, to always be at the command of her mother’s snapping fingers, or her father’s barked orders.

Eloise was in the parlor, dressed in a simple blue day dress, the sleeves falling to the crook of her inner arm, ending in a flare. Her skirt was silk, neatly draped around her legs. She’d had tea prepared, and Mrs. Hale was due to bring some refreshments upon Nancy’s arrival. Mr. Brannon’s travel book was in Eloise’s lap, open on her most recently read page. A ribbon lay on the page.

“Your Grace.”

Eloise looked up at Mr. Forster’s voice; the butler stood with his hands behind his back in the doorway. “Lady Nancy Baker is here for your arranged visit.”

“Please send her in,” Eloise said. “And let Mrs. Hale know that the refreshments can be prepared now.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

He left with a bow, and Nancy appeared in the doorway mere moments later. Her hair was twisted up into a beautiful style. Her dress was a blush-colored pink, decorated with small, embroidered white flowers, but it was her smile that brightened her appearance.

“Eloise!” she cried out, laughing, as she rushed toward Eloise.

She rose, arms outstretched, to embrace her friend. The two of them collided with a lack of grace, too eager to see one another to bother with finesse. Two weeks was a long time, for they practically spent at least two days a week in one another’s company back in London.

“Heavens, things have changed! You look radiant as a duchess,” Nancy remarked.