Chapter 1
My Dearest Fiona,
Your letter has occasioned no small degree of agitation within this household.
Your mother is quite persuaded you have been carried off by wolves (pray tell me, are there wolves in Yorkshire?
I cannot bring it to mind), while Adelaide appears far more captivated by the existence of a duke than concerned for your personal safety.
She has prevailed upon me no fewer than seven times to inquire whether the Duke of Thornwick is handsome, and whether he might be persuaded to attend Lady Morrison’s ball next month.
I have informed her that dukes are not in the habit of frequenting provincial balls, and that your description of His Grace suggests a gentleman more inclined to solitude than society.
This intelligence has done nothing whatsoever to moderate her enthusiasm.
You are well acquainted with Adelaide’s disposition.
As for your continued residence at Thornwick, I confess myself uncertain.
You have ever been the sensible one, my dear—measured in judgement and deliberate in action.
You are not given to impulsive decisions.
I cannot help but wonder what circumstance could persuade an unmarried lady to remain beneath the roof of an unmarried gentleman, however honourable his conduct or generous his hospitality.
I do not accuse you of impropriety. I know your character too well for that.
Yet I entreat you to reflect carefully upon the course you are pursuing, and upon the consequences that may attend it.
The Duke of Thornwick may be a recluse, but he remains a duke; and rumour, once set in motion, travels with alarming speed—even from the most remote corners of the kingdom.
A lady’s reputation, once compromised, is not easily restored.
Write again soon and inform me of your intentions. I confess I am anxious for you, my dear girl—more than you may suppose.
Your ever affectionate aunt,
Prudence