Hollystone Hall, July 1790

Thomas Oliver Fitz-Grenford watched his hostess as she poured his tea. Even after his very public split with the duke, he had retained his friendship with the servants at the main Haverford properties, but they had been able to tell him little about her health or her state of mind. Only the bare facts. That she had been sick. That on her recovery, she had argued with the duke. That she had then packed her bags and retreated to this lesser estate, the one place in the vast Haverford holdings that belonged to Her Grace and not His Grace. No doubt she would tell him soon why she sent for him.

“There, Tolly. Milk and no sugar. Is that not correct?”

The Grenford heir, the Marquis of Aldridge, had come up with the shortened form of his name. ‘Uncle Tolly’ had been a favourite of the little boy when he had been the duke’s steward and secretary, perhaps because he found time to talk to the child. His Grace had no interest in or patience for children, and the duchess had suffered a succession of miscarriages before successfully carrying her second son, Lord Jonathan, to term. Also, His Grace had decreed that his heir have his own extensive suite, staffed by his own personal servants, and that the duchess was neither to visit nor to interfere in Aldridge’s care.

Tolly took the cup. “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.”

She smiled. “We are brother and sister, Tolly. Will you call me ‘Eleanor’?”

Tolly’s face heated. His relationship to the duke was not precisely a secret, but he had never been acknowledged. The father they shared had brought the son of a favourite mistress to be raised on the estate, and had even kept on his half-brother’s tutor to train Tolly in the skills he would need to serve the duchy. Still, he had not been encouraged to show any familiarity, and the duke liked Tolly no more than Tolly liked the duke. “His Grace…”

The duchess’s eyes flashed and she scowled. “I do not mean to concern myself ever again with the opinions of His Grace, except as I must for my safety and that of my children and the servants. Will you not call me by my name, Tolly, when we are not in company? Will you be my friend? For I stand in great need of one.”

He could see that for himself. She had always been slender, but was now gaunt, with dark shadows under her eyes.

The sickness had confined her to her rooms, with everyone, even the children, refused entry. Only the doctor came, so Tolly had been told. Before that, she had very low after Jonathan’s birth, as she had after the birth of Aldridge. Birth seemed to take some woman like that, as if being married to Haverford wasn’t depressing enough.

He felt a wave of compassion for the poor lady, and leaned forward to pat her hand. “I will always stand your friend, Eleanor,” he told her.

“Good, for I need your help. Can you find me information with which to blackmail Haverford?”

Tolly blinked. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t that.

“Blackmail?” he stuttered in response. “Is he… Has he…” Tolly struggled with a kaleidoscope of mental images. Haverford beating Eleanor. Haverford berating Eleanor. Worse.

Eleanor pursed her lips as if considering how much to tell him, then nodded decisively. “I shall be frank, Tolly. You shall not be shocked, for you know the duke even better than I do, in some ways. He gave me a loathsome disease he picked up from one of his intimate companions. I am recovered, the doctor says. He tells me that many people remain well for their lifetimes, but that continuing to allow Haverford in my bed will make it more certain that the disease will eventually kill me. It may also kill or deform any further children we have.”

Tolly was reduced to stammering again. “I am sorry, Eleanor. Are you safe from him here? How can I help you?”

Eleanor waved off his questions. “I need to broker a truce with him, Tolly, for he has the power to keep my children from me. I wish to live apart, but in the same house. Will you find me the ammunition to bend him to my will?”

Tolly sat back. He had always admired Haverford’s wife; always seen the strength of spirit with which she bore the trials of her marriage. The willingness to fight the duke was new, and he admired her more than ever. It would not be easy. The Duke of Haverford was one of the most powerful men in the country. He feared little and was embarrassed by nothing. Still… “I think I may be able to help, Eleanor. I have a couple of ideas.”

Eleanor’s smile broadened. “I have in mind to be a proper mother to my children; one who spends time with them as real mothers do, and also to do good for others with my position and my wealth. I can build a good life, Tolly, if I can just keep Haverford at arms’ length.”

Tolly narrowed his eyes as he thought. “Entertainments,” he said. “Eleanor, build alliances with the other great ladies of the ton and become a formidable hostess. You have it in you. If you have the support of the ladies, Haverford will have to think twice about acting against you.”

Her eyes lit up. “And if I host his political cronies and support his public life he will have far less objection to my removing myself from his private one.”

“You will have to fight him for influence over Aldridge,” Tolly warned.

“I know,” Eleanor agreed. “But I have an advantage there, my friend. I have never bullied or beaten my son.” She lifted her cup as if it was filled with port or brandy rather than tea. “To my freedom, Tolly.”

He grinned and returned the salute. “To your freedom.”