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what I can gather. She ran away from her brother's estate, and, for some perplexing reason, sought work in the guise of a maid. The duke was a young man then, and although I do not condone his actions toward his staff, perhaps they had formed a tendre of some kind. He is not a vicious or unkind person. Their relationship was a mistake, a youthful folly. Promise, before you act hastily, you will speak to him. Find out what further truths need be told. You love him, and you have a chance at happiness. Do not throw it away.”
    Eloise stared silently at the unlit marble hearth. “You mentioned she was institutionalized. Do you truly believe she was inflicted with some sort of madness?”
    Emma stood and pulled the bell cord for the servants. “I do believe so. I recall Miss Fenshaw during our season, was forever tipping her nose at the ton and its strictures. Forever in some sort of trouble, exhibiting bizarre behaviours. She had a terrible time of it.”
    The butler entered. “My lady?”
    “Tea, Peter, and could you have Cook make up a cold compress please?”
    “What's the compress for?” Eloise asked.
    “Your eyes.” Emma smiled. “We cannot have you speaking to the Duke of Dale looking like a bloated fish that has been for sale too long at the fishmonger.”
    Eloise touched the swollen skin about her face and knew it would look blotchy and red. Nerves fluttered in her stomach over her impending discussion with the duke. So much rested on his answers, most importantly, their future happiness. Was this past transgression a terrible error, he, as a young man, could not set right? And if he felt no guilt, why flee the country for years? Unfortunately, his actions indicated both shame and guilt. None of it made any sense, and she wished she had stayed to hear him out.
    Foolish, hasty, headstrong woman.
    “He is to duel tomorrow. I must go. I need to speak to His Grace and convince him to do otherwise. Perhaps now Lord Fenshaw has had some hours to mull things over, he may no longer wish to face his nemesis at dawn.”
    Emma frowned, directed a maid to place the tea dishes before her, and held out the cold compress. “Not before you hold this to your face for a time. Your eyes are dreadfully red, my dear. Only when I deem you appropriate for company, may you leave.”
    Eloise lay back with the cooling cloth on her face as directed. “Did anyone ever tell you what a saviour you are? You'll make a good mama, Emma.”
    “Thank you, dearest.” Eloise heard the smile in her voice. “Now, enough sentimental talk, you'll make me cry.”
    “Very well. I’ll not say another word.” Eloise buttoned her lips and chuckled.
     
    Gabe left for Putney Heath within an hour of leaving the Durham's ball. He wanted to get a feel for the location that might be the place of his demise. The carriage rumbled over the cobbled streets of Mayfair before passing through the more unsavoury locales of London, the stink and rot of its inhabitants prevalent on every street corner.
    He frowned at the despicable living conditions and wondered how he could help to improve their lives, should he survive the morning's meeting.
    “So it's all over between you and Lady Eloise then?”
    Gabe turned away from the dimly lit streets and faced Hamish, his second and midshipman. “I'll tell you tomorrow after I face Fenshaw.”
    Hamish waved his concerns away. “You're a crack shot. No harm will befall ye.”
    He could only hope his friend's insight would prove true. Adventure on the high seas, which, many a time, involved armed pillage of English ships, once held his soul enrapt. Made him feel alive, and allowed him to take revenge on a country that had wronged him. But those were the brash exploits of his youth; Gabe found he no longer held such sentiments. Amazed he wasn't dead already from such actions.
    Eloise was everything to him, and he would rather die than live without her. “Fenshaw is a good shot, from what I can recall, and he'll be aiming