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“I Helped a Duke Find His Lost Dog,” She Told Her Mother — Then the Garden Gate Opened

“I Helped a Duke Find His Lost Dog,” She Told Her Mother — Then the Garden Gate Opened

Chapter 10

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"Miss Vale," he began, his voice low."Your Grace," Eleanor interrupted gently, holding up a hand. She needed to set the boundary before his presence could sway her resolve. "I am grateful for your honesty yesterday, but I must ask that you do not continue these personal visits until you know precisely what it is you wish to ask of me."The Duke stared at her, absorbing the quiet firmness of her request. He saw the dignity in her posture, the clear boundary she was drawing—not out of anger, but out of self-respect. She was refusing to be the object of an undefined affection."I understand," he said, the words barely more than a murmur. He did not argue. He did not offer another excuse. He simply inclined his head in silent acknowledgement, his jaw set in a hard line. He turned and walked away down the lane.Eleanor stood by the gate, her fingers resting lightly on the cold iron latch. The garden felt immediately and profoundly empty. The routine they had built—the quiet companionship marked by a lost dog and returned objects—was gone. There were no more pretexts left to use. The next time the gate opened, it would have to be because he had finally chosen to walk through it for her alone.The library at the Alderwick estate was a room designed for solitary reflection, lined with dark oak shelves and heavy velvet drapes. The Duke of Alderwick sat at his massive mahogany desk, staring at a blank sheet of thick vellum. The heavy silver inkstand sat untouched beside his hand.For the past two days, the absence of his visits to the Vale household had felt like a physical weight. The sudden silence was stark, a sharp contrast to the quiet, unfolding warmth he had come to rely upon. He looked down at Bracken, who was currently asleep on the Persian rug, blissfully unaware of the disruption he had initially caused.The Duke's hand hovered over a bell on his desk. He could ring for a footman. He could send a brief note inquiring if the dog might be permitted a walk in the Vales' garden. It would be a simple, polite excuse.His hand fell back to the desk.Eleanor had not asked him for a guarantee of marriage, nor had she demanded a dramatic declaration. She had simply asked for clarity. She had asked him to assume the responsibility of his own intentions rather than hiding behind the convenient presence of a spaniel or a misplaced toy.He realized with sudden, absolute clarity the unfairness of his actions. He had been transferring the burden of interpretation entirely onto her, forcing her to guess whether she was truly the object of his visits or merely the gracious recipient of his incidental courtesy. He had used a dog's lack of discipline to shield himself from the vulnerability of rejection.
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“I Helped a Duke Find His Lost Dog,” She Told Her Mother — Then the Garden Gate Opened

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