"I fear I know nothing of this matter, Mr. Blackwood. My father was not given to boasting of his military exploits." Indeed, it had been quite the opposite. Captain Hartwell had worn his decorations only when duty demanded and spoke of the wars only when pressed by curious neighbors seeking tales of glory. He had seen too much death, he once told her, to find romance in warfare.
"Captain Hartwell saved the life of His Grace, the Duke of Ravenshollow," the solicitor continued, his voice dropping to a tone of appropriate reverence for such an exalted personage. "At considerable risk to his own person and military standing, your father carried the Duke from the battlefield when all believed him dead. Without such intervention, His Grace would certainly have perished."
“The Duke of Ravenshollow.” Even in the wilds of Hertfordshire, that title commanded considerable reverence. One of the oldest titles in England, with vast holdings in Yorkshire and a fortune that rivaled the Crown itself. She had heard whispers of the family at county assemblies—their wealth, their power, their proud lineage stretching centuries back. But what such elevated matters had to do with her present circumstances, Evangeline could not fathom.
"I am gratified to learn of my father's heroism, sir, but I fail to comprehend why this intelligence should be of particularmoment to me."
Mr. Blackwood's weathered features grew more serious, if such a thing were possible. "Miss Hartwell, His Grace the Duke has charged me to inform you that he considers himself deeply in your father's debt. Captain Hartwell's final letter to His Grace—written, I am told, upon his deathbed—made specific mention of your current circumstances."
"My father wrote to the Duke?" Evangeline's voice emerged as barely more than a whisper. The thought that her proud father had appealed to anyone for assistance, even to discharge an obligation, sat ill with everything she knew of his character. "But when? He was insensible for days before the fever took him."
"According to His Grace, the missive arrived but a week past. Captain Hartwell appears to have dictated the letter to his physician, one Mr. Brookes." The solicitor withdrew a folded paper from his portfolio, the familiar hand of the local physician clearly visible upon the direction. "This is His Grace's reply."
With trembling fingers, Evangeline accepted the letter. The paper was of the finest quality, bearing a ducal coronet impressed into the wax seal. The very weight of it spoke of privilege and power beyond her comprehension. She broke it carefully, her heart hammering as she unfolded the single sheet within.
The handwriting was bold and masculine, the letters formed with the confident strokes of one accustomed to command, though she noted with surprise that the hand trembled slightly, as though the writer had been in some distress:
Miss Hartwell,
Your father's communication has reached me in Yorkshire. Captain Edmund Hartwell was a man of uncommon courage, and his service shall not be forgotten.
I am informed of your present difficulties and find myself compelled by both honour and inclination to offer what assistance may be within my power. Your father's final request weighs heavily upon my conscience.
I therefore extend to you an invitation to remove to Ravenshollow Manor in Yorkshire, where we might discuss matters of mutual interest. Mr. Blackwood has been instructed to provide for your immediate needs.
Your swift reply would be most welcome.
The Duke of Ravenshollow.
Evangeline read the letter twice, then a third time, searching for some clue as to the Duke's intentions. The language was formal to the point of coldness, revealing nothing of the man behind the title. "Matters of mutual interest"—what could that possibly signify? And why had he not elaborated upon the nature of his proposal?
"His Grace awaits your reply, Miss Hartwell," Mr. Blackwood said quietly. "I am authorized to advance you funds for suitable mourning attire and travel expenses, should you wish to accept his invitation."
"But what manner of assistance could His Grace possibly offer?" Evangeline asked, her practical nature asserting itself despite her amazement. "I am a gentleman's daughter of modest connections and no particular accomplishments. Surely a Duke has little need of such as I in his household."
The solicitor's expression grew carefully neutral, but she caught something in his manner, a hesitation, perhaps even unease. "His Grace did not see fit to elaborate upon the specific nature of his proposal, miss. He merely indicated that a solution to your difficulties might be found."
There was something he was not telling her, some vital piece of information that he withheld. Evangeline had learned to read such signs during her father's final illness, when physicians spoke in euphemisms and servants exchanged meaningful glances. She pressed forward with the directness that had so often scandalized her governesses.
"Mr. Blackwood, you have traveled far and at considerable expense to deliver this invitation. Surely you can provide some indication of what His Grace might require of me?"
The solicitor shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze moving to the window as though seeking escape. "Miss Hartwell, I fear I am not at liberty to discuss His Grace's private affairs in detail. I can only say that the Duke of Ravenshollow is acomplicated gentleman."
"Complicated?" The word fell flat between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.
"His Grace has lived a somewhat retired existence since his return from the war. The injuries he sustained were considerable. He rarely receives visitors at Ravenshollow Manor and has not been seen in London society for nearly two years."
Evangeline felt a chill that had nothing to do with the unheated room. "What manner of injuries, sir?"
Mr. Blackwood's discomfort was now palpable. "I fear that is not my place to discuss, Miss Hartwell. I can only say that His Grace's appearance was altered by his experiences at the war."
"Altered how?" she pressed, though part of her recoiled from the answer.
"Miss Hartwell, I must speak plainly, though it pains me to do so." The solicitor's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "His Grace's reputation in Yorkshire is formidable. The local population regards him with considerable apprehension. There are stories, no doubt much exaggerated, but stories nonetheless."
"What manner of stories?" Evangeline's mouth had gone dry as parchment.
"Tales of a man transformed by war into something fierce. Terrifying, even. His Grace employs few servants, and those who have entered his service speak little of their experiences. The common folk whisper of a master who prowls his halls like a caged beast, who rages at the slightest provocation, who..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "But these are merely the ignorant fears of country people, I am certain."
