Mama. What would you tell me to do?
But her mother had chosen love and been disowned for it. Had chosen a man over security and paid the price in cold and hunger and eventual death.
Eliza would not make the same mistake.
She returned to the valise and surveyed its contents. Everything that truly belonged to her fit in one small bag. The rest—the dresses, the jewels, the Duchess’ chambers with their silk hangings and imported carpets—belonged to August’s wife. To the position she had filled. To the solution he had needed.
She closed the valise and latched it then set it beside the door where she would not forget it.
The escritoire beckoned. She returned to it and took out a second sheet of paper. This one she did not address to anyone. This one was simply for her.
I will not be a burden. I will not be another responsibility he carries because duty demands it.
The words steadied something inside her. She folded this paper too and slipped it inside her mother’s book where no one would find it unless they were looking.
The clock struck four. Dawn was coming. Soon the servants would wake and begin their morning routines. Soon the house would stir to life.
She needed to leave before then. Before anyone could stop her or ask questions she did not want to answer.
She rang for Mrs. Finch.
The housekeeper arrived within minutes, her cap slightly askew as though she had dressed in haste. Her eyes went immediately to the valise by the door then to Eliza’s face.
“Your Grace.”
“I apologize for waking you so early.” Eliza kept her voice even, controlled. “I require your assistance.”
Mrs. Finch stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “What do you need?”
“I am going to visit Lady Hartwell. For a fortnight, perhaps longer. I would be grateful if you could arrange for the small carriage to be ready within the hour.”
The housekeeper’s eyes searched her face. Eliza could see the understanding there, the way Mrs. Finch looked at the valise again and then at the letter on the escritoire.
“Does His Grace know of your plans?”
“I have left him a note. He will find it when he wakes.”
“I see.” Mrs. Finch moved closer, and her voice dropped. “Your Grace, forgive my boldness, but are you certain? Perhaps if you spoke with His Grace?—”
“I am certain.” The words came out harder than Eliza intended. She softened them with a small smile that felt like a lie. “It is only a visit. Nothing more.”
Mrs. Finch did not look convinced, but she nodded. “I shall have the carriage ready. Shall I send your maid to help you finish packing?”
“That will not be necessary. I have everything I need.”
“Very well, Your Grace.” The housekeeper moved toward the door, then paused. “If you require anything—anything at all—you need only send word.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Finch.”
The door closed, and Eliza was alone again.
She dressed in one of her plain traveling dresses, the dark green wool she had worn when she first came to Wildmoore Hall as August’s bride. It felt strange now, too loose in places where the Duchess’ dresses had fit perfectly. As though she were putting on a costume of who she used to be.
Perhaps she was.
She pinned up her hair with more care than usual, checking her reflection in the mirror to ensure every strand was in place. A duchess did not leave her husband’s house looking disheveled, even if she was only going to visit her aunt.
She pushed the thought aside and fastened her traveling cloak. The valise was light when she picked it up. Everything she owned of value fit in one hand.