Prologue

 “You sure you want to be going up to the manor house, Miss?”

Catherine looked up at the innkeeper, a little startled at the interruption. “I beg your pardon?”

“I was told that you’re going up that way this evening. Is that the truth of the matter?”

A little unsure as to why she was telling the innkeeper something he had no right to know, Catherine nodded slowly, taking in the man’s lined face and the concern that shone in his eyes. “Yes, that is so. I accepted the position some ten days ago now.” She glanced at the door that kept the snow and the cold out. “Once the Duke’s carriage arrives, I shall be on my way.”

The innkeeper shook his head, wiping his hands on the stained apron he had wrapped around his waist. “You have not the slightest acquaintance with me, and I cannot therefore expect your confidence; but I shall speak my mind nevertheless.” Setting his large hands flat on the table, he bent forward and looked straight into Catherine’s eyes. “You’d be best going straight back home, Miss. That place ain’t no good for young ones like you.”

Catherine swallowed hard. “Why would you say such a thing as that?”

The man did not rise but kept his gaze steady. “You’re not the first governess to pass through this inn.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“There’s been many a young lady like yourself, thinking to work for the Duke of Ravensholme. They’ve come here and sat just where you are now, drinking their tea just as you do. But then, within a few days, within a week perhaps at the very longest, they’re back here again… but this time, on their way home again.”

A tremor ran down Catherine’s frame but she said nothing, praying silently that the innkeeper had not seen it. 

“Tis the Duke himself that drives them away, of course.” The innkeeper rose slowly, his hands now gripped together in front of him, his head turning towards the door as if he expected the man himself to walk inside. “He’s changed, that one.”

“Changed?” The word was out of Catherine’s mouth before she could stop it. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, he wasn’t always the way he is now.” The innkeeper sighed, his shoulders rounding. “I remember the Duke as a different man to the one he is.”

Catherine waited, praying that the innkeeper would say more without the requirement of her asking for an explanation. She had taken on the job of governess because she had no other choice… and because the Duke was offering her such a great deal of money, she would have been a fool to refuse it. But why he was offering so much, Catherine had never understood. There was only one little girl to care for, so why would he pay her so much when there was only one child? 

Perhaps the innkeeper was about to give her the answer. 

“There were many happy years,” the innkeeper continued, his voice travelling around the room and catching the attention of one or two of the other patrons. “The Duke of Ravensholme was a good man, looking after his tenants with great care and being a most considerate master. The children loved to see him, running up to him whenever he arrived in the village because they knew he would always have a coin for each of them.” He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. “I remember my own son coming home with a full week’s wages in his pocket and all because of the Duke’s generosity.”

Is that why he has offered so much by way of payment? Catherine wondered. Because he has a generous heart?

“Every Christmas, the Duke opened his estate and his manor to all.”

Catherine’s eyes rounded. “All?”

“All,” the innkeeper confirmed. “We would all be invited in to his Christmas ball, right from the very lowly of us to the very highest in society. There were plenty of the gentleman and ladies who complained about it all and indeed, many did not even think to attend because of our presence there but the Duke did not care. At the end of the evening, he had gifts for everyone, and I mean, everyone. Even the newest born babe in the village was given something. No-one was forgotten.”

Catherine’s heart warmed. “It sounds as if he has a very generous and compassionate heart.”

The innkeeper’s brows furrowed, shadows darting into his expression. “He did.”

She blinked. “No longer?”

With a grimace, the innkeeper shook his head. “No longer. Now, we rarely see the Duke of Ravensholme in the village. When he does come, his visits are short and he speaks to no-one. There is a heaviness to his frame and a darkness in his eyes that chases the children away from him and he shows no interest in them any longer. His pockets are empty and the children run to hide whenever his carriage comes to the village.”

“And Christmas?”

A short, harsh laugh broke from the innkeeper’s lips. “What Christmas? There’s nothing like that any longer. The Duke of Ravensholme hides himself away in his estate and none of us know him any longer. To be sure, he’s still a fair master, who does make certain all is well with his tenants, but he does that by sending out his man of business here at the estate. He doesn’t come out himself any longer.”

A tightness came into Catherine’s throat and she looked down at her tea cup, seeing the steam slowly rising from it. “He appears generous to me.”

“Ah.” The innkeeper’s understanding had Catherine looking up at him again. “He’s got a good payment in there for you, does he?”

She could not prevent herself from nodding.

“Because he knows you would not come otherwise,” the innkeeper said, with a shrug. “You were interested in his advertisement because of the amount of money he’s offering, yes?”

Heat curled in Catherine’s stomach but she ignored it. “I will not pretend that the money was not a consideration” There was no point in pretending, the innkeeper clearly already knew that the Duke had offered a sizeable amount by way of payment.

“Which is quite understandable,” the innkeeper replied, not a hint of judgement in his voice. “The Duke of Ravensholme has gone through so many governesses, the ones in London won’t even think about coming near him any longer. The ones who have gone back have told the others all about him. He can’t get even one to come to the house from there!”

Catherine’s heart squeezed painfully. She had wondered why the Duke of Ravensholme had not only offered so much money but had advertised instead of simply sending a letter to the various London agencies who had lists and lists of qualified governesses. Could it be that he had not been able to find a suitable candidate from London because no more would come? Was his reputation so very poor that he could not garner a single one from there?

“You won’t last long, that’ll be sure,” the innkeeper said, his voice holding such a degree of finality that Catherine began to fear that he was speaking the truth and this without her even meeting the Duke. “You’ll be here again in a week, mayhap. But no one will blame you, Miss. Don’t you worry about that. None can put up with the Duke of Ravensholme for long.”

“Because of his temper?”

“Because of his darkness,” the innkeeper said, firmly, looking straight into Catherine’s eyes. “He pushes everyone away from him, that little girl included. You won’t be able to bear that for long.” His eyes held hers. “Some have said he looks monstrous in his appearance. I had one governess coming back from the house on the very same day as she went there!”

Catherine’s breath hitched, her eyes rounding. “Are you speaking truthfully?” 

“Of course I am” The innkeeper looked a trifle offended. “I wouldn’t lie to you about it, not when I’m coming to speak to you out of concern. That governess was white and trembling, telling us all that the Duke’s face was quite ruined and that his dark appearance was more than skin deep. She could not bear to stay there for even an hour, so afraid was she of him!”

An injury, perhaps? Catherine did not dare speak aloud, not wanting to insult or offend the innkeeper any more than she had already done. Appearance alone would not be enough to dissuade me from taking on the role of governess… though I fear now that I must be careful.

The innkeeper put both hands flat on the table and looked into her eyes. “Are you quite sure you want to go, Miss? I can have you sent back to wherever it was you came from, if you want?”

With a strain running through her frame and a heart that pounded furiously, Catherine looked down at the letter she had laid out flat on the table. She did not have any home to return to, had no promise of further work or income. So despite the innkeeper’s warnings, what else was there for her to do? “I must go,” she said, her words more of a whisper now. “I have no other choice.”

With a click of his tongue and a shake of his head, the innkeeper turned away, muttering under his breath as he went.  Perhaps he had been hoping to convince Catherine to stay at the inn and to return home in the morning but her refusal had only brought him frustration. No doubt he expected to see her back here again within a few days, just as he had seen every other governess. How many of them had he warned? And just how many times had he been proven correct?

A long sigh broke from her lips. Regardless of what he thought and indeed, regardless of his warnings, Catherine knew she had no choice but to go to the Ravensholme estate. She needed money if she was to survive and this job, however long it lasted, would provide her with something at the very least. 

But what if the Duke is just as dreadful as the innkeeper has said?

Catherine closed her eyes, a slow breath escaping from between her lips. She would have to find a way to endure, she determined. Had she not done such a thing already with her own brother? Had she not battled against the darkness of his soul in the hope of finding the brother he had once been? 

“If I have endured that,” she whispered aloud, aware of the heat behind her eyes, “then I can endure this Duke of Ravensholme.”

“Miss?”

Her head lifted. The innkeeper was gesturing to the door. 

“The Duke’s carriage has arrived.”

There was a heavy warning in his voice but Catherine did not respond to it. Instead, fully aware of the snow that lay outside and the biting wind that would soon meet her, she gathered her thin cloak about her shoulders and reached for her bag. Fear began to dance a jig down her spine but she set her mind against it, nodding her thanks to the innkeeper and walking to the door. 

“Do be careful, Miss.” The innkeeper came towards her and for a moment, Catherine thought he meant to bar the door so she could not get through. Instead, he opened it for her, pulling it back so that she could step outside. His gaze held to hers and Catherine, after a moment, nodded her thanks and then, with a stomach that felt weighted and steps that seemed to drag, she stepped outside. 

The biting wind made her shiver in an instant, the air finding any tiny holes it could so that it could brush against her skin. 

“Is this all you have?”

The driver gestured to the box that one of the innkeeper’s servants must have taken out side for her already. She nodded, wondering if the hardness in the driver’s voice was an indication of the master he worked for.

“Then get in,” he said, grasping her arm and half leading, half marching her towards the door. “The Duke is waiting.”

“How … how long?”

The driver opened the carriage door for her. “Three hours drive, maybe more. It depends on what this wind is doing to the horses.”

Grateful to be inside the carriage even though it was nearly just as cold as the outside, Catherine sank down on to the plush velvet seat, looking about her and taking in the magnificence of the carriage itself. The Duke of Ravensholme clearly had an excellent fortune and high standing in society and she, in her worn cloak and battered travel bag, felt more than a little inadequate. 

With a jolt, the carriage pulled away and Catherine, reaching for her bag, plucked out a single music book that she held in her hands for a long moment, looking down at it. Tears welled in her eyes but she pushed them away, refusing to let them fall. Her mother had taught her these songs when she had been only a child and even now, if she closed her eyes, she could hear her mother’s sweet voice singing along as Catherine played the piano forte. The vicarage had been a place of joy and laughter, a place for happiness and love shared between them all… but that had been before she had lost both mother and father and before her brother had near lost his mind from pain and sorrow. 

But I still have this music.

With tears still building in her eyes, Catherine turned to the third page in the book and let her gaze run over both the notes and the words. In her mind’s eye, she could see her mother’s joyous face, could hear her singing and could still smile at the joy they had shared. 

But no longer. 

The music had been played still, in these latter years, but had only been as a distraction to both herself and her late brother, an escape from his terrifying recollections or as a solace from his near constant nightmares. Would she ever be able to play these pieces with nothing more than happiness and contentment in her heart?

Catherine’s eyes grew weary with holding back her tears. After years of struggle and pain, she had thought that being a governess might bring her a little respite… but the innkeeper’s words and warnings had flattened that hope entirely. But it was too late to turn back, too late for her to step away from it all.

The Duke of Ravensholme was waiting.

Chapter One

Thomas paced up and down his library, his hands already beginning to tremble. 

He hated his weakness. 

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to continue the steps, focusing solely on putting one foot in front of the other as the wind howled around his manor house. 

This was not a situation he desired nor one that he looked forward to. All that was in his mind was avoidance, wanting to set aside the governess and, instead, continue on living in near solitude. 

But he could not.

“Emma needs a governess,” he said aloud, his voice weak, making him scowl darkly. “It is for her that I do this.”

“Your Grace?”

He turned, seeing his butler step into the room. The man bowed.

“I did knock.”

Thomas said nothing. Both he and his butler were well aware, by now, that Thomas often was too deep in his own thoughts, or nightmares, to hear a scratch or a knock at the door. 

“Whitmore.” Thomas rubbed one hand over his eyes. “What is it?”

The man looked back at him steadily, showing nothing but understanding in his eyes. “It is to tell you that your carriage is on its return to the house. It was seen in the village only a short while ago and will be here presently.”

Gritting his teeth, Thomas dropped his hand back to his side. “I see.”

Mr. Whitmore tipped his head, studying Thomas with careful eyes. “Are you going to be quite all right, Ravensholme?”

Thomas did not recoil at the question nor at the familiar way the man addressed him. Henry Whitmore had been with him in battle, had fought with him side by side, even though he had been nothing but a footman and Thomas a Duke. Upon Thomas’ eventual return to his estate, he had sent for Henry Whitmore and had insisted that he be steward to the house and to the estate. It was not a position that Henry Whitmore had been at all prepared for but Thomas had been quite determined. This was a man that he trusted completely and despite Henry’s lack of experience, it had suited them both very well… even if Henry had been required to undertake some training in matters of finance before he could take on the position. 

“I have no choice but to be,” he answered, truthfully. “This must be done for Emma’s sake, though I am sure she is growing quite weary of the number of governesses that come to reside at this house, only to leave a short time thereafter.”

Henry’s smile was rueful. “That is not your fault, however.”

“Oh, but I beg to differ.” Thomas ran one hand through his hair. “I am absolutely at fault, for I am dark tempered and seek out my own company. Whenever I do speak, they no doubt see my trembling frame and think me quite mad! None of them have stayed for more than a fortnight and yet… ” Closing his eyes, he let out a hiss of breath. “Yet, I must go on.”

“You do well, my friend.” Henry came closer and put one hand on Thomas’ shoulder, looking straight into his eyes. “I will say it again that there is no fault here that belongs solely to you. The other governesses were afraid of you but without cause.”

Thomas tried to accept this but his own conscience would not let him. He had been dark tempered and ill-mannered upon occasion and the governesses had seen him as a man to be feared. None had sought to understand him although he himself had not done anything to give them a clear explanation as to his manner. “I think that it is generous of you, Whitmore.”

His friend smiled. “It may be but all the same, I think it fair. Mayhap this one will be different.”

Smiling mirthlessly, Thomas went to reach for the decanter, thinking to himself that a nip of brandy might help chase some of his anxiety away.

His hands began to tremble. 

Tremors began to push into his frame but he gripped the decanter all the more firmly, determined that he would not lose his grip. Henry watched on in silence. He did not open his mouth to offer to help and for that, Thomas was grateful. Henry knew from experience, no doubt, that to do such a thing would only bring Thomas’ ire. 

The amber liquid lurched from one side of the decanter to the other but, with great strength of will and a slow anger beginning to burn in his core, Thomas managed to pour out a measure, a generous measure for himself. 

“You may take some, if you wish.”

Henry shook his head. “I am still your steward, Ravensholme. I cannot as yet.”

“Later, then.”

Henry nodded. “I should go. The rooms are prepared and Emma has been rushing to the window every few minutes to see if the carriage has arrived. I believe she was concerned that the dark sky and the snow would prevent the carriage from making its way here.”

Thomas nodded and watched as his friend quit the room. A heavy sigh escaped him as the door closed and, before the brandy could slosh out of the glass, Thomas threw it back in one mouthful. The heat burned him but he cared nothing for that, setting the glass down quickly before the tremors became so great, he would be only able to drop it to the table. 

The carriage will be here in a moment. 

Turning, Thomas was about to go to the door when a sudden weakness swept through him. Scowling at his own body’s refusal to do as he demanded, he dropped into a chair, sat forward and pushed his head into his hands, fingers gripping his hair. These last few years, he had become a man he did not recognize, haunted by his memories of war and of cruelty. Whenever he looked into a mirror, he saw the jagged pain in his dark blue eyes, took in the sharp line left by a bayonet’s blade that had sliced from his temple to his jaw. His hair had decided it would go from black to silver, sending streaks of age and care through his once dark hair. The constant shadows under his eyes, the weariness that rounded his shoulders and the shaking that came and went told him that he was not the man he had once been and whispered to him that he would never be so again. Half the time, he dared not even set foot in his study for fear of what he would be tasked with. His correspondence, reports and the like were stacked in neat piles for him to go through but he had not the strength to even attempt to read them. Whenever he tried to do so, his vision would blur and the writing swirled about the page as if dancing away from him. It was only with determination and a great deal of slowness that it would become clear and that wearied him immensely. 

And to all these considerations there was Emma, his charge, left to him by his late sister and to whom he had a duty of both care and consideration. What use was he to her? He could do nothing other than ensure she had a good governess and was well cared for by the maids yet even in that, he had failed! The governesses would not stay, not when he had so much darkness about him and that left Emma jumping from one person to the next! 

“Soon, Christmas will be upon us also,” he muttered, taking in deep breaths and waiting for the weakness to fade. Christmas was nothing but hollow darkness for him now, holding no joy and no expectancy of happiness… but Emma would expect there to be decorations and laughter and light. How could he give her such a thing when even the thought of it repelled him? Dropping his hands to his lap, he looked down at them as despair took hold of his heart. He had once filled this house with music, had let the happiness of the Christmas Season take a hold of him completely as he had played carol after carol, his guests and his family singing along with him. 

That was nothing but a memory now and no doubt, it would never be so again. Thomas was quite sure of that.

His head lifted, the sound of hooves and wheels coming to him. 

He swallowed hard. 

She has arrived…

Trying to stand, Thomas took a deep breath and steadied himself, hating the weakness that rushed through him still. It was lesser than before, however, and he had enough strength to walk to the door. Somehow, he would have to make his way to the front of the house and greet the new governess without showing her any sign of the weakness and tremors that so often captured him. 

Just how long she would stay, Thomas could not imagine. That rests entirely with her. 

Chapter Two

The snow had fallen heavily ever since the carriage had left the inn and at times, Catherine had despaired of ever reaching Ravensholme manor. Now, however, as the carriage slowed to a stop, Catherine had her first proper look at what was to be her new home. 

The house was large and intimidating, looking grey and dull against the snowy sky. A light or two flickered from the windows and Catherine, her eyes catching on a shadow at one of them, shivered violently but it was not from the cold. Her worries about the Duke of Ravensholme had dug a hole in her mind and had placed themselves within it, forcing themselves to be a part of her. 

“We have arrived, Miss.” The carriage door opened and Catherine stepped out at once, her boots instantly damp from the blanket of snow she stepped into. “If you would just go inside.”

With a nod, Catherine put one foot in front of her and climbed the stone steps that led to the front door of the house. The swirling snow took a hold of her cloak and tried to force its way underneath but she hurried her steps and, with relief, reached the front door.

It opened before she had a chance to put her hand to it. 

With a yelp of surprise, Catherine stepped back, her boots slipping in the snow. 

“Miss Fairweather?”

A lady, dressed in black, held the door open for her, a questioning look in her eyes. 

“Yes, that’s correct.” Catching her breath and trying to regain her composure, Catherine hurried into the house, relieved to be out of the cold. 

Giving her an assessing look, the lady held out her hand. “Your hat and gloves, Miss Fairweather?”

Handing them to her, Catherine let her gaze wander over the house, taking in the hallway and the many fine additions to the space. There was a marble statue in one corner near to the staircase and a very fine rug on the floor, with a few paintings on the wall also. 

Of the Duke himself, however, there was no sign. 

“I’m Mrs. Henderson, the housekeeper.” For the first time, the lady smiled and Catherine relaxed just a fraction, seeing the warmth in the housekeeper’s face. “I thought I would show you to your rooms and to the schoolroom as well. You will want to meet Emma, I am sure and she is very eager indeed to make your acquaintance too.”

Catherine smiled at this. “I would be delighted to meet her.”

“Very well, then.” Mrs. Henderson, her grey eyes searching Catherine’s still, her brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. “You will be informed I am sure, that you are the next in a number of governesses who have worked in this estate. I will not hide that fact from you.”

A knot tied itself in Catherine’s throat. “Yes, I have been made aware of that.”

“Splendid.” The housekeeper cleared her throat, the smile fading as if she was reminding herself that, no doubt, Catherine herself would also be nothing more than a temporary creature here for a very short time indeed. “The Duke was to greet you himself but he has been delayed.”

“I am sure he has a great many responsibilities.”

“Indeed.” The word was short and clipped and Mrs. Henderson, without so much as another word, turned and began to walk down the hallway, clearly expecting Catherine to follow. She did so without delay, feeling the dampness of her boots pressing into her toes as they walked. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she would soon be able to purchase a better pair of boots once she had her first payment from the Duke for her time here. That would give her some protection from the wind and the cold. 

“This is the portrait gallery, as you can see.” Mrs. Henderson waved a hand as she practically marched through it, leaving Catherine to follow. “The Duke of Ravensholme is at the very end of the corridor, just here. This was painted before he went to war in France, however.”

“He fought?” Catherine stopped short, forcing Mrs. Henderson to turn around to face her. 

“Oh, yes.” There was a sense of pride that flooded the housekeeper’s voice. “And he did so very well indeed. “He fought so very strongly and bravely and we were all so relieved to have him back at the estate, however. Had he been taken from this world, then the Dukedom would have gone out of his family and that was certainly not in the least bit desirous.”

Catherine blinked quickly, the dark memories of her brother’s torment flooding her mind. David too had gone to war. He had returned a broken man, someone that she did not recognize. Months of trying every offer of help available had led to nothing but yet more pain for her brother’s already shattered mind and in the end, he had simply given up. Pneumonia had taken him to be with his maker but had left her all alone in the world. Must she now encounter another gentleman afflicted by the same flaw as David? 

“You should know,” the housekeeper continued, her voice lowering as she came closer to Catherine again, “that the Duke of Ravensholme has some… difficulties when it comes to his memories of the war.”

Catherine forced herself to speak, her lips trembling. “I … I presume he is unwell?”

“With his memories of war being as difficult as they are, is it any wonder?” the housekeeper asked, sounding a little insulted as though Catherine’s question had been impertinent. “If there is an unexpected noise … a loud one, or something that startles him, he will often become a trifle confused. There are times when he might become somewhat distressed but that is not your doing, Miss Fairweather  and there is nothing you can do about it either.”

No fear clutched at Catherine’s heart, as she had believed instead, only sympathy began to grow in her heart, settling there as she thought of all that her brother had endured. Was the Duke of Ravensholme the very same? 

“I am grateful to you for your explanation.”

The housekeeper let out a quiet ‘hmph’, still evaluating Catherine. “I tell you only because we have had so many governesses leave once they have realised all that the Duke suffers from. His manner can appear a little intimidating and he can sometimes be dark tempered. I will not pretend that he is anything other than that, for mayhap in speaking honestly, it will not drive you away as it has done the others.”

Catherine spread out her hands. “My brother also fought in France.”

The housekeeper’s eyes widened. 

“He also endured a great deal of suffering once he returned home.” A catch came into Catherine’s throat but she forced herself to continue. “It was very difficult indeed but I can understand why he altered in such a drastic way. In the same way, I am sure that I will be able to understand the Duke, in time.”

Mrs. Henderson blinked rapidly and then, much to Catherine’s relief, smiled. “Then perhaps you are indeed suitable for this position for Emma and for this house,” she said, very softly indeed. “Time will tell, however. Time will tell.”

Much later, alone in her bed chamber, she looked around and sank down onto her bed and did her best not to give in to the threatening tears. Meeting Emma had been a delight, for the eight year old had been overjoyed to meet her, chattering away quite without hesitation or worry and reassuring Catherine that her charge would not be a particularly difficult child to teach. Having been led away for dinner, Catherine had then been shown to the schoolroom and, thereafter, to her own room.

Each had been disappointing in its own way. 

The schoolroom had nothing of brightness or color within it. Yes, there was the chalkboard and there was certainly all that Catherine would require for teaching, but there had been nothing more than that. No drawings or paintings from Emma were on the walls or even on the tables. The drapes had been pulled shut against the winter wind and even the candlelight had seemed dimmed by the shadows of the room. Telling herself that she would brighten the room up the very next day, Catherine had then been taken to her own room… and had felt her spirits sink very low indeed.

The room was sparse in its furnishings and entirely absent in its decoration. There was the narrow bed, a wooden washstand and a single chair by the window. The drapes had not been pulled, much to her relief, but the window itself was small and did not allow much light in, though it rattled terribly with the wind. 

Closing her eyes she tried to fight back her tears, Catherine clasped her fingers tightly and let out a long, slow breath to steady herself. Her room at the vicarage had not had much more than this in terms of its furnishings but there had always been something of joy set within it, something to make her heart glad. There had been a painting on one wall and a small vase of flowers set on her dressing table and those two simple things had made her smile nearly every day. This room, however, spoke of a complete lack of thought or care on behalf of the Duke. Did he truly believe that a mere governess would not need much furnishings in her bed chambers?

I will think only about Emma and all that I can do for her, Catherine told herself, trying to concentrate on the smiling face of the young girl who had been so pleased to meet her. I need not think of the Duke. He is not my responsibility.

All the same, Catherine’s heart was already regretting her choice to come here. After the years she had spent nursing her brother, she had never once imagined that she would come to a house which held another man broken by all he had experienced in the war! Recalling all that David had endured, all the pain and the agony that had torn at him every day, Catherine dropped her head into her hands and allowed the tears to begin to flow. To be here now, to be in a house with the very same darkness was a pain that Catherine did not know how to bear. It would bring back all the sorrow and the agony of her last few years, she was sure, and she did not think she would be able to endure it. 

But I have no other choice, she thought to herself, trying to find her handkerchief. I have no other place to go apart from this house and no other to take me in apart from this Duke. There is nothing I can do but remain.