*** Fitz POV ***I quit London soon after sending the book. Like a magnet, or homing pigeon I found myself circling around the various estates around Tarrick Hall. It was potentially dangerous. So far, we had conducted our secret affair without discovery. By all account the Duke was practically senile. It seemed safe enough to take on a role at the inn, stabling and preparing the horses.Sadly my smart grey suit has been packed away and disbanded for now. I return to the world of white shirts and braces. It is honest, hard work. It is just not going to fund a getaway to Ireland like I had hoped.It was a busy enough night, many gentlemen dining and playing cards in the cosy firelit inn. My blood froze when I spotted Edmund himself. I almost didn’t notice him, so radically different was his appearance. Withered and emaciated. Almost skeletal as the gap around his shirt collar gaped. He must be waiting for retailoring as his suits were ill-fitting, the gaps where his body used to fill w

*** Fitz POV ***Standing there waiting whilst Marie informed her was the greatest test of self-restraint I have ever faced. Knowing that behind that thick swaddling of damask fabric lay my newborn child and the brightest light of my life. I had almost forgotten the battered state of my body, the fact that twenty hours ago my nose had been broken and my ribs crushed under the boot of a thug. Nothing mattered now. As Marie offered to watch the door, it enabled me to finally break through the barrier. I heard her soft gasp at seeing my fingers threading through the material. By the time I ducked my head and body inside the curtain I was certain I could faint on sight. For there she lay, a glittering angel under candlelight. Her long brown curls were piled up high. A few chestnut tendrils snaked their way down her perfect, elegant neck. A white nightgown, buttoned high up to her neck gave her an angelic appearance. Her blue eyes were tired but they still had that captivating sparkle.

Although mid-July the wind whipped viciously outside. As I strode along the huge corridors towards his suite I could still see the trees swaying from the windows. The driveway torchilights were slowly flickering, by the time midnight approached only a few would be left to guide my way.I felt my heart seize as I approached Edmund’s doorway. So many times I had imagined this scenario. Sometimes Fitz was there holding my hand, promising to keep me safe. Other times I had imagined leaving without a single trace. After our honeymoon and realisation I was a prisoner within this grey stone tomb I had fantasised about fleeing in the night almost daily.Tonight it is finally time to discard my chrysalis. The gowns and fripperies that made me a Duchess are not my true colours. They are the trappings of a prisoner, albeit shinier and more ornate. The plain navy gown and cornflower blue day dress I wear are my true wings. These naturally fitting, comfortable garments will suit my life as I navig

Fitz, my perfect, deviously charming, amazing Fitz was as good as his word. After the revelatory breakfast, supplied with fresh horses we managed to travel another forty miles before changing horses once again. On the Liverpool road we stopped at an inn. Anyone who might notice us and fancy making a penny on our names in the papers would surely report we were headed for the docks. Perhaps fleeing to the Americas for a new start. However our rumbling carriage eventually headed down south, towards the Welsh border. The further we travelled the more remote and beautiful the landscape became. Rolling green hills and pastures greeted us, plentiful villages with children running freely. Exhaustion was soon catching upon us. We took it in turns to sleep and hold Eleanor as the carriage rattled and bounced its way along the road. Despite the uncomfortable journey we teased and laughed with each other. Everything felt lighter, the further away from Tarrick Hall the greater my joy.It was so

The next month was utterly blissful. We soon fell into a happy routine. I shrieked with joy when Fitz showed me the manor had a stable attached. A young local lad named Jacob, only twelve, was in charge of looking after our horses. We had one each and a tiny fell pony for Eleanor when she grew older.My mare was similar to Amber and very sweet in temperament. I called her Felicity and soon adopted a habit of taking myself for long windswept rides. After feeding Eleanor in the morning the summer meadows beckoned me forth. I would leave father and daughter content in the gardens, and examining flowers. Fitz talked to her as if she was a small adult, explaining in great, exaggerated detail the differences between tulips and posies. She babbled back, as though fully understanding as I arrived back red-faced and delighted with the world.The riding and continued feeding somehow aided my recovery from childbirth. The strength required by my body to trot and gallop across the winding meadow