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She was so taken up with the sight of the water that at first she did not hear footsteps approaching, until with a sudden gasp, she turned and found a man approaching her…
CHAPTER3
The sudden appearance of the stranger caused her to recoil. She was already frightened, and looking around her, she could see no one else to call on for help. He was tall and muscular, with black hair, a well-trimmed beard, a tan complexion and an Aquiline nose. He stood at the end of the path, a smile playing on his lips. Eloise rose to her feet and took a step backwards. She was frightened of him, imagining him to be of the same breed as Lord Crawford – like every man.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she demanded, and he took a step closer to her as she took another step back.
“I was taking the air on the terrace and I saw you down here. I was curious,” he said, still smiling at her.
Eloise was uncertain how to respond. He did not appear to have lascivious intent even as she glanced around her for any sign of a trap. She felt scared and vulnerable, but they were close enough to the terrace that she could scream if necessary. She nodded and beckoned him to approach.
“I’m taking the air myself,” she sighed, not wishing to explain the real reason she found herself hiding amongst the rose beds.
“It’s a beautiful evening. I saw you inside. You were dancing with that Crawford fellow. He’s a terrible man,” the stranger said.
Eloise could not disagree.
“He was… dancing with me,” she corrected him, and the stranger laughed.
“I see. But you didn’t want to dance with him? Your dress… it’s disheveled. Did he ill-treat you?” he asked, and he took another step forward as Eloise hastily rearranged the shoulder of her ball gown.
“It slipped a little. I’m all right. You don’t need to concern yourself with me,” she replied, but now he was standing only a few steps away from her.
She could smell the scent of rosewater and see his face more clearly. The moonlight reflected in his eyes, a deep green, gazing at her searchingly.
“But I am concerned. Any woman who dances with George Crawford deserves concern. He and I went to school together, at Harrow. He’s a bully and a man of self-entitlement. His sisters aren’t much better either,” the stranger said.
Again, Eloise could not disagree, but she still did not understand why the stranger should be taking such an interest in her.
“I… I don’t know your name,” she uttered, and the man gave a curt bow and smiled at her.
“Jackson Miles,” he said, holding out his hand
Eloise had heard the name before. He was an aristocrat, and one of many she had written to in search of her sister.
“The Duke of Kenwood?” she asked, and he nodded.
“The same. And may I have your name?” He looked at her expectantly.
Eloise could see no harm in it. She still did not trust him, though she was no longer about to scream for help. She took his hand and smiled.
“Eloise Snowden, Miss Eloise Snowden. My father is The Viscount Snowden,” she said, and the Duke nodded.
“Ah, yes, I know you through correspondence. You wrote to me seeking news of your sister, didn’t you?” he asked.
“I did,” Eloise confirmed.
Over the course of the years, Eloise had written to almost every aristocratic man and woman in the country in the hope of finding her sister. But every letter had received the same polite yet curt response. No one ever knew anything, even as they often allowed themselves to speculate.
“She’s probably abroad… The New World, perhaps. That’s where I’d go if I were running away… Have you written to the French ambassador?” were just some of the replies she had received, none of which were of any real help or substance.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Tell me, how goes the search for your sister? It’s some years now since she disappeared, isn’t it?” he queried.
There was a tone of genuine concern in his voice, and Eloise sat down again on the stone bench with a sigh.
“The trail runs cold, though in truth, there’s never been a trail. Everywhere I look, the answer remains the same. I know nothing of her whereabouts, and nothing more than I did on the morning she disappeared ten years ago,” Eloise answered.
It felt strange to voice her thoughts like this. Her father never spoke of her sister, and her friends avoided the topic, for there was never any more to add. The speculations had been made, the possibilities examined, and always with the same result – Alice was gone, and there was little point in wasting time or effort in searching for her.
