Swaddled in the rich lace reserved for a long line of dukes, anointed with oils reserved for the most privileged of Burghsey House residents. It didn’t matter that her world had been limited to the three thousand acres of fertile land boasting fluffy white sheep and massive hay bales and a community of people with whom she was not allowed to speak-to whom she was virtually invisible-because she was a secret that was to be kept at all costs.Ī girl, baptized the heir to the Dukedom of Marwick. Or that she’d never heard a language other than English, or seen a play, or listened to an orchestra. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know the sounds of the city or the smell of the ocean. She’d never strayed far from this enormous manor house, tucked into the quiet Essex countryside two days’ walk northeast of London, where rolling green hills turned to wheat as autumn crept across the land. It didn’t matter that she was unqualified to speak of the wide world. There was nothing in the wide world like his laugh.
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