The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the immaculate gardens of the Dowager House as I approached the imposing residence. My knees weren't what they used to be, and the walk from the carriage had my old joints protesting. Still, some matters required a personal touch—especially when they involved two stubborn, proud women who both meant the world to my Duke.
I straightened my jacket before knocking. After decades of service to the Thorne family, I knew better than most how to navigate their tempestuous personalities. The young Duke Alaric was easy enough to read—beneath that fearsome exterior beat a heart fiercely loyal to those he loved. But his grandmother, the Dowager Duchess Annelise Thorne? She was a formidable creature of tradition and iron will.
A maid answered promptly, her eyes widening in recognition.
"Mr. Alistair! This is unexpected."
"Good afternoon, Eliza. I was hoping for a word with Her Grace."
