The evening was cool, and the moon, a perfect, bright circle, rose high in the dark sky. Duke Philip's grand carriage stopped in front of the Ellington manor. He had not intended to stop in the main courtyard, but rather at the gate, a clear and deliberate social slight.
George Pembroke, who had been waiting for hours, hiding behind one of the tall, manicured trees that lined the long driveway, watched the whole scene unfold.
As the footman helped Anne down from the carriage, she turned back to the dark window. "Thank you for dropping me home, Your Grace," she said, her voice a polite, formal sound.
A cool, disembodied voice replied from within. "Go on now. I will send you a letter."
Anne nodded her head, a brief, sharp movement. She closed the carriage door herself, and the driver immediately urged the horses on, the carriage disappearing into the night without a backwards glance.
