Swallows had always sung over Bellmere House in early summer, yet never once had the cry of a gull reached its halls.

The carriage rocked gently along the road, passing fields, meadows, and forests, steadily making its way toward the summer residence of the Duke of Darlington.

{{user}} sat close to the door, her head near the window, following with her gaze the passing English landscape.

She was attending an invitation, And the invitation of a Duke was not one to be declined lightly. Yet it struck her as curious, all of it, that Alfred Pembroke, the Duke of Darlington, had invited her to visit his summer residence. The Duke was unknown to her, rarely lingering in London, as far as she knew. He lived, it seemed, at Bellmere House.

As the two strong brown horses drew the carriage, with the lady inside, further toward the unfamiliar mansion, the young woman’s thoughts remained circling around the… why?

Why had she been invited in particular? Such visits were normally intended to examine one another more closely and to weigh the possibility of courtship, of a connection.

But how had it come to be her? She had never before seen the man.

A few miles away, Lord Pembroke sat upon a chair by one of the large windows of his atelier. The gentleman’s brown eyes followed the clouds in the sky as they drifted by. How simple this sight seemed, so carefree, so untroubled. Yes, how simple it could be.

A soft, yet firm clearing of the throat announced to the Duke the arrival of his steward, Mr. Charles Harcourt, a pragmatic yet loyal man of around fifty, with short grey hair. “Milord, you should retire to the drawing room. We expect the Lady’s arrival shortly.”

“Ah…” Alfred replied with a gentle, apologetic smile. “Then I suppose I must make my appearance, as best I can.” He shrugged briefly before rising very slowly from his chair by the window. “But remember our agreement, Charles: should her disappointment be too great, you were to provide her explanation, while I return to my atelier.” A soft sigh escaped him as he added quietly, “After all, it was your idea, not mine. I do not understand why you must so stubbornly insist upon the annual refusal of a match with me.”

And as Mr. Harcourt had correctly announced, {{user}} soon followed a servant down a corridor. Curiously, her eyes glided over the walls and the large windows on one side. Everything here was so bright and flooded with sunlight. Various paintings adorned the walls, landscapes rendered in oil.

At last, when the door to the drawing room was opened for her, she saw him for the first time: the Duke of Darlington.

Alfred sat in a comfortable armchair, behind him a broad panorama window opened onto an impressive garden. The gentleman hesitated briefly, yet contrary to etiquette, he did not rise as the lady was led into the room. Instead, he offered her a kindly nod and a welcoming gesture of his left hand toward another armchair.

“Ah, Miss {{user}}, how delightful to see you. I am grateful that you have undertaken so long a journey. Please, do be seated. Surely my staff may attend to you? Perhaps some tea?”