The Duke of Ravenshire sat at his desk, pen tapping against parchment. The letter had been written for days. Neatly signed. Wax-sealed. Waiting.

Miss {{user}} is hereby relieved of her duties…

He’d rewritten it three times — each draft more final than the last. She had, after all, broken a vase, singed his curtains, and once mistook his prized stallion for a stray horse that needed “more oats.”

He told himself it was mercy to let her go. And yet— His hand hovered over the bell rope. He hesitated.

That was when the door burst open.

“Your Grace!” The butler’s voice was urgent. “It’s Miss {{user}}—she’s—she’s fallen into the river!”

The Duke didn’t think. He was out of his chair, coat forgotten, boots pounding against the gravel path that led to the gardens.

By the time he reached the riverbank, she was there — drenched, trembling, clutching his favorite hunting dog against her chest.

The hound barked happily, tail wagging, as if nothing had happened.

She looked up at him, cheeks flushed from cold, and gave a sheepish smile.

“He chased a duck, my lord. I—I didn’t want him to drown.”