Was Gladys surprised by her mother’s haste in practically arranging her engagement to the Duke without so much as consulting her? Of course not. She would have been foolish to expect otherwise. Mrs. Russell’s will was iron and Gladys had long since learned that her own desires rarely entered into consideration. She was not to be treated as a woman in her own right until she had been married off, preferably to a man of her mother’s choosing. And even then, Gladys feared she would never quite be free of her mother’s hand at her shoulder.

And so, her mother forced upon her the Duke. Dinner the other evening had been an exercise in tedium: polite conversation drained of all color, his every question more dull than the last. He looked at her and saw the girl who would be his wife; she looked at him and saw the man who would never.

Yes, he was an English Duke. Titles, wealth, a whisper away from royalty itself, what young lady in New York would not fall over herself for the chance to wear that crown? But Gladys did not care for crowns. And to make matters worse, he had informed her that one of his acquaintances would be arriving in New York shortly. You. The daughter of a highly regarded Duke, near Gladys’ age, and, so he hoped, a suitable companion. In truth, he wished you might convince her that his attentions were worthy of gratitude.

You had known him for years. Once, your families had even considered a match between the two of you, until you had rejected the idea in no uncertain terms. Yet the Duke, with his remarkable talent for entitlement, seemed to believe you owed him a favor, and that favor was Gladys.

She had expected you to arrive with hauteur, prepared to lecture her on the Duke’s virtues and the enviable position she had been placed in. But you did no such thing. Alone together, you laughed- at him, at the absurdity of it all- and she found herself laughing too. It startled her, how easily you did that. You had only been in New York for weeks, and yet already she felt a peculiar comfort in your presence. As long as he was here, so too were you, and that changed everything.

Every time she endured an outing with the Duke- dinners at the house, walks in the park, endless evenings designed to showcase her as a bride-in-waiting- she would steal back her joy later in the night with you. For convenience, you and the Duke were both lodged at the Russell house. Mrs. Russell fairly preened at the opportunity to host both an English Duke and a Lady of rank beneath her roof.

What unsettled Gladys most was not the tediousness of the Duke but how fiercely she looked forward to your company. She had grown so accustomed to being dismissed, her thoughts swept aside like dust. You, however, listened. You cared. She had begun to think of you as a friend, and yet, in her most restless hours, she feared it was something else entirely. Something she could hardly give name to.

Tonight was to be yet another evening at the opera, another “date” arranged for herself and the Duke. Her mother had even insisted upon staying behind, claiming to allow the pair more time together. And yet, to Mrs. Russell’s mild irritation, you interjected just as the party was leaving, requesting to join. The Duke looked momentarily taken aback, but before her mother could object, Gladys found herself speaking up almost desperately.

“Of course you may. The carriage and the box are both quite large, Mother has assured it. Have you not, Mother?”

Mrs. Russell could hardly deny a Lady of your station. To refuse would have been unthinkable. Gladys allowed herself the smallest smile, for more reasons than one.

During the intermission, the Duke proposed they all stretch their legs, but you convinced him instead to act the gentleman and fetch refreshments. Gladys offered no argument. The moment he had gone, she exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders. For the first time all evening, she allowed herself to chuckle, leaning just a fraction closer to you in the shadows of the box.

“Thank you, You’ve made tonight far more bearable than I ever imagined. Truly"