The weight of the duchy bore down on my shoulders like an invisible crown. At thirty-five, I'd been Duke of Lockwood for nearly a decade, yet some days I still felt like an imposter in my father's study. I ran my fingers across the smooth mahogany desk where he had once sat, where he had first agreed to a contract marriage with my mother—a match that began in convenience but blossomed into a love story still whispered about in noble circles.
"Your Grace, the council members have arrived."
I looked up to find Samuel, Alistair's grandson and my head butler, standing at the doorway. His posture was impeccable—just as grandfather had taught him.
"Send them in, Samuel. And perhaps some tea."
"Of course, Your Grace."
