Page 1 of Bride of the Fae Duke

Chapter 1

NellieFinchdidnotbelieve in magic.

Many people did – she was well-aware of that undeniable fact – but then again, many people believed in love, too, and that seemed roughly equally nonsensical. Lady Eyestone could wail on about fae, spells, and unnatural disappearances as much as she liked. The fact remained that after twenty-four years of life on the edge of Faerie, Nellie had yet to hear of any mystery that could not be solved with a dollop of plain old common sense. Lord Eyestone’s regular and much bewailed absences at night, for example, could just as easily be attributed to the busty human woman who went by the name of Mrs. Virtue, no fae powers required.

Magic was a fairytale. An easy way out. A convenient excuse.

Which was exactly why she found herself unable to suppress a cold shiver when, as she stood folding the earl’s linen on a sweltering Linden Month morning, a footman loudly announced the arrival of Lord Locke at the Eyestone household.

Two cold shivers, perhaps.

Not because the duke was half fae – even though she knew it was the main reason many Elidian citizens distrusted the man, she considered his mother’s origins the least of his crimes. Nor was she particularly worried about the curse that was rumoured to haunt him. She did not believe in curses, after all, and therefore didn’t share the other maids’ fear of getting caught up in its deadly web if she accidentally stepped too close.

Rather, it was the simple statistic of one man losing six wives over the course of just a decade.

Which, once you took away the mitigating veil of magic and curses and other balderdash, left a rather unsettling pattern at best.

In the hall upstairs, she could hear the brittle-leaf voice of Mrs. Radcliffe approach, doubtlessly to tell His Grace that Lord and Lady Eyestone were out and would not be back for the rest of the day. Which was just as well, Nellie grimly decided as she hauled her last pile of bedsheets into the linen closet, then wiped the summer sweat off her clammy forehead. The fewer minutes she had to share a roof with a murderer, the better – although Anne would doubtlessly object if she ever spoke that thought out loud, reminding her how the guards’ investigations had found nothing incriminating and making points about assuming the best of people. Annedidbelieve in curses and magic, of course. In love, too.

She’d only been three winters old when Father left, after all. She hadn’t seen Mother wilt away in the months that followed.

The closet door slammed shut with more force than intended, the bang reverberating down to the basement and up to the floors above.

Drat. She should know better than to be so careless at work. With gritted teeth, she snatched the empty linen basket off the floor and made her way back to the scullery, forcing her thoughts into the here and now of the humid servants’ quartersbeneath Eyestone Manor. At least the voices in the entrance hall had quieted. If she was lucky, Mrs. Radcliffe hadn’t noticed the little misstep of the slamming door, though it was a rarity for the housekeeper’s piercing eyes and ears to overlook even the smallest imperfection.

Not that she could complain. Lord Eyestone paid better than most employers, and if perfection was the price to keep Anne fed and clothed, then she ought to be glad to pay it.

The scullery was empty, save for the usual piles of unfolded linen. Good. One last batch to iron, and then the laundry would be done for the week. Which left the floors to be scrubbed, of course, and the chamber pots to be cleaned. And as soon as those tasks were done, the silver would have to be polished yet again, even though Nellie could swear she’d spent two whole days on Lady Eyestone’s cutlery last week …

A never-ending cycle. But shereallyshouldn’t complain, and either way, what other options did she have if she—

‘Nellie?’ Lucy Clarke’s nasal voice yelled, a few doors away. ‘Nellie, where are you? Mrs. Radcliffe wants a word with you in the blue drawing room!’

Ohdrat.

She shoved her empty basket into the corner, reflexively straightened her apron, and hurried out, tucking loose locks of strawberry blonde hair back into her braid as she darted up the stairs. Better not to let the housekeeper wait – a valuable lesson she’d learned within her first hours at this job. At least if she was punctual, Mrs. Radcliffe might forgive her for the noise she’d made within hearing of a guest. And the sooner she could get back to ironing, the sooner she’d finish her list for the day …

The door to the drawing room stood ajar in an ominous invitation.

Wiping her brow with raw, soap-reddened hands one last time, Nellie sucked in a deep breath and slipped inside.

Mrs. Radcliffe stood at the mantlepiece, thin and crowlike in her proper black dress – somehow managing not to look sweaty even in this damp summer weather. Around her, even the furniture seemed to be holding its breath, afraid to move a hair out of line. But there were no obvious signs of displeasure on the housekeeper’s severe face, and only then did Nellie’s gaze draw around the rest of the room, noticing—

Locke?

Her feet froze mid-step.

Sweet divines help her, this couldn’t be true – but itwasundeniably the duke of Locke who was sitting grimly in the room’s best chair as if he was the master of the place, long legs crossed and bulky shoulders tense under his dark grey coat. If she hadn’t heard the footman announce the man’s name, his hair would have taken away all last doubts as to his identity: that unfashionably long queue gleaming unnaturally blue even in the muted sunlight of this north-facing room. Like a magpie’s feathers, or a night sky that hadjustbegun to brighten. Even his eyebrows held a faint blue sheen – she’d never noticed it from a distance before.

What in the world was he doing here?

And far, far more urgent – what in the world wasshedoing here?

Nellie risked a glance at Mrs. Radcliffe, expecting the housekeeper to answer at least one of those questions. But Mrs. Radcliffe’s dark eyes were on the duke, as ifhisreaction to Nellie’s appearance was the only thing that mattered here, and all the duke himself said was a terse, ‘This is her?’

Oh no.

Nellie’s mouth went instantly dry – had he come here to ask forher?

---