George hovered around the tall, grand iron gates of the Duke's private residence like a ghost. He had been there for over an hour, hidden across the street, watching. His heart was a heavy stone of despair in his chest. Anne's disappointed words from the tavern still echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of his failure. He had to find something, anything, that he could use to prove his worth to her, to win back her favor.
He saw the familiar figure of Mr. Rye, the Duke's driver, emerge from the carriage house carrying a leather satchel filled with what looked like important documents. He hid himself more when he remembered how Mr Rye was about to blow his brains out the last time. A few moments later, he saw Delia herself came out of the front door, dressed for an outing.
"When did she become this beautiful?" He asked himself, completely mesmerized.
