Three days after his return, Marcus found himself unable to bear the confines of his townhouse another moment. The weight of correspondence lay heavy on his desk – requests for patronage, invitations to balls and dinners, letters from estate managers and lawyers all demanding his attention. Even the familiar walls of his childhood home felt like they were closing in around him, reminding him of all he had left behind and all he was expected to become.
"Your Grace, shall I prepare the carriage for your visit to the Dowager Duchess?" Hawkins asked, appearing in the doorway with a fresh pot of coffee.
Marcus looked up from the stack of papers before him, his eyes tired. "Not yet, Hawkins. I need air. I think I shall walk to Vauxhall Gardens it is a fine afternoon, and I remember finding peace there once upon a time."
Hawkins's eyebrows rose slightly it was not customary for a duke to wander London on foot, unaccompanied and without ceremony. But he had served Marcus long enough to know when argument was futile. "As you wish, sir. Shall I send a footman to follow at a distance?"
"No. I wish to be unseen, if possible."
Dressed in a simple dark coat and trousers far less formal than the attire expected of a man of his station Marcus slipped out through the side door and into the bustling streets of London. The noise and movement were a shock to his system after years of the relative quiet of his estate in France. Street vendors called out their wares, children chased each other through the crowds, and the smell of coal smoke mixed with the sweet scent of flowers from a nearby shop.
He walked with long, purposeful strides, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact with passersby. It had been so long since he had moved through the world without being recognized, without being greeted with deference or curiosity. For the first time since his return, he felt almost like himself again not the Duke of Dawnfield, but simply Marcus.
Vauxhall Gardens was already crowded when he arrived, the afternoon sun drawing Londoners from their homes to enjoy the music, the food, and the company of their fellow citizens. Lanterns were already being hung in preparation for the evening's entertainments, their colorful glass catching the light like jewels. Marcus paid his shilling at the gate and stepped into the familiar grounds, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over him.
He had brought Eloise here once, on a warm summer evening during their first season together. They had danced to the music of the orchestra, shared a bowl of strawberries and cream, and walked hand in hand through the illuminated groves while fireworks exploded in the sky above them. He could still remember the way she had laughed, her head tilted back, her eyes shining with wonder.
Shaking off the memory, he made his way toward the quieter northern section of the gardens, where the crowds were thinner and the trees provided welcome shade. He found a bench beside a small pond, where ducks paddled lazily in the water, and sat down to watch them, letting the gentle sounds of the garden wash over him.
"Excuse me do you mind if I sit here? Every other bench seems to be taken."
Marcus looked up to find a young woman standing before him, her face partially obscured by a wide-brimmed bonnet decorated with pale pink ribbons. She was dressed simply in a muslin gown of soft blue, with no jewels save for a small pearl earring visible beneath her hair. Even so, there was an elegance to her bearing that spoke of breeding and refinement.
"Please," he said, gesturing to the empty space beside him. "I was not keeping it for anyone."
She sat down carefully, adjusting her skirts so they did not touch the damp wood of the bench. For a few moments, neither of them spoke, both watching the ducks on the pond. Marcus found himself studying her out of the corner of his eye the way she held her shoulders, the delicate curve of her jaw, the way her gloved fingers twisted together in her lap. There was something familiar about her, though he could not place it.
"Are you here alone?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Marcus was surprised by the question most women of her class would not speak to a stranger unaccompanied in public, let alone ask such a direct question. "I am," he replied. "And you?"
"Alone as well. My maid was meant to accompany me, but she fell ill this morning. I could not bear to remain indoors another day the gardens have always been my refuge when the world becomes too much to bear."
He nodded in understanding. "I know the feeling well."
They fell silent again, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. The orchestra in the main pavilion began to play a waltz, the music floating across the gardens on the warm breeze. A group of children ran past, chasing a hoop with sticks, their laughter bright and carefree.
"Do you ever wish you could go back to being that carefree?" she asked, following his gaze. "To a time when the biggest worry was whether you could make your hoop roll all the way to the end of the path?"
Marcus smiled wryly. "More often than I care to admit. Though I suspect the cares of childhood are simply replaced by the cares of adulthood they do not truly disappear."
"Perhaps not. But sometimes I think we complicate things more than we need to. We build walls around ourselves, tell ourselves we must be serious and responsible and proper. And in doing so, we forget how to simply live."
He turned to look at her properly then, and as she lifted her face to meet his eyes, the bonnet shifted slightly, revealing more of her features. His breath caught in his throat. It was her. Eloise.
She had changed in the eight years since he had last seen her the round cheeks of childhood had given way to elegant cheekbones, her hair was no longer tied back in simple braids but arranged in the fashionable style of the day, and there was a maturity in her dark brown eyes that had not been there before. But it was unmistakably Eloise Whitmore.
"Marcus?" she whispered, her hand flying to her mouth. "Is it really you?"
"Eloise." The name felt strange on his lips, as though he had not spoken it in years which he had not. "I did not recognize you at first."
"I… I did not expect to see you here. I heard you had returned to London, but I did not think…" She trailed off, her eyes filling with tears she was clearly struggling to hold back. "I did not think I would see you so soon."
Marcus felt a familiar ache in his chest the same ache he had felt the day he had left her standing in the garden at Dawnfield. "I am sorry, Eloise. I should have contacted you your father sent me a letter, and I intended to call upon you both soon."
"Did you?" Her voice was sharp with hurt. "Or did you intend to avoid us as you have avoided everything else from your past?"
The accusation stung, but he could not deny it. "I have been… busy. There is much to attend to after so many years away."
"Busy." She stood abruptly, smoothing down her skirts. "Of course. A duke has many responsibilities, I am sure. More important responsibilities than keeping promises to foolish young girls who believed in fairy tales."
"Eloise, wait –"
But she was already walking away, her head held high despite the tears that were now streaming down her face. Marcus started to follow, then stopped. What could he say to her? That he had thought of her every day since he had left? That he had wanted to write, wanted to return, but had been too cowardly to face what he had left behind? That he was still in love with her, even after all these years?
He sank back onto the bench, running a hand through his hair in frustration. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid coming face to face with the past he had worked so hard to escape. And now, thanks to a chance encounter in Vauxhall Gardens, he had no choice but to confront it.
A shadow fell across him, and he looked up to find an older gentleman standing over him tall and distinguished, with silver hair and the same dark brown eyes as Eloise. The Earl of Blackwater.
"Duke of Dawnfield," the earl said, bowing slightly. "I thought that was your carriage I saw at the gate. Though I must admit, I did not expect to find you sitting alone on a bench like a common laborer."
Marcus stood and bowed in return. "Lord Blackwater. I did not see you there."
"I suspect you were rather preoccupied. My daughter has a way of having that effect on people." The earl's expression was neutral, but Marcus could see the concern in his eyes. "She will be all right. She has had eight years to learn how to hide her feelings."
"Has she?" Marcus asked quietly. "I did not see much hiding just now."
"No. I suppose not. She has always worn her heart on her sleeve a trait that has served her well and ill in equal measure." The earl looked toward the path where Eloise had disappeared. "She told me she was coming to the gardens to clear her head. I followed at a distance I wanted to make sure she was safe."
"Is she not safe in London?"
"Safe enough. But she has had offers, you know. Good offers. Men who would have given her a comfortable life and treated her well. But she has refused them all." The earl turned his gaze back to Marcus, his eyes sharp. "She has been waiting, Duke. Waiting for you to return and keep your promise."
Marcus felt the weight of those words like a physical blow. "I made a promise as a young man, Lord Blackwater. I was foolish and idealistic. I did not know what life would demand of me."
"Life demands many things of us. But honor demands that we keep our word. You and Eloise were betrothed, Marcus – not formally, perhaps, but in the eyes of our families and of society. Your father and I made an agreement that when you came of age and returned from your travels, you would marry her. An agreement that still stands."
"I cannot marry her," Marcus said, though the words pained him to speak. "I am not the same man I was eight years ago. War changes a person. I have seen things done things that would make her recoil in horror. I cannot ask her to share her life with a man like me."
"Perhaps you should let her decide that for herself," the earl replied calmly. "She knows more about the world than you give her credit for. She has cared for her younger siblings since her mother's death. She has managed my household when I was ill. She has faced loss and hardship with courage and grace. She is not the same girl you left behind either."
He placed a hand on Marcus's shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind. "Our ball is in two weeks, Duke. I expect you to be there. Eloise deserves the chance to hear the truth from you not from rumors or letters, but face to face. After that, she can decide whether she still wishes to be bound to your promise."
With that, Lord Blackwater bowed once more and walked away, leaving Marcus alone with his thoughts. The music from the pavilion had changed to a lively country dance, and couples were beginning to gather on the makeshift dance floor. Laughter and conversation filled the air, but Marcus felt disconnected from it all, as though he were watching the world through a pane of glass.
He had come to Vauxhall Gardens seeking peace, seeking a moment away from the demands of his title and his past. Instead, he had found exactly what he had been trying to avoid – Eloise, and the reminder of everything he had lost.
As he made his way out of the gardens and back toward his townhouse, he knew that his days of avoiding the inevitable were over. In two weeks' time, he would have to face Eloise, tell her the truth about why he had left and what he had become. And he would have to let her decide whether the promise they had made as young lovers was worth keeping now that they were adults, with all the complications and responsibilities that came with age.
The London season had not yet officially begun, but for Marcus Aurelia, Duke of Dawnfield, the battle for his heart had already started.