The Price of a Title

*One Year Later*

In the countryside village where she had quietly built a life, Eliza stood behind her market stall, the early morning sun catching the shine of her ebony curls. The scent of fresh bread clung to the air. She was arranging bundles of lavender when she overheard two women speaking in hushed tones nearby.

"...poor Duke of Clearhaven. Did you hear? His duchess bore a redheaded child. Came too soon and far too healthy for the timing, if you ask me."

"I heard it screamed the moment it arrived—and looked nothing like him."

"They say the child's real father was a stable hand. Scandalous. Lady Cassandra's family must be beside themselves."

Eliza's hands stilled. The lavender slipped from her fingers and tumbled into the dirt.

He had cast her aside to avoid disgrace—only to step into a worse one.

She took a breath, pushing the sting away. She didn't let herself linger on it.

Whatever had once existed between them was gone, buried beneath his betrayal. She had spent too long stitching herself back together to unravel over whispers.

And truly, she had built a life that no longer had room for him. Elizabeth—or 'Eliza,' as she was now known—was nineteen summers old and no longer the silly, lovesick girl she had been just a year ago. Henry belonged to a world she no longer touched, and the devastation he had left in his wake had made certain of that.

She would never see him again.

And that, she had long accepted.

Back at Clearhaven Estate, Henry stood alone in his study, the fire flickering low. A single silver rattle sat on the mantle—untouched since it had arrived as a gift from one of Cassandra's well-meaning cousins. The baby, now with Cassandra's family, would not bear his name.

He had filed for divorce. It was moving through the courts faster than expected, thanks to undeniable evidence and quiet influence. The scandal still followed him like a shadow in society's parlors and halls.

But it wasn't the gossip that alone haunted him. It was the memory of a woman with sapphire eyes who had trusted him once.

He had cast her aside at the first sign of trouble—not for lack of love, but out of fear, pride, and the relentless pressure of title.

Now he had neither love nor pride left to comfort him.