Elizabeth took a deep breath and lifted her head from the desk. She dusted off her hands and wiped a smudge from her face using the hem of the muslin sleeve. She could finally relax, at least she now knew there was no immediate danger here—all she needed to do was ask to speak to the Duke. The last time she saw the Duke of Ashbourne was weeks ago on the morning of her father's funeral. Later that same afternoon, the Duke received a missive urging him to return to London. The solicitors arrived later.

He will help. She was certain of it. With renewed zeal, Elizabeth stood up. She scanned the room for any sign of her past. It all seemed the same. The old cedar chest was still against the back wall. Elizabeth trekked dust across the wooden planks as she ambled over to the chest. Behind her, the trail of foot prints stirring up the dust showed the passage of time.

Gliding her hand across the dust, Elizabeth traced the floral pattern carved on the box. Are my belongings still in the chest? Releasing the latch, she lifted the lid to find remnants of her childhood. She ran her fingers through the small trinkets, a stack of tattered Minerva Press novels, an unfinished composition on aged sheet music and a treasured wool blanket. The rough material of the throw scratched at her fingers. The strong scent of cedar wood permeated every fiber of the chest's contents. She reached for her wooden sling shot, testing the give in the material. A smile slid across her lips at the memory of her escapades across the estate. She missed her visits here.

Years ago, this room was her own personal refuge. She discovered the loft the summer before her eleventh birthday. Elizabeth had been particularly distracted during one of her lessons with the governess which led to being punished in the cruelest of ways. Mama had demanded that Elizabeth should dust every book on the shelves of the nursery. That's when Elizabeth discovered the passageway. The housekeeper warned her to stay out, as the room was only used by Lord Paigton, the Duke's heir apparent. But curiosity was Elizabeth's worst trait, and she adored adventure. Eventually, after hours of cajoling, the housekeeper relented and showed Elizabeth the access panel into the chamber.

Over the next three years, Elizabeth made the most of the secret room. She would sneak in and watch as her parents and their hosts enjoyed extravagant balls and musicales, all things she could not attend until she was older. Sometimes, when there was a ball, the Duchess would hire a chalk artist to design and decorate the ballroom floor. This wasn't a common practice in the ton, only the most affluent and successful hostesses were able to afford such extravagance. The trend started as a way to prevent dancers from slipping during dance sets. Soon the most discerning hostesses used chalk art to create beautiful designs, adding an element of grandeur at their events.

Later, the loft became a place of refuge to escape the confines of expectation. A lady must behave in this way or that way. . . her mother's voice chided from the recesses of her memories. But not here. Here, she was left to act as she pleased. Here, she escaped expectations. Here, she reveled in the fact that she was intruding in his secret space, and he, like everyone else, was oblivious to it. At least, she thought so at the time.

Elizabeth remembered the immediate days after the passing of the Duchess eight years earlier. Mama was inconsolable, and to make matters worse, Elizabeth had overheard her parents arguing about her impending engagement to the Duke's son. An engagement that she didn't want to be a part of. It was not an issue of desire. He was handsome and charming, when he wanted to be. The problem was that he didn't want to get married. She remembered overhearing his argument with his father. He didn't want to marry me. Especially not me! He had bellowed. As if I would want to marry him! In hind sight, Elizabeth acknowledged that her feelings were trampled on that day.

After tossing and turning for the better part of that night, Elizabeth left her room in hopes of finding some distraction from the thoughts of her impending nuptials. That's when the idea struck her. She covertly entered the loft, donned the britches and shirt she appropriated from the stable boy earlier that week and sneaked out to the stables.

The late-night jaunt across the fields wasn't the brightest idea, it being a moonless night, but she was restless. A few of the horses nickered as Elizabeth passed their stalls, their ears following her every step. Her mare, Athena, was more enthusiastic in her greetings, neighing loudly as Elizabeth fed a sugar cube to her. Elizabeth combed through Athena's mane, whispering sweet nothings as she quietly guided the mare to the back entrance of the stables. She rode all the way to the apple orchard on the far side of the property. There, she cried and bemoaned all the unfairness in her world.

On returning to the loft, Elizabeth decided to finish reading her book, The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes. Elizabeth loved this book because she found the story of the adventures of the orphaned siblings endearing and entertaining. Instead, she fell asleep. When she awoke in the morning, she found herself snuggled in a warm wool blanket. There on the desk lay a note especially for her, both chastising her for using his secret hideout and encouraging her behavior. The contradiction was ironic. The man was a cad! Elizabeth smiled at the memory. At the time, being rejected by the Duke's son seemed like the end of the world. Time had a funny way of bringing things into focus.

He left her a bloody list! Even if it was one made by the Duchess, all it did was remind her that she did not meet the prerequisites to become his wife. While the list spurred her into action, it also angered her. She hated him, his arrogance and the memory of his laughter. She was hurt by his refusal, maybe it was just her ego. Over the years she made it a point to hone every trait mentioned on the list, just to show him that she was more than capable of becoming a duchess. The irony lay in the fact that checking off each trait was also admitting that she wanted to be an even more capable prospect.

She pushed the blanket aside, retrieving a long-abandoned handkerchief from her last visit years ago. She used it to wipe down the dust from the desk. The Satinwood inlay gleamed with a burnished hue in the light. She organized a pile of books, wiping each one before gently stacking it in the corner of the room. While the room was unchanged, it was far more dusty than in former days when she used it as a refuge.

Some years back, the Duke invited her father to visit. The two wanted to go over a mutual investment deal. Elizabeth begged her father to accompany him, just so she could finally drop off that blasted list. She took out the offensive page from the drawer, and recited its content by heart. The verses were forever etched in her memories, like a litany of virtues.

Beautiful, poised, elegant, intelligent and well read.

Eloquent, passionate, driven and ambitious.

Independent, confident and strong.

Compassionate, just, and brave enough to break with convention

Capable of managing your father.

Someone you can respect and love.

God, the list was long. The task of conforming to these conditions was daunting for anyone, but especially so for Elizabeth. She had been a wild child, taking every opportunity to break away from the norm, the expected. Eight years later, she could say she met most of the requirements the Duchess wanted. Long ago she gave up on poised and elegant. Regardless, it did not matter in the least. He solved the dilemma for both of them, by leaving. The blasted coward.

She crumpled the list and shoved it back into the drawer. The list does not matter. She kept telling herself that, hoping that eventually she would believe it. He was gone and she needed to go on with her life.

A loud ooff and grunt from below grabbed her attention. Another round of expletives followed. What were they doing? Elizabeth peered down at the scene for a few minutes. Two men stood face to face, as if they were about to box, while three others observed the match. She had seen two gentleman pugilists brawl in Hyde Park last year. This was nothing like that. They would grab at each other, kick or block using their arms, then attack in short bursts of successive hits. The man dressed in the tunic would advance then withdraw. She would have to ask John about it. Perhaps when she needed a set down of sorts, she could remind him of the time he was hurled across the ballroom floor. Smiling at her own machinations Elizabeth headed out of the loft.

***

"This is bloody brilliant. I want to—" Rob cringed as John was thrown across the mat.

"Just wait your turn," Jensen smirked.

"How long before I could take one of them on?" Rob asked with gusto.

"Let's just say, John and I have been training with them for nigh five years and yet we are far from being considered masters of Wing Chun," Jensen emphasized. "We can do a considerable amount of damage, but if you compare us to the two of them—well, you can reckon we are novice, at best."

John was able to drive in a few jabs, finally grabbing Tan by the collar and throwing him onto the mat. That was all the exercise he was willing to endure. His body ached all over.

He waited for Tan to return to his starting position again, then bowed in recognition and respect. As John raised his head, his eyes caught a slight movement in the ballroom loft. Someone was watching them.

"Tan, my friend here would love a demonstration of your skills," John said. "Rob, if you are ready? Learn well my friend—" John considered warning Robert to take it slow but he figured his friend could use a sound thrashing. It would be good for him.

"Did you notice—" Jensen cocked his head and intentionally toward the loft, his back facing said direction as he passed John the towel.

John nodded, acknowledging the intruder. "Let's see who it is," he slung the linen over his right shoulder and headed for the ballroom doors.

***

Author's note: Dear reader, I am working on the rest of this chapter, but I thought you may prefer a short chapter to no chapter! Thank you for reading, voting and following me! I am ever grateful.