Too Bruised to Stand, She Collapsed at the Ballroom—Until a Duke’s Gentle Hands Changed Her Fate
Chapter 8
They found the chapel at dawn.
It stood abandoned behind a grove of yew trees.
Inside, dust covered the wooden benches.
Wren led them to a stone beneath the altar.
The trust was there.
Wrapped in oilcloth.
Untouched.
Eleanor held it against her chest.
Her father’s handwriting was unmistakable.
She began to cry.
Julian said nothing.
He simply stood beside her.
The document proved everything.
The estate belonged to Eleanor.
Her uncle had no right to sell it.
No right to force her marriage.
No right to control her income.
But there was one more page.
A list of payments.
Blackwood had been financing Reginald for years.
Not merely to obtain Eleanor’s estate.
There were other names.
Other properties.
Other widows.
Other young women.
Eleanor looked at Julian.
“How many?”
“Enough.”
Julian folded the paper.
“This is larger than your inheritance.”
They returned to London.
The evidence was placed before a solicitor and several magistrates.
Reginald was summoned.
Blackwood was summoned.
Neither appeared.
That frightened Eleanor more than their anger had.
Julian understood.
“They are running.”
“Where?”
“Perhaps abroad.”
“Then we have failed.”
“No.”
He looked at the papers.
“Men who run leave things behind.”
And they did.
A servant confessed that Blackwood had ordered the attack on the road.
A stable boy identified one of the hired men.
A clerk produced payment records.
Piece by piece, the scheme unraveled.
But Reginald had one last weapon.
He claimed Eleanor was mentally incapable of managing the estate.
The accusation was humiliating.
It was also dangerous.
Eleanor stood before the magistrates herself.
Her hands trembled.
But her voice did not.
“My lord, I was beaten because I refused to surrender my father’s property.”
Silence filled the room.
She continued.
“I was told that if I resisted, I would be declared unfit to manage my own life.”
She looked toward her uncle.
“I am not asking anyone to save me.”
Then she looked at Julian.
“I am asking only that the law recognize what belongs to me.”
The magistrate lowered his papers.
“And it shall.”
