Chapter 4

Eleanor pours her dowry into the duchy's debts. She raises her husband's illegitimate child with patience and grace. She waits seven years.

When Geoffrey finally returns from the wars, the first thing he does is petition the Ecclesiastical Court for an annulment—citing consanguinity, some thread of distant cousinship—so he can marry his mistress.

And in open court, he announces that the child Eleanor raised as her own is his bastard. Always was.

By then, the Everwoods are nothing. Our influence has withered, our halls stand empty, and not a single soul bothers to pay a courtesy call.

Eleanor has no protector. She can't fight a man riding the crest of military glory. She endures it in silence.

Then she collapses. No one visits. No one sends for a physician. She lies alone in an empty room and closes her eyes for the last time.

And I—her grandmother—live long enough to watch her buried.

Every time I think about Geoffrey kneeling at the altar, playing the pious knight, when he was calculating how to strip us bare from the very beginning—every vow he made before God, a lie—my hands shake so badly I want to wrap them around his throat.

But the Eleanor standing before me right now doesn't know any of this. She doesn't know her betrothed is a devil wearing a saint's mask.

I can't tell her. Not yet.

So I take her hands and smile.

"Ellie, you're still so young. And you're my only granddaughter. I can't bear to let you go just yet."

"Stay with me a little longer. Two more years. Can you do that?"

Here's what I know from the last life: the Montforts are drowning. That's why Geoffrey pushes for the wedding. Once Eleanor arrives with her dowry, he's free to ride north and chase glory.

If I delay the marriage by two years, the Montforts won't last six months. Their rot will show through for the whole world to see.

Let's see them come knocking on our door then.

Eleanor blushes and nods, sweet as ever.

"I want to stay with you too. If you hadn't come for me that night, I don't know what would've happened!"

"Dear Grandmother, you saved my life. I'll do whatever you say. I'll write to Geoffrey right now and tell him the wedding is postponed!"

I pull her into my arms. "My dear girl. I haven't loved you for nothing."

As long as Eleanor never sets foot in that den of wolves, she'll never suffer what she suffered before.

And if that nest of vipers goes bankrupt in the meantime? That's not our problem.

My son Thomas and his wife Catherine are thrilled when they hear the news. They come to see me together that evening.

Thomas sits down and gets straight to the point.

"Mother, did you hear something? Everyone's whispering that the Montforts are practically ruined. The old duke's war reputation is the only thing keeping up appearances. Their estate income can't even cover household expenses—apparently the servants haven't received their wages or livery allowances in months, and the pantry's nearly bare. Eleanor insists on honoring the betrothal, but she'd be walking straight into misery."

Catherine nods, her brow creased with worry. "Eleanor is my only daughter. I won't watch her suffer."

"This is perfect timing, Mother. Give it a couple of years, once Eleanor's gotten over her stubbornness, we'll find her a family that actually deserves her. She can stay right here by your side. Wouldn't that be better?"

Seeing them both on my side warms my old bones more than any fire.

"Good. I'm glad we're all in agreement."

Henry and I only had Thomas. I adored him from the day he drew breath. When his father died, Thomas was twelve. I raised him alone.

His wife Catherine is a distant relation of mine—a merchant's daughter, yes, but from a wealthy house. She's gentle-natured, pious, well-mannered.

A perfect match for my honest, upright son.

In the previous life, Catherine and I nearly bankrupted ourselves for Eleanor. My dower. Catherine's remaining dowry funds. We poured everything we had into keeping that girl afloat in the Montfort household.

That's the real reason the Everwoods fell so fast.

This time, we will *not* let those leeches bleed us dry.

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