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Everything was perfect in Eleanora Russell's life, who was formerly named Eleanora Fitzwilliam. She was married to Lord Jerome Russell, who had recently invested a large sum of money into gemstone mines located in the Americas. It took some convincing from Jerome, but Eleanora finally was on board with the idea of earning extra money from the North American country.

She and Jerome had been married for ten years, ever since she was wed mere days after turning the legal age of eight and ten. For ten years, they had a swimmingly marriage. Eleanora was not head over heels for the older man, but for the sake of her reputation of herself and her parents, she did what had to be done.

Over the years, the ton looked down upon the couple because they had yet to bear a child. It was only because Eleanora was so distant from Jerome that she had no motivation to even bear the thought of conceiving children with him.

Just six months after getting married, Eleanora's parents were reported dead by a carriage accident on their way to visit Russell House. Eleanora's mourning process only made her more distant from her husband; not a day went by when she did not think of her parents dearly.

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Eleanora was busying her mind in the drawing room with her needlework, letting the muscle memory of her fingers dance with the thread as she thought about her parents and the potential sum of money coming in any day now. Her maid, Veronica, walked in, her face red and splotchy from crying hysterically.

"Veronica, whatever is the matter?" Eleanora asked, voice filled with sudden concern. Her drifting mind stopped and so did her fingers.

"My lady . . ." Veronica sobbed, struggling to get the words out.

"Veronica, please speak to me." Eleanora was starting to get worried, and the emotion was frantically increasing.

"Your husband . . ." Veronica let out another sob. "We found him in his study . . . he has hanged himself."

Suddenly, time stopped for Eleanora. When she stood up in a panic, she felt as if she was standing up in slow motion. When her fingers involuntarily relaxed, releasing her cross-stitching hoop, it seemed as if the hoop fell and hit the carpet in slow motion as well.

"That cannot be," Eleanora denied. Even her speech felt like it was in slow motion.

"We found this on his desk." Veronica handed her a folded-up letter in her shaky hands.

Eleanora opened up the letter, tears streaming down one at a time.

Eleanora,

    I have just learned the news of the mines in America. They were a scam. The man in charge of this tricked me too well. I should have seen through his act, alas, I did not. I cannot bear to live with myself like this. We can never get that sum of money back, and I feel humiliated and embarrassed.   

Yours truly,   

Lord Jerome Russell

Eleanora read the letter repeatedly, making sure the words had not magically changed on the paper and that she didn't miss any other important information in its contents. If it was not for her agreeing to invest the money, this wouldn't have happened. But it was too late. Her world was crumbling apart. According to the ton, she will be considered a pitiful widow. At the age of seven and twenty, there would be no way of her to remarry in her old age.

Because of Lord Russell's tragic passing, how would she have any money now? How would she keep the house? The staff? How would she put food on the table?

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