In my previous life, the moment I heard Finn had become the Marquess of Eastholm, I bundled up my daughter and traveled a thousand miles to find him. Edith killed us both with poisoned pastries.

My last thought before the darkness took me was regret. Not for dying, but for severing ties with my father, the Duke of Northwall, all for the sake of marrying Finn Acevedo.

This time, the moment I opened my eyes, I sold the house, packed what little money it brought, and set out for the capital.

But I was not going to the Eastholm estate.

I told the driver to take the long way around, and the carriage rolled to a stop before the gates of the Donaldson Ducal Estate.

The driver took one look at us, my daughter and me in our threadbare rags, shuffling toward the duke's gates like a pair of beggars, and let out a snort.

"Takes all kinds. Now even beggars have the nerve to show up at the Duke's door claiming to be family."

I ignored him. I took Hildegarde James's small hand in mine, walked to the gate, and knelt.

"Father. Your daughter knows she was wrong."

My father was the Duke of Northwall, the most powerful lord on the northern frontier. My mother had been a princess of the Kingdom of Valdoria.

I was born the Duchess of Ashford, raised in silk and silver. Then one spring, on a country outing near Greenshire, I stumbled upon Finn Acevedo, the discarded second son of the James family.

His brothers had been tearing each other apart over the family inheritance, and he'd nearly been killed in the crossfire. They broke his leg and left him in a ditch.

I felt sorry for him. So I saved his life.

Then, sharing those cramped country rooms day after day, I fell in love with him.

When I swore I would marry Finn and no one else, my father was furious. His voice went cold as iron.

"If you marry that man, I no longer have a daughter."

Finn swore to the heavens he would cherish me for the rest of his life.

I stripped off my silks and jewels, put on a plain cotton dress, and became his wife.

And over the years, lulled by his sweet words repeated day after day, I withered into a gaunt, hollow-eyed village woman.

I never imagined that within five or six years, every one of his elder brothers would die, and the Eastholm estate would offer Finn the title on a single condition: accept the dual-branch inheritance, and the marquessate was his.