London was much as I remembered: crowded streets, unpleasant smells, and loud noises, until we entered the better section of the city, and turned into Mayfair, where something akin to peaceful tranquility ruled. Our destination was an elegant-looking townhouse in the heart of Mayfair.
The duke's London home was a study in opulence on the inside. Marble tiles, priceless vases and paintings, and plush rugs were in abundance. It was overwhelming, and I felt very small and insignificant inside. The housekeeper escorted me upstairs to my suite of rooms, with nothing more than a curt nod. The staff's deference was reserved for the duke himself, it seemed, through either loyalty or merely that they were mirroring the duke's obvious disregard for me. My rooms showed none of this, however, and were as large and elegant as a duchess's rooms should be.

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