She was furniture. Useful. Quiet. Forgotten.
Miss Margot Ellison spent three Seasons in the corners of Bath—until a jammed conservatory latch, a frightened child, and London’s most ineligible duke made her the only name worth saying.
Sebastian Crowe never meant to marry. His orphaned wards needed a shield. The scandal needed a lock. She needed a name her aunt could not spend.
A bargain. Separate rooms. Nothing more.
Then the letters started. A latch paid to fail. A cousin collecting affidavits. A woman in dove silk who had already measured herself for the coronet.
Margot does not run with tears. She copies every line. She lets them believe the new duchess is still unseen.
At the harvest ball, she does not make a scene. She makes a record.
What was designed to ruin her is handed back—precisely, publicly, without raising her voice.
The lock was never the marriage.
The lock was her.
Read The Duke’s Unseen Wallflower—and watch the wallflower stop standing in the corner.