Eleanor knows there is something very special about the day coming up. The peasants who have brought their produce and pigs and sheep to the castle kitchens have been talking about it. They are using the words “Memorial Day,” and Eleanor wonders who it is that should be remembered. Of course, she remembers her dear parents, but, on the other hand, there are a lot of people she does *not* want to remember, most particularly that odious William of Litchfield, he of the eel bits between his teeth and the roaming hands. She shudders. Whom she would really like to remember is that handsome, arrogant Lord Hugh….if only she had a thrilling memory involving him!
With any luck, Memorial Day will be memorable, if perchance she can somehow contrive to see him — goodness, those blue eyes of his…Now there’s a memory, she tells herself, her pulse racing.