Eleanor is thrilled that a New Year has arrived! Perhaps this will be the year she can vanquish that churlish scoundrel William, he of the greasy hands and lewd grins. She shudders delicately. What she would really like, she secretly admits, is to somehow convince Lord Hugh that she is not who he thinks she is, a ninny with no brain, and to see her for who she really is, someone with character and loyalty. But, how can she bring this about? A New Year holds such portent — such potential. Eleanor sips her goblet of wine and stares into the fire in the hearth. How will she achieve what she wants in her heart of hearts? She blushes at the thought; it is not the heat of the fire that has turned her face pink.