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“One hundred thousand pounds, Your Grace, is, I believe, not only a fair valuation but also a generous estimation. The property has never reached such a price in its lifetime.”

Lady Rosamund Harcourt’s heart was bleeding, but she would not let anyone see that. She kept her back ramrod straight with her hands in her lap. She wore silk gloves, not only as a display of dignity and proper decorum, but also to hide her white knuckles. She sat in Ashbourne Hall’s blue and white drawing room. It was the most familiar of places, one where she learned to play the pianoforte at a young age, chattered with her best friend, Alice Bellamy, and where her father often dozed on Sunday afternoons, seated and mouth hanging open.

Today, the drawing room felt both familiar and strange. A stranger had taken over the place, seated in the chair that belonged to generations of Earls of Ashbourne. Peregrine Blackwood, Duke of Westbourne, was perusing the thick parchment she had handed to him.

The Duke was a picture of leisure and wealth, leaning back against the crimson velvet cushions. One long leg crossed over the other, as if he had no worries to think of. He was the complete opposite of Rosamund, who was like a tightly woven string on a violin. While she worried about her chestnut strands flying loose, the Duke’s own seemed to be brushed with casual precision. Not a strand was out of place, and yet it also looked as if he hadn't spent much time on it.

Some people were fortunate enough to achieve things without much effort. At the moment, he seemed focused on the document, eyes scanning it line by line. However, Rosamund could swear she could see a hint of amusement on his face.

“Is it, truly?” he asked in the smooth baritone that had become familiar to Rosamund. Familiar and utterly exasperating in its lack of urgency. After she had rehearsed this particular conversation in her head for three fortnights, it was disappointing that she would hear his almost dismissive drawl. “Generous estimation, Lady Rosamund? I was unaware that banks are now issuing loans out of goodness? Did you make all of this happen?”

The questions made sense somehow. Women were not allowed to create an account on their own. Still, it stung that the Duke did not believe she would have other resources.

“Rest assured that the capital is sound. Once I pay you the money, you have nothing to concern yourself about,” Rosamund replied, trying to keep her voice calm and polite. “We managed to liquidate some properties, some of which were owned by relatives. We have sold some furniture as well. The important thing is that we have managed to raise an amount that should be more than enough to pay for Ashbourne Hall. The draft has been prepared and endorsed by Pilgrim’s Bank. You may have enough time to verify the signatures with your solicitors. I will not rush you if you need some time to do this.”

The Duke glanced at her. Then, he placed the documents on the table between them and pushed them back across until they reached Rosamund’s teacup. Her fingers trembled.

“I have no need to consult anyone, least of all my solicitors, Lady Rosamund,” Peregrine said lightly. “Your offer has been denied.”

Rosamund blinked. She shook her head in disbelief. How could he say those words with such cold finality? His words made her feel like she had been submerged in cold river water, not that she had ever experienced that. But that was what she imagined it would feel like. She felt like someone had dashed her dreams away. She felt like she was drowning. At that moment, all her rehearsed speeches and composure were threatening to leave her.

“I - I beg y-your pardon, Your Grace?” Her voice dropped an octave. It almost felt like she could no longer speak. She felt hoarse and powerless. No, she should never think that way.

“I am afraid that you have heard me quite clearly,” the Duke murmured, as he took a sip of his brandy. Yes, that despicable man was drinking his choice of spirits after he had offered her a cup of tea. “I am declining your generous offer.”

Rosamund swore she heard sarcasm when he said the word “generous.” He was turning her own words against her, flung back at her like a slap. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. She had anticipated and rehearsed various scenarios. This was not one of them. The Duke did not even let her argue her point. It was an immediate rejection. She was even prepared for him to ask for a higher amount so he could profit even more. She was ready for him to give her a full and utterly condescending lecture on economics, specifically property ownership. The man seemed close to owning a quarter of the western part of the country, and he simply had to choose Ashbourne Hall as one of his latest conquests.

“I-if you find the price insufficient,” she said, her fingers strangling her silk reticule, “I am prepared to negotiate according to your wishes. For example, you may keep a significant share in the timber rights on the southern woods. That is where the best of the trees are located. I assure you that I had someone reputable and respectable land valuer appraise the price and one hundred thousand is nearly twenty to twenty-five percent above the fair market value. You can have one of your men check this.”

“Lady Rosamund, I have no issue about the price. It is more than fair,” Peregrine said, his brows furrowed. “Some may even say you are willing to pay an absurdly high price for the property.”

Rosamund narrowed her hazel-green eyes at him. What did he mean by that? It did not look like her polite facade would be getting her anywhere. She was getting close to losing her temper. How absurd was this man?

“I do not understand,” she said, her nose flaring as she folded her arms across her chest. Earlier, she was close to leaning forward. Now, her back flattened against the velvet chair, as if she expected it to provide some protection. “You find my proposed price fair, and yet you refuse to sell?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, nodding. This time, he deigned to meet her eyes. There was an almost languid challenge there. “I am refusing.”

“I know what this is about,” Rosamund muttered, laughing bitterly. She lifted her chin and matched the man’s stare. He would not intimidate her. Not when she was there for a singular purpose, one she would be willing to continue pursuing until the end of time. “Then, you must be planning to demand more even though you think the price is fair. Is that not more cruel? How silly of me to expect that you will easily allow me to purchase back my family’s ancestral home! The money I offer you may be large for its market value, but the property itself carries the value of s-something else.”

Rosamund was thinking of the memories and the sentimental value that she attributed to Ashbourne Hall. The Duke of Westbourne had everything he could want. Why would he want to tighten his clutches around her property?

“What did you truly expect, Lady Rosamund?” Peregrine asked, giving her a lopsided smile. It was that same smile that might have worked with other women, but not on an angry one who wanted her family’s home back. “Ashbourne Hall is not for sale.”

“Not for sale? At all?” Rosamund asked, her temper about to snap. “On what grounds? Are you certain you are not planning to sell it to the highest bidder?”

“On what grounds? On the grounds that I am now its owner, and I decide what happens to it,” Peregrine declared. “I do not wish to part with Ashbourne Hall, and so it will remain under my ownership.”

“You do not wish to part with it?” Rosamund echoed incredulously, extending an arm to gesture at the room. “You do not even live here! I know. You simply want to meet me here to make it more difficult for me. More painful.”

Her gaze could not help but sweep over the high ceilings and the tall windows through which they had a view of the well-manicured lawn. The furniture, curtains, and all the other details had not been replaced.

“Look at this room. This is a facade. You cannot even manage to replace the furniture or at least change the color of the walls or the curtains -”

“Would you want me to do that?” he asked, still wearing that annoyingly amused smile.

“If you want it for yourself, then you must mark it with your character. With your wants and needs. A house cannot simply be owned through purchase. You must show that you own it by making it look like it does. Andalf of this place is still covered in dust sheets. It is uncomfortable for you that you reside at Westbourne Abbey. You have properties in Mayfair and Perthshire and several other places that nobody could manage in a lifetime or two. Why do you need to hold on to Ashbourne Hall? Is it mere petulance?”