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Rosamund looked at him, trying to gauge his thoughts. It did not look like an act. The Duke had been working on a tenant’s gable. This was not calculated theater. It felt like the man the villagers were talking about was real - the generous, kind Duke who was willing to lose money on rent.

But how was this man the same man who exposed her father and let the Harcourts fall into ruin?

“Oh, no, Your Grace,” she said softly. “I am not afraid of you.”

It was his turn to stare at her, his jaw clenching at her words. Then, slowly, he straightened himself.

“Walk with me, Lady Rosamund,” he said. It was not a command, and he made it clear by making his voice soft and gentle.

Rosamund felt compelled. They walked along the narrow path until they reached a rolling pasture. The earth was still soft after the morning rain and leaves were still damp. The smell of wet earth comforted her. She could not help but sigh. It was a contented sigh this time, and not an exasperated one.

“Howard Fitzroy’s grandfather built that cottage,” Peregrine said. Rosamund did not have to ask. She immediately knew that he was referring to the cottage that they were working on. “Three years ago, it started showing its age and began to sag. My steward advised me to simply put the cottage down. It would be an additional plot of land under my control. He said to give the Fitzroys a small amount.”

“Why did you not?” Rosamund asked, truly curious.

“There is so much history in that house. Births. Deaths. Howard’s wife died there. He should not be forced out of there.”

Frustration wrestled in Rosamund’s chest. On the one hand, Peregrine was a good landlord. He cared for his people. He knew them. In turn, his people cared for him and tried to get to know him.

And yet, he did not seem to care about the history of Ashbourne for her. Did he not see it? She also needed her home.

“You know all of them.” It was a statement, not a question. Perhaps, he was saying these things to show her that he would be the better owner. He knew them, while she struggled with a few names here and there. The young ones no longer knew her. Her visits were like little campaigns for her to gain information, and for them to get to know her.

“Yes. It is my duty to get to know them,” Peregrine said solemnly. “A man who owns land is nothing but a parasite if he does not get to know the people on his land.”

“Oh. So, are you trying to tell me these things to prove that you are the better owner of Ashbourne Hall and its environs?” she asked, fury now rising to the surface.

Peregrine glanced at her. His eyes revealed that he finally realized that there was a change in mood and temperature. Rosamund was so close to believing that the Duke was a nobler man than she gave him credit for, but he was, again, showing that it was all a lie.

Or he could be a good man to everyone else, but he needed to have Ashbourne Hall, and the only way to do that was to take it from her family.

“D-did I say anything wrong?” Peregrine asked, and Rosamund was almost glad to hear the uncertainty in that voice. He often sounded self-assured. Not this time.

“You were talking about the Fitzroys. I am glad that you have let them stay. That is something that we agree on. However, you mentioned how you did it because you understand the meaning of history and sentimental value. And you will not even allow me to buy my family’s house back!”

Rosamund did not wait for him to defend himself. She turned around. It was her fault for being there. She had been looking for various reasons to be at Ashbourne Hall and the surrounding cottages. It was time to leave the jar at Mrs. Gidley’s and go home.

“Wait, Lady Rosamund!”

She refused to listen, but when he stopped following her, she could not help but be disappointed. When she reached Mrs. Gidley’s cottage, her mood lightened up a little, but she could still feel the weight of the morning’s discovery in her heart. What was it about the Harcourts that they should be treated as if they were not humans? That they could be driven away from their homes?

After helping fix the gables at Howard Fitzroy’s cottage, Peregrine did not go home immediately. Instead, he walked around the village, especially the other tenants’ cottages to see if anyone needed help. Everyone was thankful and gracious. Rosamund thought she was buying loyalty. He was buying peace.

Peace of mind.

His mind would be in disarray if anyone was in distress and he had the means to solve their problems, anyway. Peace of mind also entailed following Rosamund quietly when she went to Mrs. Gidley’s to deliver jam. She was telling the truth about it, but her usual smile was gone. It was polite and faded.

Later that evening, he found some solace in the gentlemen’s club with Adrian. Their last meeting was not that pleasant, but they quickly fell into their usual rhythms as lifelong friends.

Adrian was, as usual, holding a glass of spirits. Without such a glass, he already had the easy and relaxed demeanor that Peregrine could never have, but with it, he seemed to be more eager to listen or give a non-judgmental word of advice.

Peregrine’s fingers itched to open his ledgers, his source of comfort. Tonight, though, he needed a glass or two to forget the words that came out of Rosamund’s lips. She just might be right. He was a hypocrite.

“You spent the whole morning in the cottage area and three hours this afternoon patrolling the western boundary,” Adrian mused. “That is according to your own account. However, your eager boy Jamie had let on that you had an encounter with a flock of geese a few days ago!”

“A tenant owns those geese. They were trying to escape. It was Lady Rosamund who was trying to help catch them.”

“Naturally,” Adrian murmured. “I suppose it is also in the interest of maintaining the roads that you spent forty minutes a week talking to Lady Rosamund over the stone wall boundary?”