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Alice had been Rosamund’s friend and companion for years, loyal to a fault. She accompanied her in her return to a place that did not feel like home anymore. Being at Rosewood Cottage meant seeing somebody else living in the home built by the Harcourts for generations upon generations. No matter what Rosamund told Alice about Westbourne, Alice still had her own opinions; that is, she had no personal hatred of the Duke.

“I - I do not know, Alice,” she confessed.

“Mm. So, you leave me here, trembling with anticipation of anger. Then, you encounter something - a little kindness -, and you come back to me, uncertain. Perhaps your little excursion for today is a way for you to pause and think about what really happened years ago.”

“Perhaps.”

“Does this mean that you and Westbourne are no longer enemies?” Alice asked softly.

“No. Of course not, Alice! The Duke remains intolerable despite behaving decently for approximately twenty minutes!” Rosamund sounded like she was again prepared to explode.

“Mm. I will remember to record the achievement in the parish register.”

Ten

“It is time to forget trivial matters,” Rosamund muttered, although she knew full well that there was nothing trivial about the matter she was trying to push away from her mind.

“What is the plan for today, and do you need my help?” asked Alice. Her embroidery was nowhere in sight. It looked like she might just be ready to accompany Rosamund for the day.

“As much as I love your company, Alice, I would like to go to the village to talk to my father’s former tenants alone,” Rosamund said, sounding almost regretful.

Rosamund loved her friend, but having Alice listen to all the questions she was planning to ask was not something she would be comfortable with. Alice knew her too well. She did not want knowing looks and pointed comments while she tried to discover anything the Duke might be hiding.

“Oh, do be truthful, Rosamund,” Alice said, with a twinkle in her eye. “Are you hoping to see the Duke today?”

“No, Alice. The goal for today is not to see him at all!” Rosamund protested.

“Mm,” was all Alice said before rummaging for her embroidery threads and hoop. Rosamund wondered then if it would have been easier if she had told her friend she could go.

But it was too late to say that now. So, off she went.

“He has not raised anyone’s rent. We have shared stories, believe me, Lady Rosamund,” Mrs. Garrow said thoughtfully.

Rosamund was yet in another tenant’s small, simple, but neat home. Mrs. Garrow was a weaver’s widow, and her family had served Ashbourne Hall for a good many years.

“Not even by a shilling? Perhaps His Grace chooses which ones get a raise, and which ones will get the same rates.”

“No, not His Grace,” the old woman confirmed. “When things did not fare too well with your family, we all prepared to be sent away. After all, what was a new master to do with the previous owner’s tenants? Would he not want someone more loyal to him? We also expected him to aim for tenants who were more willing to pay double at that time.”

Were there people willing to pay double?

Rosamund rubbed the bridge of her nose. She was getting a headache.

“And he did not, Mrs. Garrow?”

“No, my lady,” the widow replied firmly. “Even after my Samuel passed, I was not sent away. I was told that I would be protected by the widow’s fund.”

“The widow’s fund? My mother founded that when she was still alive,” Rosamund breathed. It seemed that at every turn, she was reminded of what used to be. The things that she used to have.

“The fund remains, my lady,” Mrs. Garrow said gently. “I believe His Grace expanded it to cover more. It has helped many a widow through many winters. He had said something about keeping the customs of the house.”

Rosamund rose abruptly. Her body hit the edge of the table, and the tea sloshed in the cup.

“Thank you for serving me tea, Mrs. Garrow, she said hastily, her voice sounding just as frustrated and out of control as the day before. She was right not to let Alice accompany her today.

For now, she must escape. Mrs. Garrow’s house might be cozy and airy, but she felt suffocated by the fact that everywhere she went, people seemed to like the Duke of Westbourne. It was wholly unexpected.

But was it?