Page 34

Someone’s footsteps could be heard approaching. At that moment, the spell had been broken and the two of them jumped apart. The Duke had stepped back two paces, his hands dropping to his sides. The gentleness on his face was replaced by something steadier and unreadable.

She had revealed too much of herself to the Duke. She might even have allowed for her impending downfall. She did not like it at all.

Sixteen

“Iam here for Henry’s copy of A Natural History of Dogs and Cats,” Rosamund told Mrs. Johns. “It was his favorite.”

Mrs. Johns simply gave her a smile and a polite curtsy and provided Rosamund some privacy, as she walked toward the Ashbourne library.

The library was just as unchanged as the rest of the house, but Rosamund could swear that there were some new book additions to the collection. Still, there was a faint smell of dusk mixing with the scent of old books, which she loved.

She was free to explore Ashbourne Hall because of Westbourne’s permission. Therefore, there was nothing wrong with her looking for any book at all.

Rosamund went straight to the glass fronted cabinets placed against the far wall. She knew Henry’s book was right there on the third shelf. So, she was able to get it right away. The worn volume was truly her brother’s favorite, and she wanted it close to her. As she was pulling it out of the cabinet, she noticed something else. It was the lower cabinet, where her father used to keep his private ledgers. Interestingly, the key was still in the lock. It almost felt like a trap or a temptation.

She must open it.

Rosamund’s chest tightened with anticipation. Her hand was trembling a little when she turned the key and pulled the cabinet open. Inside, letters of various sizes and thicknesses were tied with a silk ribbon. She dropped to her knees on the rug, laying Henry’s book aside.

She went through the various letters. Most were ordinary, some of which were paid or unpaid receipts from various merchants. There were even some refusals for loans. She shook her head in disbelief at that. It seemed her father had attempted to contact cousins but had been refused. She was more fortunate than he was, as she was able to get assistance from some of the same relatives. No matter how embarrassing, at least those were expected.

However, when she dug further into the stacks, she found a yellowed paper with a note that made her wonder what her father had been involved with. The letter was written by her father, in his usual frenzied scrawl. The added detail of thick lines and blotches spoke more of his way of thinking at that time.

“The funds must be secured soon at all costs. If the draft is delayed, she speaks, and all is lost.”

Rosamund felt something cold run up her spine. She read the letter a few more times, tracing the jagged dark ink. She speaks. Who was she? Could it be a creditor or his wife? Or perhaps it was a female moneylender? But would they possible threaten her father with? There was no name or address, not even a title. The identity of the woman might have died with her father.

“You should not be going through drawers, Lady Rosamund. Otherwise, you are free to be in this room.”

Rosamund jumped up suddenly, her knee feeling the strain of the movement. It knocked against an open cabinet door. However, there was no time for her to groan or even anticipate a forming bruise because the Duke stood in the doorway, catching her in the act.

The stubborn part of her reasoned that it was still her home. It was as simple as that. However, the grey blue eyes that watched her seemed to tell her that she should not be there at all. He walked toward in a few, long strides. When his eyes focused on the paper she was reading, there was a flash of recognition there. She was certain of it.

“Where did you find that?” he demanded, in a low voice that hid something more dangerous.

“In my father’s cabinet,” Rosamund replied sullenly, clutching the letter against her chest. “Where it belongs, naturally.”

“Give it to me, Lady Rosamund,” the Duke commanded. “There is good reason the paper has been kept in that drawer. It concerns matters you do not understand.”

Rosamund’s fury flared. She would not understand? Why did he get to decide that? Every trace of the vulnerability she felt when he took the leaf out of her hair in the conservatory faded away.

“Matters I do not understand?” she echoed, no longer even trying to control her anger. “How remarkably convenient it is for you, Your Grace! Men have been telling women they do not understand matters for centuries whenever the truth is inconvenient. Finance, politics, science and more! We understand these things if given the facts and opportunity, but we are often told that we do not.”

“Lady Rosamund, calm down,” Westbourne said. Again, he said the wrong thing. “I did not mean it like -”

“Do not dare tell me to calm down!” she snapped. “Who was she? Who was the woman my father had to pay so urgently? Was it she who drove my father to ruin?”

“I do not know,” the Duke said, his jaw clenching, even as he glared at the letter she was holding.

“Lies!” Rosamund cried. “You spent months studying my father’s accounts, auditing his life and eventually taking his home. You must have known something!”

“I am telling you the truth,” he insisted, meeting her eyes directly. “There were letters demanding payments, but none of them had a name or a return address. They were always brief and urgent. At that time, I believed they were more evidence of more debts, perhaps with a gaming house with a female runner.”

Rosamund narrowed her eyes at him, her feelings turning colder as she realized what he was trying to tell her.

“At the time?” she repeated. “Did you investigate?”

There was a pause. The hesitation told Rosamund more than she needed to know. The Duke seemed to be questioning his own strategies. It did not sound good for either of them.