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“I investigated enough to know that Henry’s trust fund was being taken, that it was being systematically emptied,” the Duke finally said, and she could hear the slight defensive note to it.

“I see,” Rosamund whispered. “You discovered that my father was taking Henry’s money, but you did not investigate enough to know why. If you had known my father well enough, you would know that he would never do anything like that unless he was pressed by true desperation.”

“The reason did not change what your father was doing, Lady Rosamund!” the Duke protested. “It did not change the law, and he was still facing ruin.”

Rosamund stepped back, not because she was retreating, but because she was seeing the Duke clearly at that moment, and she did not want to be near him at all. The anger dissipated from her and was replaced with something cold and dead. The next few words that came from her mouth should cut deeper than insult she could think of.

“Perhaps, then,” she said with an edge, “it should have changed what you did.”

For the first time since she had gotten to know him, Peregrine Blackwood had no response for her. His lips parted, then closed again. His pale grey eyes carried something profoundly dark and almost sorrowful.

Rosamund could feel that there would not be any real answer from him that time. So, she picked up Henry’s favorite book. She walked out of Ashbourne Hall’s library without looking back. He did not follow, either. She wondered if he was still thinking of what to say, or if he was still trying to find clues from the yellowed letter.

Seventeen

“Ihope I am not intruding on your afternoon, Lady Rosamund,” Thomas Wycliffe said apologetically, “but I have stumbled upon something you may be interested in. I saw it among my father’s ledgers.”

Rosamund, Thomas, and Alice were seated by Rosewood Cottage’s small parlour window. He took a slim leather folder from his coat pocket. He seemed quite guarded, as if he was not certain he should show what he had to Rosamund at all.

“What is it, Thomas?” she asked.

“As you know, my father worked with your father, the late Earl of Ashbourne. My father kept meticulous records of the transactions,” Thomas explained, as he opened the folder to show sheets of parchment with numbers and names. “While going through my father’s accounts, I came across several entries recording significant sums being transferred from your father’s personal accounts to a woman in Brighton with the name of Mrs. Elizabeth Croft.

Rosamund’s breathing caught. A woman. Was this the woman referred to in her father’s frantic letter?

“In Brighton,” she murmured, excitement rising in her chest. “Were there any annotations describing the nature of these payments?”

“Unfortunately, not,” Thomas replied, “which makes it quite curious given the details in other transactions that my father records for your father and for other people. I simply thought that the information might be helpful since the dates of the transactions coincide with the last few months before your father was…uh, in trouble.”

“Mm. I do wonder if these were the missing funds, the ones that were said to have been taken from Henry’s trust fund,” Rosamund mused, feeling cold all over. What kind of trouble had her father gotten himself into?

“Brighton is a day’s ride,” Thomas murmured, “I am willing to go there to investigate myself, or you and Alice may come if you like, so we can make discreet inquiries.”

“It is quite extraordinary,” Alice breathed. “It is your first concrete lead. A name. A location. We now know that the money was sent in several parts to the same woman in Brighton.”

Hope bloomed in Rosamund’s chest, but she was terrified of letting it grow even more. What if this was going to end in failure once more? For years, she had lived in total darkness, orphaned, penniless, and in total despair. For the first time, she might have real answers to the questions niggling in her head.

“Thank you, Thomas,” Rosamund said, meaning it. “You are right. We must investigate this.”

“I may have to travel south in two day’s time,” Thomas said over a glass of sherry.

“Oh? Whatever for?” Adrian asked, raising an eyebrow. “And where exactly?”

They were at the village quarterly meeting, taking a small break before the next discussion.

“Brighton,” Wycliffe replied. “I may travel alone or with two lovely companions, Lady Rosamund and Miss Alice Bellamy. We are looking into a mysterious woman whose name we found in the late Earl’s records.”

“Brighton?” Peregrine echoed, hearing everything. He also heard Rosamund’s and Alice’s names mentioned in the same breath. “And you say there is a woman you must see there?”

“Yes, Your Grace. While I was going through my late father’s accounts, I saw some interesting transfers of large sums from the late Earl of Ashbourne to the same woman in Brighton. It is quite fascinating.”

“Do you think the woman lives in Brighton?” Peregrine asked.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“What is her name?”

“The name in the transactions was Mrs. Elizabeth Croft.”