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The name did not ring a bell. But it did not matter. There was now a name to pursue. It seemed Wycliffe had already had it in his mind that he would search Brighton for this woman.

Eventually, they had to stop talking as the meeting resumed. However, the Duke was already consumed with a cold fury. It was not because Thomas knew more about what Rosamund was planning to do next and that the two had just recently talked. It was also not because Rosamund intended to investigate the matter, anyway.

No.

The anger came from a place of terror. If the late Earl of Ashbourne had truly been blackmailed, the blackmailer, a woman, might still be alive. The woman should not be underestimated. Someone who could ruin an earl by having him send her large amounts of money was dangerous. If Rosamund started asking questions publicly, she would alert this very woman.

Instinct told Peregrine to block all of Rosamund’s efforts to look for Elizabeth Croft. He wanted to go to Rosewood Cottage simply to forbid her. He would list a number of commands for her to consider, commands that would keep her safe. However, he remembered her accusations that he only allowed her to know what he wanted her to know. That he was limiting her because it would be inconvenient for him that she knew more.

That stopped his plans of commanding her. He would have proven her right that he was nothing more than a tyrant. Perhaps, the best thing to do was to treat her as an equal.

Later, sharp knocks rattled Rosewood Cottage’s front door. Rosamund rose from her seat, cheeks burning with anger. Who could be rapping at the door as if they intended to break it?

“If that is Westbourne,” she muttered to Alice, “he has quite the nerve to be disturbing the peace and planning to deliver yet another sermon.”

She pulled the door open a little too roughly.

Peregrine stood in front of him, not wearing any riding coat even though it was damp and cold outside. He did not cover his head, either, or his hair was wind mussed. It was unfair that it did not seem that messy, just artfully styled. She was prepared to yell at him or hurl a sarcastic remark, but his eyes looked haunted. The man was not there to fight.

“Your Grace, to what do we owe this visit?” she asked.

“May I enter?” he asked softly, pulling out a packet from inside his breast coat. Rosamund’s eyes followed the movement.

“What are those?” she asked, even as she gestured for him to enter.

“These were some of the blackmail demands that woman sent to your father,” he replied as he took the seat Alice directed him to. “You may want to look at them. When I first gotten hold of them, I viewed them through my own frustration. I saw the Earl as a man squandering his family’s money and dragging his estate to ruin. Because of that, I interpreted these letters as consequences of your father’s financial misconduct. It felt like the desperate move of a gambler drowning in debt to be involved with dangerous people.”

“And now?” Rosamund asked, as she sat across from him. “Does that mean you believe someone did blackmail my father?”

“It is possible, based on these notes. There is a secrecy to the drafts being sent to Brighton. It looks like someone had information over him that made him panic, enough to make him send such large sums to this person.”

“Why are you bringing these letters to me now? Are you trying to help me? Why?” Rosamund asked, bombarding the Duke with questions.

“Because if I was wrong about any part of what happened,” he explained, “you deserve to know. You have carried such a burden through the years. You deserve the truth.”

“Oh? Are you now finally admitting you might have been wrong, Your Grace?” she asked, surprised at the slightly teasing tone that came out of herself.

“Do not become too excited,” h murmured. “The experience is already painful enough.”

Rosamund could not help it anymore She let out a melodic laugh. The sound rang through the parlor, not quite startling Alice, who looked heavenward, instead. It was a genuine laugh, not sarcastic or bitter. Surprised at herself, she covered her mouth, her cheeks warming.

After the Duke recovered, his mouth twitched. Then, his smile broadened while their eyes locked into each other. It felt like something fundamental had shifted between them. It felt like their rivalry and animosity had been somewhat smoothened during that moment.

During the next few days, Rosewood Cottage had been transformed, or at least the way Rosamund and the Duke worked together had changed. The investigation had become a joint effort.

They sorted through old ledgers, bank receipts, and the blackmail notes that he had provided. Alice was almost present, ensuring that her friend was always properly accompanied whenever the Duke called. She had her embroidery each time, and she even jested that, “I might finish three coats before Christmas.”

The two new team members sat shoulder to shoulder at the dining table, studying various pieces of yellowed paper as if finding clues to where the next blast would be in a battlefield.

“The words seem to suggest that the woman know my father quite well,” Rosamund said dread rising from within her.

“Oh, so you do not believe this to be a random creditor?”

“No, Your Grace. There is also a hint of anger here somewhere,” she murmured. “This may not be only about money. There is something about the past that tainted the transactions.”

“Mm. You have a remarkably sharp mind for such details, Lady Rosamund,” the Duke admitted. “Would it be accurate to say that it is a woman’s touch?”

“A woman’s keen mind,” she replied, but with a grin. She could not help it. “But you sound a little surprised. Remember I am the same woman who managed to raise one hundred thousand pounds, some of which come from relatives who no longer wanted to give my father money.”