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“Mr. Wycliffe is an attentive companion,” Rosamund replied, looking up to meet the Duke’s cool gaze. “He discusses matters of interest with me, even local estate accounts.”

“Mmm. He does seem like a good man,” the Duke acknowledged. The smooth admission was followed by his jaw clenching. “He is stable and respectable.”

Rosamund canted her head in acknowledgment. Those were the exact words she would use to describe Thomas.

“He is,” she agreed. “He has no secrets.”

The Duke’s eyes narrowed slightly at the subtle barb, but he did not comment on it. Their movements continued to be fluid.

“What are his intentions?” he asked, the question itself hanging bluntly, even though his tone remained even. “Does he intend to court you?”

Rosamund managed to remain composed, keeping an impassive expression. “Why do you care, Your Grace? The personal prospects of a lady from a disgraced family should be of no concern to the Duke of Westbourne.”

“I asked because I am attempting,” he began, his words about to lean toward a dangerous type of honesty, “to determine whether I dislike the man for legitimate reasons…or merely selfish ones.”

Rosamund’s heart raced. It hammered against her chest so loudly, she believed he could hear it.

“Have you reached a conclusion?” she asked, right after a turn.

The Duke held her gaze once more. This time, there was no hint of aristocratic arrogance left.

“Unfortunately,” he murmured.

“Unfortunately?” she echoed. This time, her heart started slowing down a little, but her voice trembled. “What does that mean?”

The Duke looked like he was considering giving a reply. His eyes slid down to her lips, but before he could say anything, the music swelled and then ended, somewhat abruptly, in Rosamund’s opinion.

The dancers bowed and curtsied, clapping appreciatively for the musicians for a whole night’s good performance. The Duke and Rosamund had no choice but to do the same. Again, the spell was broken between them, and Rosamund was left at a loss as he left her standing on the floor, watching him leave.

Twenty-One

“We must eventually face the box’s contents, Alice, Rosamund murmured, mostly trying to persuade herself.

Alice set her teacup down, ready for the task of rummaging through Henry’s old personal belongings. She helped Rosamund drag a small, leather-bound trunk to one side where they could easily unlatch it and observe what was inside.

It seemed like a modest box, but it was full of things with great sentimental value. The only reason it was not opened yet was that Rosamund dreaded the fresh grief it would awaken.

The rough carpet bit into Rosamund’s knees as she knelt on the floor. Her fingers trembled as she pulled at the rusty brass clasp. The lid creaked softly when she lifted it. The smell was musty but not completely unpleasant as it carried the scents of ink, dried lavender and old parchment. This was what was left of her brother’s brief life.

Today, she was not merely searching for keepsakes. She thought of how the Duke claimed he and Henry had become close. How was that possible? Perhaps the box carried answers.

Together, she and Alice went through childhood drawings, pressed dried leaves on paper, and bound notes filled with Henry’s ink-blotted penmanship.

“I can remember many of these,” Alice murmured softly, holding a miniature toy soldier.

Rosamund smiled weakly, but her hands continued to sift under the toys and papers. She found Latin translation sheets and other loose pieces of paper. One was a letter on heavy cream paper. Her fingers stopped on that piece as she saw the unmistakable, childish scrawl. It said “Westbourne.”

For a moment, Rosamund almost felt guilty about intruding into Henry’s thoughts even though he was long gone. She quickly unfolded the letter, which was written approximately a year before Henry died.

Dear Lord Westbourne,

Ashbourne is quiet tonight. It has finally settled in its own way. I am glad that I know you are watching over it. I am writing to thank you for keeping the estate safe, just as you promised. Technically, it all belongs to you now. But I will be forever grateful that you promised to give it back to me when I come of age. Rosamund frets so much about the estate, but I know that you are taking care of it, holding the keys safe until I become a man.

“Rosamund?” Alice sounded like she was coming from somewhere faraway. “What is it? You have gone so pale!”

Rosamund could not speak. She could only hand Alice the letter. It seemed like her body had gotten numb, and her mind felt detached from the rest of her body. Alice then took the paper, reading through Henry’s scrawl.

“Rosamund, this means that -,” Alice faltered.