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And she did. It showed what the Duke had been saying all along. She saw her father’s signature approving repeated withdrawals of large, consistent amounts from Henry’s supposedly protected inheritance. Worse, she found altered receipts that showed just how aware her father was of how wrong it all was.

The Duke was right, and she was wrong. What happened to Ashbourne was not caused by a simple mismanagement. It was a deliberate theft.

Rosamund’s knees buckled, and she reached for the nearest leather armchair, her eyes still on her father’s signatures and the scrawled figures, whose transfer had ruined their lives.

“No…,” she whispered. “My father told me that you were lying.”

Instead of gloating as she would expect, the Duke simply looked at her gravely.

“I wished I knew and understood more before making a move,” he said. “At that time, instead of investigating the reason behind the actions, I only saw a man who was stealing from his very own child.”

“A-are you saying that my father was a common thief?” she asked, tears threatening to fall onto her cheeks.

“All I know is that he was taking money that did not belong to him. That is a fact. However, I no longer understand the reason behind it all.”

The sob finally broke from Rosamund’s throat. Her chest felt so tight. The ache could no longer be restrained.

“I hated you!” she cried. “It was so much easier than believing that my father would do anything like this to Henry.”

Again, the Duke could have given a snide remark, but he did not. His hand hovered a few inches toward her only to drop to his side. It looked like he meant to comfort her, but kept himself in check.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

Rosamund watched him through her blurred vision. This was the man who bore the brunt of her anger. He was merely trying to protect Henry’s legacy. He even stayed to ensure Ashbourne remained within her family’s legacy.

All she could think of was that she did not want the distance between them anymore. She rose and walked toward him, and no longer cared about their bitter history and society’s rules on propriety. She closed the gap between them herself.

She stepped into his space and lay her cheek against his chest. He was startled by the contact. His hands were at first suspended inches around her. Then, slowly, and almost reverently, he wrapped his arms around her. Then, he pulled her more tightly against him, holding her secure as she sobbed. He rested his chin on top of her head.

There was no resentment, but there was no flirtation, either. There was just grief and trust between them, and in that moment, Rosamund let herself inhale the Duke’s scent. It should not have done so, but it brought her peace.

While the Duke embraced Rosamund, he could not help but wonder what the late Earl was hiding. What was he trying to hide that he was willing to steal from his own son to protect the secret? His mind drifted toward something more dangerous, like the fact that he wanted Rosamund to forgive not only because he protected Henry.

Twenty-Two

“Ido not know if I am supposed to be angry anymore, Alice,” Rosamund said, her voice barely audible, “or whom I am supposed to be angry with.”

She sat curled on Rosewood Cottage’s cozy window seat. Her knees were drawn to her chest. Twilight had faded into night, but she did not want to rest yet. She could not.

“Perhaps you do not need to decide yet, Rosamund,” Alice said, always the sensible one.

“It was so simple before,” Rosamund said. “It was easy to focus on someone with hate. Now, things are more complicated.”

She lowered her bare feet to the floor, ignoring the cold. “You know everything about the Duke now, how he has been taking care of Ashbourne the whole time. The tenants and villagers agree that he is benevolent to them. Knowing that Henry trusted him was the best proof I can ever have.”

“But he also exposed my father,” she continued. “He forced the public sale of my home.”

“Those things can be true, as well, Rosamund, without the Duke being the monster you thought him to be,” Alice reminded her.

“It also does not make him innocent!” Rosamund cried, twirling on her chilly bare feet to face her friend.

“I do agree,” Alice said calmly.

“You do?” Rosamund asked, surprised.

“Of course,” Alice replied. “Just because the Duke is not a villain does not make him a saint. A man can commit something cruel and unyielding while also doing something profoundly good. We are all humans and cannot be so simple.”

It was what Rosamund was afraid of. It made her think of her father. He might not be a villain, but he was no saint, either.