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“That is certainly some refined philosophy, Your Grace,” she replied, “especially coming from someone who has quickly judged the actions of my father.”

Alice shot Rosamund a warning glance from across the table. Even Rosamund braced herself for the Duke’s reaction.

“You are right,” was all he said in response.

“W-what?” Rosamund blinked. She did not expect such a tame response.

“You are right,” he repeated. “I merely looked at a set of numbers and thought that I had the whole truth.”

Rosamund stared at the Duke, uncertain on how she would take this new version of him. He no longer wanted to argue with her, which was fine, but it looked like he had become agreeable that she did not know what to do with that.

“Do you,” Rosamund began, “truly regret what you did?”

“I do not regret putting a half to the transfers. The money belonged to Henry’s trust,” he replied, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. “Something had to be done to protect the fund and the future of the earldom. However, I now realize that certainty and righteousness are not the same thing.”

At that moment, Rosamund knew that he meant all of it. He was not merely saying it to win her favor.

Twenty-Three

“The name was registered at a small Brighton branch,” Peregrine said, placing a piece of fresh parchment onto the Rosewood cottage table. He pointed at a line of black ink. “Do you see that? She is not in any of these parishes. She seems to have vanished from London during the exact month your mother was betrothed to your father.”

“Eleanor Vale did not simply move away, then,” Rosamund mused.

“She might have paid to disappear,” Thomas Wycliffe volunteered. “I found a record of a transfer my father facilitated on Lord Ashbourne’s behalf. It was deposited at a Brighton bank and the recipient was a Miss Eleanor Vale. Four hundred pounds.”

“Four hundred pounds,” Rosamund gasped, her chest tightening. “Such an exorbitant sum for a single draft.”

“Indeed,” Wycliffe agreed. His tone was thoughtful, as was usual with him. He lingered beside Rosamund, his eyes lingering on her far too long. “It may seem as if the Earl was paying her not for a product, but for something else, entirely.”

“Mm,” Rosamund murmured, as if she did not want to think about that something else.

“Lady Rosamund, you have already spent so many hours poring through these ledgers. I imagine it can be quite taxing. My aunt is hosting a small musicale at the Manor on Friday night. It is nothing grand, featuring mostly local musicians and a harpist from London. I would be honored if you would come and allow me to escort you.”

It was clear what Thomas Wycliffe wanted at this point. Peregrine waited to see what Rosamund would say. Her hand was still hovering over some papers. She lifted her eyes and met Peregrine’s for a moment.

Then, she finally gave her response: “I would be delighted to join you, Mr. Wycliffe,” Rosamund said, with a small smile.

Thomas’ whole face lit up at her acceptance. “Wonderful, Lady Rosamund. I shall bring a carriage for you at seven. I will see you and Miss Bellamy then.”

Peregrine remained quiet during the exchange.

At the musicale, Rosamund sat beside Thomas in the second row of red and gold chairs. Her hands rested on her lap. On her other side, sat Alice.

Throughout the evening, Thomas had been thoroughly attentive. He had provided her with a glass of wine, asked about her comfort, and sometimes, would simply glance at her to ensure she was all right. He also checked on Alice.

Again, Rosamund was reminded how he was perfect in every way. He was ideal. Unfortunately, she felt a deep sense of boredom instead of the thrill that everyone said a woman must feel when with a man she fancied.

Instead of her eyes straying toward the handsome man beside her, her eyes kept turning toward the fireplace, distracted by the tongues of fire leaping. As she did, her eyes found the Duke. Why was he there? He stood against the marble mantelpiece talking to a group of ladies and gentlemen. He looked impossibly striking in a tailored black evening coat, and he seemed relaxed and unfettered by worries as he laughed. He knew Rosamund was there with Thomas, but he did not look at her once. It made her furious.

“Has Mr. Wycliffe suddenly become offensive in some way?” Alice whispered, her mouth quirking in amusement.

“What? Of course, not, Alice,” Rosamund replied, indignant. “He is a complete gentleman.

“Perhaps that is the problem then,” Alice quipped, and Rosamund glared at her.

Before Rosamund could respond, the harpist finished her piece to great applause. She had to rise with everyone else and clap her hands enthusiastically. Thomas beamed at her.

Soon, a tall figure approached them. She was surprised at seeing the Duke.