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Thomas smiled. It was not bitter, but genuine, although with a hint of melancholy. “I know, Lady Rosamund. It is my greatest flaw.”

By evening, Peregrine and Adrian became aware that Thomas Wycliffe had withdrawn his interest in courting Rosamund Harcourt. They were at the billiard room when the subject had become the point of discussion.

“Now that Wycliffe has yielded the field, what can you say, Peregrine?” Adrian asked, looking very mischievous before his first glass of brandy.

“I suppose it means that Wycliffe will stop appearing mysteriously in Rosamund’s location,” Peregrine said simply.

“Mm. Do you not intend to court her yourself?” Adrian asked, as he chalked the tip of his cue stick. He wore a wide and expectant grin.

Peregrine’s jaw clenched, but his posture eased a little. He took a gulp of his brandy, then stared at the liquid as if it did him wrong.

“I do not know if I have the right,” he said quietly.

“The right?” Adrian echoed. “What do you mean? I can see that you two are drawn to one another. What else do you need? Courtship generally does not need a legal reward bestowed upon the morally flawless. I dare say that if that were the case, the aristocracy would be extinct.”

“Lady Rosamund lost everything because of my past decisions,” Peregrine declared, feeling every bit of the impact as he put his fears and guilt into words.

“You do have to think of Lady Rosamund’s qualities,” Adrian said. “She is intelligent and perfectly capable of making her own decisions. You should make her decide whether your current situation prevents her from loving you.”

Peregrine realized that Adrian was right. What he might think of as reluctance or even noble restraint could take away her choices.

Twenty-Eight

“Are you, in fact, leading me into the wilderness, Your Grace?” Rosamund asked. She was not afraid of him, but she wondered where they were going. She knew Ashbourne like the back of her hand. She had to lift the hem of her dress to ensure it did not get dirty. “I shall hold you accountable if my boots are ruined.”

“Your boots will definitely survive, Lady Rosamund,” he declared, his eyes revealing his amusement. “And this is not the wilderness. You used to walk these woods when you were little, at least that was what your father told me.”

They walked some more until Rosamund finally realized what the hike was all about. Her breath caught when she saw Henry’s treehouse. It used to be nothing more than a ruin of loose planks, remnants of the boy’s healthy imagination. He had tried to put them together then, but to no avail. Now, it looked like a wooden kingdom worthy of a prince.

The tree house had been completely recreated, with solid oak rungs instead of rotting and splintered wooden steps. Iron brackets made the platform sturdier. However, the personality left by her adventurous little brother remained intact somehow. It was like his spirit was still there.

“You had it fixed,” she breathed, her hand flying to her chest.

“I am glad you like it. But it is not the only thing I want to show you,” the Duke said softly. He reached for something from the base of the tree house. It was a box. “This was found in the hollow of the trunk.”

He passed the box to her. She knew then that it was something of great importance. Her hand trembled as she took the box. With a flick of her finger, the latch flew open. Inside was a single sheet of parchment. It was faded and was merely folded, not sealed. Her name was scrawled on the front: For dear Rosamund.

“He wrote it before his illness had become severe,” the Duke murmured solemnly. “He must have wanted to give it to you before -”

He could not finish the sentence, and Rosamund could understand. Her own breath was shaky when she unfolded the letter.

Rosamund,

If you are reading this, it means that you have or someone else has found my secret hiding place. Knowing you, you are carrying all the burdens of the world. You may not like this, but I am telling you not to spend your whole life trying to get Ashbourne back.

You made a promise, but promises change with life. Remember that Ashbourne is merely timber and stone, with grass surrounding it. It is not my soul, or yours. You are my home, dear sister, and therefore, my home is wherever you are.

Live your life.

Your loving brother,

Henry

The words blurred. Her brother’s words struck her directly to her heart. She felt all the anguish that had built up within her for the past few years. At the same time, it felt like something was pulled from her chest.

The letter fluttered to the ground. She swayed, and would have fallen if not for the Duke moving toward her, and wrapping his arms around her. She did not fall. He held her against himself.

“He knew me too well,” Rosamund whispered, weeping into his shirt. Her shoulders shook, as she let grief pour out of her.