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“I do not recall asking for your advice, Your Grace, especially about something that I always do.”

“Listen to it, anyway,” he said. “You may not like me providing you with any advice, but do avoid the northern path. The old footbridge has become unstable. Part of its timber had become weaker after all the spring rains. I know it is not part of my property, but I can have men look at it and secure it better.”

Rosamund peered at him curiously, her brows furrowing in disbelief. When she spoke next, her voice was filled with sarcastic sweetness. “Are you telling me that the great and wealthy Duke of Westbourne is concerned for my welfare now?”

Peregrine did not tease. He did not smile. Instead, he watched the darkening sky with what looked like concern.

“More than you could possibly believe,” he said softly.

Those words caught her by surprise. What could he possibly mean by that? Her mouth opened to ask. After all, the man could not confuse her several times in a day, and not give her any clarity. But before she could do that, he had turned on his heel and left.

Three

“Lady Rosamund did not attempt to buy Ashbourne Hall back, Adrian. What she did was completely different. She attempted to compel me into selling it to her while maintaining the charade that it was a fair negotiation that could have been arranged between me and anyone else.”

Peregrine leaned his back against the wingback chair. The leather was soft and firm at the same time, which was what one would expect from the Royal Oak, a gentleman’s club he and his friend, Lord Adrian Vale, frequented.

He nursed a glass of scotch as he tried to ease the tension of the past three days. Around him, wealthy gentlemen spoke in quiet murmurs, undoubtedly seeking something similar. Snifters clinked together from time to time, as if announcing new alliances. Some of them were probably doing precisely that.

Some men were there for more solitary reasons. They would bring a copy of their favorite gazette and spend time smoking cigars and flipping through the pages. Peregrine looked at home in the club, with his immense wealth and rakish charm. At least in this male space, he could avoid some of the women who had been clamoring to be noticed by him. According to his friend, Adrian, he had broken half the hearts of the women in Mayfair and beyond.

His friend, Lord Adrian Vale, Marquess of Halstead, sat across from him. He had his own glass of scotch, but he was gulping it instead of nursing it as Peregrine was. Adrian was Peregrine’s closest friend and the only one who had the sheer audacity to laugh in his face.

“Lady Rosamund Harcourt commanded you?” Adrian echoed, his eyes gleaming with what Peregrine suspected to be amusement. “Good Lord, I would have paid a fortune to witness it. To hear it for myself. The great Duke of Westbourne, being questioned by a slip of a woman in his own drawing room.”

“You know that I was not questioned, at least not in the way you seem to suggest,” he snapped. “The woman simply does not understand the concept of refusal.”

“How are you not understanding that? You also are not known for accepting a refusal,” Adrian reminded him. “I am certain that you must have loved every second of the interaction.”

“That is not true at all,” Peregrine countered, wondering if Adrian was, in fact, his friend.

“Consider this, Peregrine. You have been utterly bored for a long time. Some people believe you should find a lady to settle down with. It is time. You have had a choice among three heiresses. Even invitations to balls have been rejected. What is happening? You have been spending more time staring at property ledgers, especially the ones associated with Ashbourne Hall. You being here this evening seems nothing short of a miracle.”

“I did miss being here,” Peregrine admitted, finally giving his scotch a long gulp.

“Mm. But here comes Rosamund Harcourt back in the neighborhood,” Adrian teased, leaning forward. His eyes suggested that he wanted to know more. “I feel like I must thank her. I am seeing some color back in your face. The amount seems reasonable, friend. Why in God’s name did you refuse her proposal?”

Peregrine’s face felt stiff. Now, it would not only be Rosamund asking him questions. Adrian would not let this go easily, as far as he knew his friend.

“Because Ashbourne Hall is not for sale,” the Duke replied simply.

“You do not live in Ashbourne Hall,” Adrian reminded him. “Most of the rooms are still draped in white sheets. There may be ghosts inhabiting the place by now. If you are bored with Westbourne Abbey, you have other residences, smaller ones, yes, but they could make you feel excited for your primary home once more before you fling yourself back. Why do you stubbornly hold on to Ashbourne Hall when there is a young woman who is obviously eager to pay to have it back?”

The humor seemed to have completely left Adrian’s face. His frown showed that he was truly confused that his friend was being stubborn.

“She does not understand that asking for the house comes with other…things,” Peregrine replied vaguely. He took the bottle of scotch and poured himself another glass. He downed this one quickly, loving the burn that silenced him for a moment.

“She does not?” Adrian asked. “Then, make her understand.”

“I cannot.”

“Why not?” Adrian pressed.

“Because no matter what young Lady Harcourt may think of me, I am a man of honor, ,” Peregrine said, after a sharp exhale. “My father was one of the trustees legally appointed to oversee young Henry’s inheritance. You may have heard about this. When my father died, and I inherited the Dukedom, I had also inherited this particular responsibility. It meant that I had been given the task of auditing the estate books. Believe me, Adrian, when I say that I was not searching for anything nefarious. I was not looking for scandal, only for the expected earnings and expenditures.”

He paused. The memory of that afternoon that changed the lives of the Harcourts and his own came back to him. He was astounded by its clarity. Certainly, some things in life remain powerful in their impact.

“Instead,” he continued, his stomach roiling. He could still remember the anger and devastation that he felt when he discovered the discrepancies. “Thousands of pounds had gone missing from the boy’s trust fund. Securities were sold for what felt like no reason. They were replaced by forgeries. Documents were even altered. It was then that I realized that the loss of funds was not caused by poor harvests or misfortune. Someone had been systematically stealing from the estate for years.”