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Peregrine entered the study. The place smelled musty. Old paper, stale leather, and neglect could do that to any room. He had given strict orders that the room not be touched in any way. It felt frozen in time.

He struck a match and lit the brass oil lamp on the desk. Golden light spread across the room, as if trying to rouse something cold and dead. He then pulled a silver key from his waistcoat pocket, feeling more like a warden to a cell. He opened the bottom-right drawer and reached for a bundle of documents.

These were the ledgers that made him believe the Earl of Ashbourne was siphoning money from his son’s funds. The Earl could not explain himself, and Peregrine could not help but believe that there was more to the story than just money.

The documents on top were the ones that Peregrine used as proof of the Earl’s embezzlement. For him, those were easier to understand. However, several letters even he could not explain.

One letter bore the late Earl’s signature and penmanship. Another one had no signature, remaining a haunting mystery. Who wrote that letter to the Earl? Could it be the answer to the question that continued to nag Peregrine’s mind? The Earl of Ashbourne seemed like an honorable man. His daughter loved him unconditionally. Could the unsigned letter be proof that something else was going on?

Peregrine felt his hands grow cold, and part of him wished he still remained at the gentlement’s club. It was supposed to be an evening of relaxation. Then, Adrian posed a question that niggled at his guilt.

Perhaps you are wondering if you would have been better off giving the Earl another week to handle his affairs, his way.

Then, his eyes were back on the mysterious letter. There was a line that stood out to him:

“...the truth concerning your late wife will be placed before your children.”

Peregrine wondered what could be so important that someone seemed to be threatening the late Earl because of it. There were inconsistencies in this story. The Duke was more accustomed to people behaving as expected. The Earl was expected to behave like an honest gentleman who wanted nothing else but good for his children.

In the end, word of the Earl’s embezzlement seemed to have proven the world wrong about him.

Then, there was Rosamund’s mother, the late Countess of Ashbourne. By all accounts, she had been a pious and gentle woman.

How terrible could that be?

It would seem that the Countess’ secret was even worse than the Earl’s misdeeds.

I am keeping her safe. I am keeping her safe from the ghosts of this house.

Those were the words running in the Duke’s head. Rosamund should not be at Ashbourne Hall. There were secrets here that she was never meant to discover.

Then, there was a soft knock at the door. Peregrine’s body stiffened. He was not in the habit of staying at Ashbourne Hall at night. Then again, the servants would have noticed that his carriage had arrived.

“Enter,” he declared, even as he rushed to slide the letters back into the hidden drawer. He locked the drawer with the silver key.

The door opened to Hayes, bringing a lamp and a fresh candle. The elderly butler also thought of everything.

“Forgive me for intruding, Your Grace,” the butler said with a bow, “but I heard you arrive and thought you must be in here. If you need an extra light, I brought one for you Do you require anything else before retiring, Your Grace?”

“I require nothing, Hayes,” Peregrine declared, giving the butler a tight smile. “I was merely reviewing some documents. I may or may not stay here.”

“It is getting late, sir,” the butler reminded him. “In fact, it is quite late. A bedchamber is always ready for you here.” He placed the extra lamp on the chiffonier.

Peregrine knew that it was late. Yet, with all his bravado of owning the place, he often did not feel like he did. There were many moments when he still thought of it as the Earl of Ashbourne’s. Most of the time, he thought of it as Henry’s. The boy should have been Earl, but fate had not provided him with the opportunity to become one.

“Thank you, Hayes. I will certainly consider staying.” Peregrine dreaded it, but he supposed he should stay.

Hayes cleared his throat. Clearly, the butler had other things to say, as he hesitated by the doorway.

“If I may…” he began, “Your Grace, I still have one matter I feel obliged to report.”

“Yes?” Peregrine raised an eyebrow.

“The gamekeeper reported a figure skulking near the old orchard down by the east. Well, Your Grace, Thomas, the stable boy, also said that he saw Lady Rosamund along the timberline, the one facing Rosewood Cottage.”

“What time was it?” the Duke demanded, feeling a chill.

“Around dusk, Your Grace.”