Page 16 of A Legacy of Lies

Her eyes lifted, unreadable. “As you wish, Your Grace.” She gathered the bundle and stepped back, composure intact, though the air itself felt altered by her nearness.

The fire popped. Nathaniel stared at the names, but it was not the tenants who unsettled him. It was the woman who had stood at his side, close enough that her sleeve brushed his, close enough that her scent lingered in the silence after she was gone.

Clara moved the folder into place before him. “These are from Her Grace,” she said. “I will leave you to them.”

He inclined his head, nothing more. She bowed slightly, then turned. The door closed with a whisper of wood on stone, and the room grew larger for her absence, though not easier.

Nathaniel sat back, hand on the ledger, but the columns blurred again. Bickley. Fletcher. They should have held his mind, yet it was her face that lingered. Her mouth, firm, unyielding, rose before him clearer than the ink. Her eyes, steady, unflinching, had judged him in turn. And her hair, dark and simply gathered, caught the light until it gleamed like polished bronze.

His fingers flexed on the desk. The urge to touch even the strand that had slipped against her cheek rose with a force he had not expected. He curled his hand into a fist. He was a man accustomed to command, yet one brush of her presence left him restless as a boy.

His thoughts pressed harder. What business had he with the line of her mouth when tenants waited and ledgers lay in ruin? Yet the image clung, vivid against the blur of ink. He told himself it was a distraction, no more, but he had argued in courts where truth and falsehood fought close, and he knew the taste of self-deceit.

He let out a sharp breath and dragged his gaze back to the ledger. The tenants’ names remained, stark and inked, but the memory of her voice carried louder than any petition.

The fire burned lower, shifting in the grate. Shadows stretched across the floor, the room breathing with the slow groan of beams overhead. He pressed his palms flat to the desk as though to steady himself against the weight of Hartleigh.

“So,” he murmured, gaze lifting to the paneled ceiling, “this is what you have left me. Debts, discontent, and a companion who does not bow.” His mouth curved without mirth. “Well then, Hartleigh. You will have your test of me, and I of you.”

The flames popped, sharp as a retort. Ash fell in the grate. A draft stirred the curtains, lifting the fringe as though some unseen hand had brushed past. Nathaniel stilled, listening, as though the house itself had chosen to answer.

The groan of timber followed, low and drawn, a sound too deliberate to be dismissed as settling wood. Dust sifted down from the beam overhead, faint as breath, and the air cooled against his cheek. He pressed his palms harder to the desk, refusing to look away. Let the house test him. Let it judge him as surely as Clara had with her unflinching eyes. He would not bend.

Yet the silence that followed seemed almost to smirk, the hush of stone that had seen dukes rise and fall. Hartleigh had endured where men had faltered. It would endure still, and it would judge him in its time.

Chapter Seven

Twilight bled slowly across the courtyard, smudging the edges of the world. Lamps flickered in the Hall’s high windows, each one lighting like a sentinel, but the garden path remained half in shadow. Mist clung low to the ground, curling around the flagstones like something alive.

Clara stepped out into it.

The note in her pocket, creased, unread, unforgotten, brushed against her side. She hadn’t dared unfold it earlier, not at tea, not in her chamber, not even when she slipped her shawl around her shoulders and told Eleanor the evening air might clear her head. When Eleanor mentioned a note for Mr. Hollis, Clara volunteered to take it herself. It was nothing urgent, only a request for the latest tenant ledgers, but it gave her a reason to step outside, and the space she needed to think.

It had come two days ago, delivered on the same salver as the duke’s note. Carter hadn’t said a word, only bowed and handed it to her. But the moment she’d seen the slant of the handwriting, her breath had snagged.

She had tucked it away beneath the folds of her coat and smiled with practiced ease as she poured Eleanor’s tea. But the paper had pulsed against her side ever since, softened by touch, sharpened by dread.

She needed the walk. And she needed to be alone.

Beneath the arbor, the mist thickened. She slowed her steps, heart thudding too hard for the quiet. Somewhere beyond the hedge, a nightbird called low and mournful. The world smelled of stone and wet leaves, of old soil turned restless by rain.

She reached the steward’s office. A narrow structure tucked beyond the coach yard, its windows dim, the lantern above the door unlit.

Clara hesitated.

No sign of Hollis. Odd, but not unusual. He might have gone to the south field or taken the ledgers inside to review with Nathaniel.

She crouched, careful on the damp stones, and slipped Eleanor’s note beneath the door. It vanished into the shadows without a sound.

That should have been the end of it.

She rose, brushing her hands against her skirts, and drew out the second letter, the one that haunted every breath since it arrived. Her fingers hovered over the seal.

She could leave it unread, say nothing, and let it rot in her pocket until the ink faded and the paper crumbled. But silence came with its own price, and secrets had a way of souring when left too long in the dark.

She had been raised to keep secrets, to smooth over shame with silence. But Eleanor had never asked for a mask, only for the truth.

Lady Eleanor hadn’t written for recommendations. She’d made one of her own. That winter in London, when soup lines stretched around corners and pride did no good in the cold, Lady Eleanor Hartleigh had met Clara’s mother at the back of St. Wilfrid’s pantry queue. She had not asked questions. She had offered shelter. And when Clara came with it, frail, near mute, her hands raw from scrubbing stones, Eleanor had looked her in the eye and seen something worth saving.