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Rosamund started the Duke, slightly shocked. She was so prepared to say something scathing but could no longer do that given his cooperation.

“I will walk with Alice and Mr. Wycliffe, Your Grace,” she said, making her choice.

“Very well, then. I bid you adieu.”

Fourteen

“You managed that with remarkable grace, Perry,” Adrian remarked, as the two friends watched Thomas Wycliffe disappear into the horizon with Rosamund and Alice. “Though I must say, I have never seen a man look less unaffected in my life.”

Peregrine stood as he was, not turning his head toward his friend. He remained there, the shadows falling on his face and dark coat. His posture looked deceptively casual, with his hands in his pockets. It was all for the benefit of any villager still lingering there, but Adrian would not be fooled.

“I am unaffected,” Adrian,” Peregrine said, fully aware of his lie. He did manage to keep his tone steady. “Truly.”

“Of course you are,” the Marquess remarked sarcastically, sipping from a silver flask. “It is precisely why your knuckles have turned completely white that you might snap a whole log when Wycliffe and Lady Rosamund were standing so close. You also look like you cannot be trusted near the man.”

Peregrine finally looked his friend in the eye. “Wycliffe is a respectable man. From what I can see, they seem to know each other for long. Lady Rosamund is free to choose who she wants to walk with. She is an independent woman. Not many daughters of earls can handle what she is doing at the moment.”

His mind did stray into the fact that Rosamund lived alone, with only another young woman as companion. Yet, she remained a wholly respected member of the community, a tragic figure.

“She exercised her freedom to spite you,” Adrian said. This time, there was no humor or mockery in his voice, just perception and concern. “You let her because you are terrified of being regarded as a tyrant - an ogre. Would you then hand her the matches to burn you if it means he will trust you more?”

This time, Peregrine had nothing to say to Adrian. He did not know that acquiring Ashbourne Hall would come with so many complications. He turned around so that he did not have to look at the road leading to Rosewood Cottage.

“I have no intention of accepting the invitation, Alice,” Rosamund declared a few days later, resting the thick, cream-coloured card onto their Rosewood Cottage breakfast table. The invitation bore the crest of the Duke of Westbourne. She had been invited to an informal dinner party at Ashbourne Hall.

She frowned at her eggs and toast, wondering if she should take the invitation as an olive branch or an insult.

Alice picked up the card and read the contents silently, running her thumb gingerly over the wax seal.

“It looks to be a small gathering, Rosamund,” she murmured, “...well, relatively. You will see a few Dowagers, widows, Lord Halstead, and perhaps a few more important people from the village will be there. Well, at least, it does not call itself a grand ball.”

“It is nothing else but a trap,” Rosamund said, her fingers tugging at her lace cuff. “He wants me to eat his food at his table while he acts as the noble estate owner and protector. The generous host. Then, I should be there, acting docile and agreeable to show our neighbors that I have accepted the fate of Ashbourne Hall.”

“Rosamund, I understand,” Alice said gently, as she set her teacup aside. “You have spent years finding a way to purchase Ashbourne Hall back. Then, you interrogated several villagers and tenants about Westbourne. You cried when you saw Henry’s things still intact at Ashbourne Hall. Now, you are tiring yourself trying to solve the riddle of Peregrine Blackwood.”

“He is a riddle,” Rosamund insisted. “He is hiding something. How else can anyone explain the contradiction of his character?”

“How do you then expect to solve the riddle if you do not come to his gathering?” Alice asked. “Would it not be the best way to observe what he is like by being there near him? Trying to understand him from afar will only frustrate you. Go to the dinner. Observe him among his peers, perhaps without trying to fight with him. You have already done that, and you know what behavior to expect.”

Rosamund thought about how being near him made her mind go blank at times. Would she learn more about him with the proximity? She could still remember the feel of his fingers around her wrist, his much larger hands over hers as she clutched at the ball.

“Very well,” she murmured, with a tinge of surrender. “I shall go. There, I intend to keep my eyes and ears alert.”

So, she went.

Ashbourne Halls’s dining hall had always been elegant even when her father was Earl of the manor. However, there was something more of it that night, something both familiar and different. There were no added or removed details, but forty beeswax candles made everything glow. The table where her father used to preside over breakfasts with family and friends had been polished to an impressive shine, and so where the French porcelain, silver soup tureens, and crystal goblets. Again, these were items from her family’s collection being put to good use.

Westbourne sat at the head of the table, flanked by Lord Halstead and some leaders of the village parish. Meanwhile, Rosamund had chosen to sit three seats away from her host, seated between the vicar, and elderly Sir George Grenville. She wore a simple dark blue dress, in hopes of blending into the background. There was nothing bad that the Duke could say. She came and attended. She did not have to participate when she intended to observe.

Observing the Duke was quite an experience. The man she knew was stern and strategic. The host at Ashbourne Hall was effortlessly charming, He knew how to behave in a setting like this.

Why was she surprised? She had seen him in action, flirting with ladies at balls and village fetes. Still, it was quite a sight to see the Duke retrieve Lady Metcalfe’s silver fork every time she dropped it. He did not summon any of the footmen waiting on them on the sides. He did it himself, complete with an affectionate jest into the old woman’s ear. She was, understandably, pleased, chuckling at the young Duke’s whispers.

“You are most kind,” she said, looking very grateful.

“My lady, you are most kind for accepting my invitation,” was his response.

“Local architecture needs some refreshing. It is tired and uneven,” Lord Jarvis said. Rosamund did not mean to listen to the man, but his voice was too loud.