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"Did you go to the west wing?"

"Morgan, I–"

"Did you go to the west wing?" he bellowed.

He regretted it the moment he saw the fear in her eyes.

"No," she whispered. "Of course not."

His shoulders lowered, and he unset his jaw. He felt guilt rising within him in an instant; he had nobody to blame for his behavior but himself, as he had been the one to keep so much from her. He needed to tell her what was happening, and why she had been kept from the west wing, but he could not bring himself to explain it.

"Dorothy, I–"

"No, it is quite all right. I was going to ask you if you liked what I have done, but I can see how you feel already. I shall leave you be."

She left the household, and he remained standing where he was. He was torn, knowing that he had to find the letter but also wanting to follow after his wife and apologize. He heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see Mrs. Herrington.

"As far as greetings go," she said in surprise, "that was not the best."

"Enough, Mrs. Herrington," he sighed. "I do not need your pity."

"I was not expressing it for you. I was expressing it for your wife."

He looked at her in confusion. When he had left for London, his housekeeper hated his wife, but suddenly she was defending her.

"I shall show you what your wife has done," she continued, and he followed after her.

Everything, with the exception of the west wing, had changed completely. Light traveled easily through the hallways and made it far more comforting than it had ever been. Morgan could not believe that his home had always had so much potential, and that it had been done by his wife.

"She had friends with her," Mrs. Herrington continued. "There were three of them, one with child. She was a duchess, I believe."

"Yes, I have heard about her. My wife said she expected us to receive an invitation to dinner, but I refused. I said it was because I do not leave the household."

"I see, and how soon after that did you leave for London?"

"Too soon, I know. I plan to speak to her, to apologize, but I wanted to give her a moment. I also must tell you something, but you cannot tell anyone about it, not even the staff. Thomas left me a letter, and it is somewhere in this household."

"A letter?" Mrs. Herrington asked, eyes narrowed. "He never wrote letters."

"No, but he had one hidden away here for me. It contains the truth about Catherine, and it simply must be found. Please tell me that you have seen it before, and that it has been in my study all this time and I missed it."

"Your Grace, I apologize, but I have never seen anything hidden away. Your study is always immaculate, and so beyond rummaging around in there, there is not very much that I can do if it is there."

"Very well, then, you have my permission to look everywhere else. It must be found if I am to tell Catherine the truth about herself."

"And when do you plan to tell Her Grace about her?"

"Soon. I am waiting for the right time, and– what happened between the two of you?"

His housekeeper smiled sheepishly.

"I misjudged her," she said with a smile. "I thought that she was some young thing that was excited to be a duchess and live a life of leisure. I suppose that I also did not want to lose the power that I have to someone that had not, as far as I thought, earned it. I see now that I was wrong, and I should have given her a chance. She and I have truly seen eye to eye of late."

"That is wonderful. I had hoped that you would see her the way I do."

"I do, and that is why I am going to tell you this: go to her, and apologize. Even if you are not yet ready to tell her everything, she deserves an explanation."

He agreed, and so bid her farewell and left for the garden. He found her in the glasshouse, which was also very different though not complete. He stepped inside, and she bristled at once.