Page 10 of Trusting Her Duke

By the time she descended to the library, the mist had burned away under the strengthening sun. She found the Duke already at work, his tall figure bent over a spread of documents on the large table. Morning light caught subtle dark auburn highlights in his dark hair, and the fine lawn of his shirt stretched across his shoulders as he moved, reminding her that his commanding presence came from physical strength as much as bearing.

He looked up at her entrance, and something in his expression made her breath catch. For a moment, the weight of responsibility seemed to lift from his features, replaced by what might have been pleasure at her arrival.

“Lady Penelope.” He straightened, and she noticed the shadows under his eyes that spoke of his sleepless night. “I trust that you rested well?”

“Better than you, I suspect,” she said before she could think better of it. At his raised eyebrow, she added, “The entire household knows you’ve been up since dawn.”

“News travels quickly.” That almost-smile touched his lips. “Though in this case, we have reason for early vigilance. Sir Lionel’s solicitors sent word - he’s coming with what he claims is evidence ready for submission to Chancery regarding the boundary disputes.”

The smile faded as he spoke, his expression turning grave.

Penelope moved closer, drawn by the concern she could read in his stance.

“You think that the documents are forgeries that he means to present to the Court?”

“I’m certain of it.” He ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling it slightly in a way that made him look younger, more vulnerable. “The question is, how convincing will they be? And how many people has he already convinced to support his claims?”

“Mary mentioned he’d been taking statements from tenant farmers.”

“Yes.” His voice held controlled anger. “Having his solicitors draw up preliminary depositions, no doubt, with promises of better lease terms attached. Though what he doesn’t tell them is that once they’ve sworn false testimony in Chancery, they’ll be bound by it. After that...”

He broke off, his hands clenching at his sides.

Without thinking, Penelope stepped closer, close enough to catch the scent of coffee and the cologne that she’d come to associate with him.

“We won’t let that happen.”

His eyes met hers, and something flickered in their green depths that made her heart race.

“We?”

“Of course.” She lifted her chin. “You’re not facing this alone, you know.”

For a moment, he simply looked at her, and Penelope found herself acutely aware of how close they stood, of the warmth radiating from him, of how his cravat was slightly askew from running his hands through his hair.

A knock at the door made them both start. Lord Albert entered, h is usual cheerful expression replaced by serious purpose.

“ He’s here,” he announced without preamble. “With his solicitor and potential witnesses for the Chancery case.”

The Duke’s expression hardened, all trace of their previous warmth vanishing.

“Already taking depositions?”

“Three tenant farmers from the boundary lands,” Lord Albert confirmed. “Ready to swear statements about historical usage. And a surveyor from London prepared to challenge the registered boundaries.”

“How convenient.” The Duke’s voice held the chill of a winter morning. “Show them into the morning room. Lady Penelope, perhaps you would...”

He hesitated, clearly torn between protecting her and needing her insight.

“I will attend,” she said firmly. “If Sir Lionel means to threaten both our estates, I should hear his claims directly.”

Something like pride flickered across his face before he nodded. They moved towards the morning room together, and Penelope felt the subtle shift in his bearing - the way that he drew himself up, adopted the mantle of authority like armour. Yet she also noticed how he positioned himself slightly ahead of her, as if still wanting to shield her from whatever was coming.

The morning room seemed smaller than usual, crowded with nervous energy and unfamiliar faces. Sir Lionel stood by the windows, morning light catching the subtle gleam of his obviously new waistcoat. The tenant farmers - men Penelope recognised from her charitable visits - huddled together near the door, their expressions uncomfortable. A thin man in London clothes stood slightly apart, a leather portfolio clutched to his chest.

“Ah, Ravensworth!” Sir Lionel’s smile held triumphant edges. “And Lady Penelope! How fortunate you’re both here. It saves having to go through this twice.”

“Through what, exactly?”

The Duke’s tone was sharp, cutting, like knife’s edge.

“Why, the presentation of evidence, of course.” Sir Lionel gestured to his companion. “Mr Winters here is prepared to testify before the Court of Chancery. His survey report challenges the original boundary registration.”

The surveyor stepped forward, his manner suggesting that he’d rehearsed this moment.

“Yes, quite fascinating indeed. The affidavit I’ve prepared for the Court demonstrates discrepancies between the originally registered boundaries and current usage...”

Penelope watched the Duke’s face as the man droned on, noting how his expression grew increasingly cold. The evidence being prepared for Chancery was clever - she had to admit that. Little discrepancies, subtle shifts in boundary stones, all carefully documented to challenge the original bill of rights to the land.

But something felt wrong about the whole presentation. The surveyor’s manner was too practiced, his evidence too neat. And the tenant farmers... Penelope studied them carefully, noting how they shifted uncomfortably whenever certain points were emphasised.

“So you see,” Sir Lionel concluded smoothly, “these gentlemen are prepared to give sworn testimony before the Court about historical usage patterns. Their depositions will show that current practices don’t reflect the original agreements. Isn’t that right, John?”

The oldest of the farmers looked startled at being addressed.

“Well, sir, that is... my father always said...”

“Your father,” the Duke cut in quietly, “worked this land for forty years. Did he ever mention any dispute about the boundary lines?”

John’s weather-beaten face showed obvious conflict.

“No, Your Grace. But Sir Lionel says...”

“Sir Lionel says many things.” Penelope couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “But did he mention how losing access to the woodland paths would affect your livestock grazing? Or how the changes he proposes would impact the water rights for your lower fields?”

The farmers exchanged uncertain glances. Sir Lionel’s smile acquired a sharp edge.

“My dear Lady Penelope, surely such technical details are beyond your understanding? Perhaps we should leave these matters to those more qualified?”

“You mean like your suspiciously well-prepared surveyor?”

The words escaped before she could stop them. She felt rather than saw the Duke’s quick glance of approval.

“Mr Winters’ credentials are impeccable,” Sir Lionel said smoothly, though Penelope noticed how the surveyor himself suddenly seemed very interested in his own boots.

“Indeed?” The Duke’s voice held dangerous quiet. “Perhaps he would care to explain to the local Magistrate why the boundary marks he intends to cite in his Chancery case show signs of recent tampering? My groundskeeper has already sworn an affidavit about the fresh tool marks he discovered this morning.”

Colour fled from the surveyor’s face. Sir Lionel’s smile turned rigid.

“Tool marks can occur for many reasons,” Sir Lionel said, though his confident manner had acquired a brittle edge. “Such matters are for the Court of Chancery to determine.”

“No,” came a new voice from the doorway, “such tampering is a matter for the local justices. Interfering with boundary marks is a criminal offense, Sir Lionel, quite separate from any civil dispute over property rights.”

Penelope turned to find her father standing there, his distinguished figure commanding immediate attention. The Earl of Stanyon’s silver hair caught the morning light as he entered, and his expression held the quiet authority that had always made him such an effective estate manager.

“Papa!”

The word escaped before she could stop it.

“My dear.” He smiled briefly at her before turning his attention to Sir Lionel. “I took the liberty of examining those boundary marks myself this morning, with two magistrates present as witnesses. Most enlightening. The affidavits are already being prepared.”

Sir Lionel’s face worked for a moment before his practiced smile returned.

“Lord Stanyon! I had no idea that you would honour us with your presence. Though perhaps we should discuss these matters through our solicitors? Before any hasty statements are made? Some of the evidence I’ve gathered might prove... uncomfortable... for family loyalty.”

“Is that a threat, Sir Lionel?”

The Duke’s voice had dropped to that dangerous quiet which Penelope was learning to recognise as a warning.

“Merely an observation.” Sir Lionel’s smile didn’t waver . “ Though speaking of observations, I couldn’t help but notice that your daughter seems to spend a great deal of time here, Stanyon. In rather... informal circumstances. One wonders what the Court of Chancery might make of such... unusual arrangements while considering the validity of boundary claims.”

Penelope felt heat flood her cheeks, but before anyone could respond, her father laughed.

The sound held genuine amusement.

“Indeed she does. Working to protect both of our estates from what appears to be a rather clumsy attempt at fraud.” His smile held steel beneath its courtesy. “Though I wonder what the local justices would make of your recent activities? Tampering with boundary marks is a felony offense, while your property claims can wait for Chancery to examine.”

The tenant farmers stirred uneasily, moving slightly away from Sir Lionel. The surveyor clutched his portfolio tighter, looking like he dearly wished to be anywhere else.

“Now, my Lord,” Sir Lionel’s smile grew desperate at the edges, “surely there’s no need for such accusations. I merely thought to bring certain... discrepancies to everyone’s attention. Perhaps we could reach some arrangement?”

“The only arrangement,” the Duke said with deadly quietness, “will be your immediate departure from my property. Unless you’d prefer to explain your activities to the magistrate?”

For a moment, something ugly flickered across Sir Lionel’s face. Then he sketched an elaborate bow that bordered on insult.

“As you wish. Though I wonder...” his gaze shifted between Penelope and the Duke, “what other arrangements might need explanation to the authorities? Such interesting hours you keep in your library, Your Grace.”

Penelope felt the Duke tense beside her, but her father stepped forward before anything more could be said.

“I believe,” the Earl’s voice held pleasant menace, “that you were leaving, Sir Lionel? While you still can?”

The implied threat hung in the air. Sir Lionel’s facade cracked completely for just a moment before he turned on his heel and strode from the room, his surveyor scurrying after him like a frightened mouse.

Into the ringing silence that followed, John the tenant farmer cleared his throat.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Grace, my Lord... we never meant...”

“No harm done, John.” The Duke’s voice had gentled considerably. “Though perhaps next time someone makes extraordinary claims about boundary rights, you might discuss it with us first?”

The farmers nodded eagerly, clearly relieved to be forgiven their brief disloyalty. As Lord Albert showed them out, the Earl turned to his daughter with a knowing look.

“Well, my dear. It seems you’ve been quite busy since that storm stranded you here.”

Penelope met her father’s gaze steadily, though she felt colour rise in her cheeks.

“We’ve been investigating Sir Lionel’s claims, Papa. There are suspicious gaps in both estates’ registered documents that suggest--”

“ That suggest someone has been systematically removing papers which should have been filed with the Court,” the Earl finished. “Though thankfully, our solicitors maintain their own copies of all properly registered documents.”

“Yes Father, exactly.”

“I had come to that conclusion when I reviewed our archives yesterday.” He turned to the Duke. “Your message was most timely, Your Grace.”

“Lord Stanyon.” The Duke bowed slightly. “I hope you’ll forgive the liberty of my involving your daughter in this... situation.”

“Forgive?” The Earl’s eyes twinkled. “My dear boy, I’m rather counting on Penelope’s involvement. She has an excellent head for detail, and unlike the rest of us, she’s been systematically visiting tenant farms for months. Her knowledge of current land usage patterns is probably better than anyone’s.”

Penelope felt warmth bloom in her chest at her father’s praise, especially when she caught the Duke’s expression of surprised approval.

“Indeed,” the Duke said slowly. “We’ve found her insights invaluable.”

Something in his tone made her pulse quicken. When she glanced at him, she found his eyes already on her, their green depths holding warmth that had nothing to do with estate management. Her father cleared his throat pointedly.

“Yes, well. Perhaps we should examine these records you’ve been collecting? I brought some interesting documents from our archives that might help establish the original boundary lines.”

As they made their way back to the library, Penelope found herself hyperaware of the Duke’s presence beside her.

Their shoulders brushed as he held the door, and that brief contact sent awareness shivering through her entire body.

The sun had reached the library windows, filling the room with golden light that caught dust motes dancing in the air. The space still held traces of their work from yesterday - papers carefully sorted into piles, ribbon markers in relevant books, a cup of long-cold coffee forgotten on a side table that the servants had missed.

“I see you’ve been thorough,” the Earl observed, examining their organised chaos with approval. “Though perhaps we should start with these.” He withdrew several ancient-looking documents from his coat pocket. “I found them in a rather unexpected place - inside an old volume of Shakespeare, of all things.”

“Shakespeare?” The Duke’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That seems...”

“Deliberately misleading?” The Earl smiled grimly. “Yes, I rather thought so. These are part of the original bill of rights to the land, properly registered with the Court when the boundaries were first established. I distinctly remember having our solicitors make certified copies well before that mysterious library leak.”

Penelope moved closer to examine the documents her father spread across the table. The Duke stepped up beside her, and she caught that now-familiar scent of his cologne and coffee. His sleeve brushed her arm as they both leaned forward to study the faded writing.

“These are the original survey marks,” she said, trying to focus on the paper rather than his proximity. “All properly witnessed and sealed by the Court. Look at how the boundaries are described - using the old oak trees as markers. Sir Lionel’s solicitors can’t dispute such properly registered documents.”

“Most of those trees still stand,” the Duke added, his breath stirring a loose curl near her ear as he leaned closer. “Though the one which Sir Lionel claims marks a different line...”

“Was only planted forty years ago,” the Earl finished. “Yes, exactly. Rather destroys his entire argument about ancient boundaries being moved, doesn’t it?”

Penelope felt rather than saw the Duke’s satisfied smile.

“Combined with the evidence of tampering we found...”

“And the tenant farmers’ testimony about traditional usage,” she added, turning slightly to face him.

This proved to be a mistake, as it brought them almost nose to nose. His eyes met hers, and for a moment the rest of the room seemed to fade away. She could see flecks of gold in the green of his irises, count each of his dark eyelashes, feel the warmth radiating from his body.

The Earl again cleared his throat rather pointedly.

“Yes, well. Perhaps we should examine the rest of these documents?”

They spent the next hour reviewing the papers, building a clear picture of how Sir Lionel had attempted to manipulate the evidence. The Earl’s knowledge of local history proved invaluable, filling in gaps that even the Duke’s meticulous records couldn’t cover. Penelope took extensive notes in the little notebook that she had dedicated to this task, wanting to be sure that nothing discovered was forgotten.

“The real question,” Lord Albert said, having joined them after seeing the farmers safely away, “is what Sir Lionel’s solicitors will present to Chancery next. He’s not the sort to rely on just one approach.”

“No.” The Duke’s voice held grim certainty. “And that veiled threat about taking sworn testimony concerns me. He’s building a case designed to drag through the courts for years.”

“Let him plan,” the Earl said calmly. “We have properly registered deeds, historical precedent, and centuries of documented usage on our side. Chancery takes a particularly dim view of attempts to overturn such long-established rights. Though...” he paused, looking thoughtful, “perhaps we should have our solicitors prepare certified copies of these key documents? Multiple sets, properly witnessed and sealed?”

“An excellent suggestion.” The Duke turned to Penelope. “Would you be willing to help prepare the documents for our solicitors? Your eye for detail in organising the registered deeds would be invaluable.”

She nodded, trying to ignore how her pulse jumped at the thought of spending more time working closely with him.

“Of course. Though perhaps we should also speak with the tenant farmers again? Ensure that they understand the gravity of giving sworn testimony in Chancery, and what rights they’d be surrendering if Sir Lionel prevails?”

“I could do that,” Lord Albert offered, his expression suspiciously innocent. “Leave you two to handle the documentation.”

The Duke shot his cousin a quelling look, but before he could respond, Jameson appeared in the doorway.

“Your Grace, a message has just arrived from London. It appears rather urgent.”

The Duke took the sealed letter, his expression darkening as he read.

“It seems,” he said quietly, “that Sir Lionel has indeed been busy. His solicitors have filed a bill of complaint in Chancery. Against both estates.”

Penelope moved to his side without thinking, close enough to read over his shoulder. The legal language was dense, but the threat was clear - Sir Lionel was claiming improper management of boundary rights and challenging both properties’ ancient claims.

The Earl’s face grew grave.

“So. He means to drag us through the Court of Chancery. These cases can take years to resolve - during which time he’ll continue undermining our tenants’ loyalty.”

“Yes.” The Duke’s voice held contained fury. “Though he’s made one serious miscalculation.”

“Oh?” Lord Albert leaned forward with interest.

“He’s forgotten,” the Duke said softly, his eyes meeting Penelope’s with unexpected warmth, “that united, we can present a much stronger case to Chancery. Two ancient estates defending their properly registered rights carries more weight than his recent claims. We’re stronger together than apart.”

A knock at the study door interrupted whatever response Penelope might have made to that charged statement. Mary appeared, looking somewhat flustered.

“Begging your pardon, my Lady, Your Grace, but Cook insists on knowing if everyone will be staying for luncheon? And...” she hesitated, glancing between them, “there are rather a lot of people gathering in the village. It seems that Sir Lionel has been making speeches at the tavern.”