Page 14 of Trusting Her Duke

“I can and I will.” Penelope moved to her desk, selecting documents with careful precision. “We have work to do, Papa. The tenant depositions may be delayed, but we must be prepared. While Sir Lionel gathers evidence for his Chancery petition, we must document every ancient right, every traditional usage. We cannot waste this time.”

“And what of Alexander? What of his efforts to make amends?”

“His efforts?” Penelope’s laugh held no humour. “You mean his single attempt to speak with me, followed by three days of silence? Or perhaps you refer to the messages he’s sent through others, as if he cannot bear to face me himself?”

“You know that’s not fair.” The Earl’s voice remained gentle, though his eyes showed steel. “He has tried to see you multiple times. You’ve refused him entry. Lady Rosalind says he’s written letters which you’ve returned unopened.”

“Because there is nothing left to say!” The words burst from her with more force than she’d intended. She modulated her tone with effort. “He showed his true opinion of me quite clearly. All his fine words about trust and partnership meant nothing when tested. I will not give him the opportunity to wound me again.”

Her father studied her for a long moment.

“And so you throw yourself into work, wear only dark colours, refuse all company save those directly involved in estate business. My dear, you’re not just protecting yourself from pain - you’re denying yourself any chance of joy.”

“Joy?” She turned to the window, watching as clouds gathered on the horizon. A storm approaching - how appropriate. “There are more important things than personal happiness, Papa. The estate, our tenants, our responsibilities...”

“All of which would be better served by reconciliation with Ravensworth.” He moved to stand beside her, his reflection joining hers in the window glass. “You know I’m right, Penelope. United, our estates are formidable. Divided, we give Sir Lionel exactly what he wants.”

“Then perhaps His Grace should have considered that before choosing to believe the worst of me.” She straightened her spine, drawing dignity around herself like armour. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have letters to write. The magistrate may have delayed the hearing, but we still need statements from loyal tenants to counter Sir Lionel’s claims.”

The Earl sighed but didn’t press further. As he reached the door, however, he paused.

“You know, my dear, sometimes the bravest thing we can do is allow ourselves to be vulnerable again. To risk pain for the chance of something greater.”

He left before she could respond, leaving her alone with thoughts she’d been trying desperately to avoid. The library suddenly felt too confined, too full of memories of another library where she’d felt so perfectly at home. Where she’d thought she’d found someone who understood her completely.

Moving to her desk, she picked up the latest report from Mary about Sir Lionel’s activities in the village. Her maid had developed quite a network of informants among the local servants, providing valuable intelligence about their opponent’s movements.

Today’s notes suggested that he’d been meeting with a London solicitor known for challenging ancient rights in Chancery, one with a reputation for overturning long-established claims. A knock at the door interrupted her reading.

“Enter,” she called, expecting Mary with more reports.

Instead, Lord Albert Cavendish stepped into the room, his usually cheerful face uncharacteristically serious.

“Lady Penelope.”

She stiffened, wondering if he came as another emissary from his cousin.

“Lord Albert. This is... unexpected.”

“Yes, well.” He moved further into the room, studying the papers spread across every surface. “I see you’ve been as busy as Alexander. Though perhaps with better organisation - his study looks rather like a whirlwind struck it.”

“Did you come to discuss His Grace’s housekeeping habits?” Her tone could have frozen fire. “Or is there some purpose to this visit?”

Lord Albert’s face showed brief frustration.

“You know, you’re both remarkably alike in some ways. Equally stubborn, equally unwilling to bend even when it might be wise to do so.”

“Lord Albert...”

“No, hear me out.” He held up one hand. “Please. What I have to say concerns both estates’ futures.”

Something in his tone made her pause.

“Very well. Speak.”

“Sir Lionel has found allies in London. Powerful ones. Men who stand to profit handsomely if he gains control of both estates. They’re preparing to present evidence at the hearing that goes far beyond boundary disputes.”

Penelope sank into her chair, the gravity of his words settling over her like a physical weight.

“What kind of evidence?”

“Documents challenging both estates’ management of ancient rights. Allegations of tenant privileges being denied, of traditional usage being restricted, all carefully prepared for presentation to Chancery.” Albert’s voice held carefully controlled anger. “They mean to undermine centuries of registered rights, not just for that one boundary area, but for everything, to make any defence we offer seem suspect.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” She rose again, unable to remain still. “Anyone who knows either estate, who has witnessed our adherence to traditional rights...”

“Will know it’s false, yes.” Lord Albert nodded grimly. “But the Court of Chancery will only see what’s presented to them. Sir Lionel has engaged London solicitors who specialise in challenging ancient claims, who have no knowledge of our true practices.”

Cold understanding dawned.

“Someone who specialises in finding flaws in ancient rights?”

“Exactly.” Lord Albert moved to examine the map she’d been studying earlier. “The delay in taking depositions? It’s to give them time to prepare their petition to Chancery, to gather more sworn statements undermining our registered claims. They mean to make it so comprehensive, so convincing, that even those who know us will begin to doubt.”

Penelope’s mind raced through implications.

“The tenant farmers...”

“Will be even more uncertain, yes. Especially if they see the estates at odds before the Court.” He turned to face her directly. “Lady Penelope, I know my cousin behaved abominably. His pride and fear led him to make accusations that can never be fully unmade. But right now, with ancient rights at stake, we need each other. All of us.”

She closed her eyes briefly, fighting against the pain his words awakened.

“What would you have me do? Simply forget his lack of trust? Pretend that he didn’t believe me capable of betrayal?”

“No.” Lord Albert’s voice gentled. “I would have you remember the man you worked with so effectively before fear clouded his judgment. The man who trusted you enough to share his deed box, his family’s registered claims, his own growing feelings...”

“Please don’t.” She turned away, unable to bear the sympathy in his eyes. “Whatever feelings existed between us, they’re done with now. Finished.”

“Are they?” He moved towards the door, but paused before leaving. “Then why does he still reach for you whenever someone mentions your name? Why does he stand at his study window for hours, staring towards Stanyon House? Why does he handle that little notebook you gave him as if it were more precious than crown jewels?”

He left her standing there, surrounded by papers and maps and evidence, yet seeing only memories of green eyes warm with trust, of hands gentle on hers as they examined documents together, of a kiss that had seemed to promise everything before reality shattered it all.

Outside, the gathering storm clouds finally burst, and rain began to fall.

*****

The morning room at Stanyon House seemed unnaturally quiet as Lady Rosalind finished relating her news. Penelope stood at the window, watching rain streak the glass in endless rivulets, while Mary sat nearby, her usually calm face showing clear concern.

“You’re certain about this?” Penelope asked, though she already knew the answer. Her fingers pressed against the cold windowpane as if seeking to ground herself against the gravity of what she’d just heard.

“Absolutely certain.” Rosalind’s reflection in the rain-streaked glass showed grim determination. “Sir Lionel’s London allies aren’t just financiers - they’re men with significant influence in legal circles. If they succeed in discrediting both estates before Chancery...”

“They could block any attempt to defend our ancient rights,” Penelope finished. “Ensure that whatever the Court decides strips both estates of their traditional privileges.”

“Exactly.” Rosalind moved to stand beside her, close enough that their reflections merged in the glass. “Albert discovered it yesterday. He’s been investigating Sir Lionel’s London connections.”

The rain intensified, drumming against the window like impatient fingers. Penelope watched a leaf spiral past, torn from its mooring by the wind.

“How did he learn this?”

“Some of Alexander’s old war connections...” Rosalind hesitated. “From when he worked with that special group - His Majesty’s Hounds, they were called. Apparently they still maintain certain... information networks.”

Penelope turned from the window, surprised by this glimpse into Alexander’s past. She knew he’d served, of course, but he’d never spoken of his specific role. Yet another thing she’d thought she understood about him, only to discover hidden depths.

“My Lady,” Mary spoke up from her chair, “Cook’s nephew just brought word. Sir Lionel’s been seen heading towards the village again. With several well-dressed strangers.”

“His London allies, no doubt.” Penelope’s voice held carefully controlled anger. “Come to see their investment in person.”

“They’ll likely visit the tenant farms,” Rosalind added, her dark eyes showing the same fierce intelligence Penelope had once admired in her brother. “Present themselves as concerned parties, interested in local welfare...”

“While gathering sworn statements to support their Chancery petition.” Penelope moved to her desk, drawing out the properly registered documents she’d been compiling. “Mary, send word to Mrs Williams. I want to know exactly what these men say to every farmer they visit.”

“Already done, my Lady.” Mary’s practical tone held satisfaction. “I took the liberty of alerting our usual observers as soon as we heard of Sir Lionel’s approach.”

Penelope felt a flash of gratitude for her maid’s initiative. These past weeks had taught her the value of loyal servants - and the pain of discovering whom you could truly trust.

“There’s something else.” Lady Rosalind’s voice held careful neutrality. “Alexander has found discrepancies in Sir Lionel’s own estate records, what of them he has been able to gain intelligence on through servants and others. Signs that he’s been mortgaging rights he hopes to gain through Chancery.”

“Selling his expected victory in advance?” Penelope’s laugh held no humour. “How very like him.”

“Yes, but don’t you see?” Rosalind stepped closer, her animation returning. “It means he’s vulnerable. If his plans fail, if he can’t gain control of the disputed lands...”

“His creditors will turn on him.” Understanding dawned. “He’s risking everything on this scheme succeeding.”

“Which makes him desperate.” Mary’s quiet observation drew both women’s attention. “And desperate men make mistakes.”

Thunder rolled in the distance as if emphasising her words. Penelope turned back to the window, watching dark clouds mass on the horizon. The storm that had threatened all morning was finally approaching.

“We need to move quickly,” she said, mind already racing through possibilities. “Before his London friends can build their case. Mary, bring me the tenant records - all of them. Rosalind, if you’re willing to help...”

“Of course I’ll help.” Rosalind was already moving to examine the papers spread across Penelope’s desk. “Though... wouldn’t this be easier if you and Alexander...”

“No.” Penelope’s tone brooked no argument. “We can coordinate through you and Lord Albert if necessary, but I will not...”

She broke off, unable to voice the pain that still rose at the thought of facing him.

“He’s sorry, you know.” Rosalind’s voice gentled. “Sorrier than I’ve ever seen him about anything. He barely sleeps, barely eats. Just works endlessly, trying to find a way to prove Sir Lionel’s deception.”

“His regret changes nothing.” Penelope kept her back turned, unwilling to let Rosalind see how this information affected her. “The damage is done.”

“Is it?” Rosalind pressed. “Or are you both so afraid of being hurt again that you’d rather face this crisis divided than risk trusting once more?”

Before Penelope could frame a response, Mary returned with an armful of leather-bound volumes.

“The tenant records, my Lady. Though some seem to be missing.”

“Missing?” Penelope turned sharply. “Which ones?”

“The registered documents concerning water privileges for the boundary farms.” Mary set down her burden, finger tapping one particular ledger. “And the properly witnessed statements about grazing rights from three summers ago - the ones that were filed with the Court of Chancery.”

“When Sir Lionel first began showing interest in the woodland.” Penelope’s mind raced. “He must have somehow gained access...”

“No.” Rosalind straightened, her face showing sudden understanding. “Those records weren’t stolen - they’re at Ravensworth. Alexander was reviewing them when...” she hesitated.

“When he accused me of betrayal.” Penelope finished flatly. “So now we need those records, but they’re in his possession.”

Thunder crashed closer now, and rain began to hammer against the windows with renewed force. The storm was almost upon them.

“I could fetch them,” Rosalind offered, but Penelope was already shaking her head.

“No. Your brother needs to be fully aware of what we’re doing. This affects both estates equally.” The admission cost her, but truth was truth. “Mary, send a message to Lord Albert. Ask if he would be willing to act as intermediary.”

As Mary left to dispatch the message, Rosalind moved to stand beside Penelope at the window.

“You know, he keeps notebook you gave him on his desk. Won’t let anyone touch it.”

“Please don’t.” Penelope’s voice caught slightly. “I cannot think about... about personal matters right now. There’s too much at stake.”

“Isn’t that exactly why you should think about them?” Rosalind’s reflection showed fierce determination. “Sir Lionel’s whole strategy depends on keeping you two apart. On preventing you from working together as effectively as you did before.”

“We can work together through intermediaries.” Penelope turned from the window, moving to examine the papers on her desk. “Professional cooperation doesn’t require personal trust.”

“Doesn’t it?” Rosalind’s voice held challenge. “Then why have you achieved nothing in the past three days that compares to what you accomplished together in just one afternoon of shared purpose?”

The question struck home with painful accuracy. Penelope’s fingers clenched on the edge of her desk, the smooth wood failing to provide its usual comfort.

“My Lady!” Mary’s voice carried from the hallway, urgent enough to break through their tension. She appeared in the doorway, face flushed from running. “Sir Lionel’s solicitors - they’re not just taking tenant depositions. They’re serving writs demanding immediate examination of both estates’ deed boxes!”

“What?” Penelope straightened. “On what authority?”

“Something about preserving evidence for their Chancery petition.” Mary handed over a crumpled notice, clearly acquired through some feat of servant intelligence. “They’re heading for Ravensworth first, then here.”

Penelope scanned the document quickly, her heart racing as she absorbed its implications.

The legal language was dense but clear - Sir Lionel had somehow convinced a London judge to grant him access to both estates’ records, under the premise of preventing evidence destruction before the hearing.

“This is ridiculous!” Rosalind leaned over her shoulder to read. “He means to use a writ from some minor court to interfere with documents that should only be examined by Chancery!”

“No.” Penelope’s voice had gone quiet with fury. “He means to plant false evidence among our registered documents, then ‘discover’ it during an official examination. Make his forged claims appear more credible by having them found among proper estate papers.” Thunder crashed directly overhead now, making the windows rattle in their frames. The storm had arrived in full force, turning the morning nearly as dark as evening. “They’re going to Ravensworth first?”

Mary nodded.

“Yes, my Lady. Though with the weather...”

“They’ll be slowed by the storm.” Penelope was already moving, her mind racing ahead. “How long ago did they set out?”

“Not ten minutes past. They stopped at the pub first, making quite a show of their legal authority.”

“Then we have perhaps an hour before they reach Ravensworth.” Penelope turned to Rosalind. “Your brother - will he know which of the registered documents are most crucial? Which ancient rights Sir Lionel might try to challenge through planted evidence?”

“I... perhaps?” Rosalind’s eyes widened as she caught Penelope’s meaning. “But surely you don’t mean to...”