Page 17 of Trusting Her Duke

The solicitors looked considerably less composed than they had earlier. The older one - who had been taking notes during their confrontation with Sir Lionel - spread several documents on the morning room table with trembling hands.

“You must understand,” he began, his voice holding a slight quaver, “we had no knowledge of the forgeries. Our firm’s reputation...”

“Is currently balanced on a knife’s edge,” Alexander finished coldly. “Though your cooperation now may help matters considerably.”

“Yes, exactly.” The man mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “We have here Sir Lionel’s original instructions regarding the challenge to your estates’ ancient rights. Including his admission that he needed to create evidence that didn’t actually exist.”

Penelope moved closer to examine the papers, acutely aware of Alexander doing the same. Their shoulders brushed as they bent over the documents, and she felt him tense slightly at the contact.

“These are dated three months ago,” she noted, forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand. “Before he began approaching the tenant farmers.”

“Yes, my Lady.” The younger solicitor spoke up eagerly, clearly hoping to establish his own innocence. “It appears that he had the whole scheme planned out - first create doubt about the boundary rights, then use that uncertainty to pressure tenants into giving false testimony.”

“Which he would then use to support his petition to Chancery,” Alexander’s voice held controlled anger. “While simultaneously selling rights he didn’t own to multiple creditors.”

“A rather ambitious plan,” Sir James observed dryly. “Though perhaps not as well executed as Sir Lionel might have hoped.”

“It would have worked,” the older solicitor said miserably, “if the estates had remained divided. His whole strategy depended on preventing any unified defence of the ancient rights.”

Penelope felt rather than saw Alexander’s quick glance in her direction.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “He didn’t count on certain... alliances... proving stronger than he anticipated.”

“Indeed not,” Sir James gathered the solicitors’ documents with careful precision. “These will need to be properly copied and witnessed before you gentlemen return to London. I trust you’re willing to swear to their authenticity?”

Both solicitors nodded eagerly, clearly relieved to be offering evidence rather than defending against accusations.

“Good.” The magistrate’s tone turned brisk. “Then let us proceed with the formal statements. Though perhaps...” he glanced at the darkening sky visible through the windows, “we should arrange accommodation for everyone? These proceedings may take some time.”

“Already done, Sir James,” Lord Albert spoke up from the doorway. “Mrs Thackeray has prepared rooms, and the local inn has space for those we can’t house here. Though...” his usually cheerful face showed concern, “there’s another storm approaching. The roads to London may be impassable by morning.”

“Excellent.” Sir James nodded with satisfaction. “That will give us time to properly document everything before presenting our evidence to the authorities in London. Your Grace, if we might use your study?”

As the Magistrate led the solicitors away, Penelope found herself alone with Alexander for the first time since their interrupted conversation in the library. The air between them felt charged with everything still unsaid.

“You should stay,” he said quietly, not quite looking at her. “Until the weather clears. Your father would never forgive me if I let you attempt the ride home in another storm.”

“I...” she hesitated, torn between propriety and practical necessity. “Yes, that would be... sensible.”

“Sensible,” he repeated, something like frustration entering his tone. “Always so practical, aren’t we? Even when...”

A crash of thunder interrupted whatever he might have said next. Through the window, they could see the first heavy drops of rain beginning to fall. Lord Albert appeared in the doorway again, his timing as impeccable as ever.

“Alexander, Sir James needs you to witness some statements. And Lady Penelope, Mrs Thackeray would like to know if you’ll take dinner in your room, or...”

“In my room, I think.” Penelope managed to keep her voice steady, though Alexander’s slight movement beside her suggested he might have been about to object. “It’s been a rather long day.”

“Of course.” Lord Albert’s expression showed perhaps too much understanding. “I’ll have someone show you up. Though...” he hesitated, glancing between them, “there are still some documents that need reviewing. For tomorrow’s proceedings.”

“Tomorrow will be soon enough,” Alexander said quietly. “Lady Penelope has done more than enough for one day.”

The formality of his address felt like another wall building between them. Penelope turned towards the door, unable to bear the tension any longer.

“Good night, then. Your Grace. Lord Albert.”

But as she reached the doorway, Alexander’s voice stopped her.

“Penelope.”

She paused but didn’t turn.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For riding through the storm. For... everything.”

She nodded once, not trusting her voice, and continued up the stairs as the storm broke in earnest outside.

*****

Morning light filtered through departing storm clouds, painting Ravensworth Hall’s library in gentle shades of gold. Penelope stood at the window, watching early workers clearing fallen branches from the paths. She had slept poorly, her dreams filled with swirling memories of rain and thunder, of green eyes and unfinished conversations.

She had changed back into her now-dry riding habit, though she knew there would be no riding home yet - the roads were still treacherous from the storm. More guests had arrived early, summoned by Sir James to provide additional testimony about Sir Lionel’s schemes.

“My Lady?” Mary’s voice came softly from the doorway. Her maid had arrived with the dawn, bringing fresh clothes and a determined expression. “His Grace asks if you would join him in his study. There are some documents regarding the tenant depositions that need your attention.”

Penelope’s hands smoothed her skirts automatically.

“Of course. Though perhaps you should accompany me?”

“I think not, my Lady.” Mary’s practical tone held gentle firmness. “Some conversations need no witnesses. And you’ve been avoiding this one long enough.”

“I haven’t been...” Penelope began, but Mary’s raised eyebrow stopped her weak protest. “Very well. Though I don’t see what good can come of it now.”

“Don’t you?” Mary began tidying the papers Penelope had been pretending to review. “Then perhaps you’re not as clever as I thought.”

The walk to Alexander’s study felt both endless and too short. Penelope paused outside his door, gathering her courage, then knocked softly.

“Enter.”

He stood at his desk, but not behind it as he usually did. Instead, he faced the door, as if he’d been waiting for her. The morning light caught the auburn highlights in his dark hair, and she noticed that he wore the same clothes as yesterday - had he worked through the night?

“Thank you for coming.” His voice held careful neutrality. “There are some matters we should discuss before Sir James begins today’s proceedings.”

“Of course.” She moved to the desk, maintaining a safe distance. “The tenant depositions...”

“Are not why I asked you here.” He ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling it further. “Though they provide a convenient excuse, don’t they? Like estate business and charitable works and all the other ways we’ve avoided actually talking to each other these past days.”

“I’m not sure what there is to say.” She kept her voice steady with effort. “The situation with Sir Lionel is nearly resolved. The estates’ ancient rights will be protected. Everything else is...”

“Everything else?” Something flashed in his eyes. “You mean the trust that I betrayed? The accusations that I made? The pain that I caused when I should have known - did know, somewhere beneath my cursed pride and fear - that you could never act against either estate’s interests?”

“Alexander...”

“No.” He moved closer, though still maintaining a careful distance. “Let me finish. You rode through a storm yesterday to protect both our estates. Even after what I’d done, you came. Because duty and honour mattered more than personal hurt.”

“Of course they did.” She lifted her chin. “The estates, the tenants, their ancient rights - those things are larger than any personal considerations.”

“Are they?” His voice gentled. “Or did you come because, despite everything, you knew I would listen? Because somewhere beneath all the pain and anger, you still trusted that I would see the truth when it was shown to me?”

She turned away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze.

“What does it matter now? The crisis is nearly over. Sir Lionel’s schemes are exposed. There’s no need for us to...”

“There’s every need.”

“Is there?” She faced him again, letting him see the pain she’d been hiding. “You believed the worst of me so easily, Alexander. One planted document and all our work together, all our... everything we shared meant nothing.”

“Not nothing.” He took a step closer, his expression raw with honesty. “It meant so much that the very thought of betrayal devastated me. I reacted from fear - fear of losing everything again, fear of having trusted wrongly. But even then, even in my anger and suspicion, I couldn’t stop...” He broke off, moving to the window. Morning light carved his profile in stark relief as he continued more quietly, “I couldn’t stop reaching for you every time someone mentioned your name. Couldn’t stop staring towards Stanyon House, wondering if you were looking back. Couldn’t stop handling that notebook you gave me, remembering how it felt to be trusted so completely.”

“And now?” Her voice emerged barely above a whisper. “What do you feel now?”

“Now?” He turned back to her, and the emotion in his eyes made her breath catch. “Now I understand what my mother tried to tell me all those years ago. About balance. About how duty without compassion becomes tyranny, but compassion without wisdom becomes folly. You taught me that, Penelope. You showed me how to blend both.”

“Your mother?” The reference surprised her. “I don’t understand.”

He crossed to his desk, opened a drawer, and withdrew a letter - old and slightly yellowed with age.

“Her last letter to me. The one I couldn’t bear to read after she died. I finally opened it three days ago, after you left. After I realised what my fear of vulnerability had cost me.”

His hands trembled slightly as he held out the letter.

“Read it. Please.”

Penelope took the fragile paper carefully, her eyes moving over the faded writing:

‘My dearest Alexander,

If you are reading this, then I am gone, and you have finally found the courage to face what that means. I fear you will react as your father does - by closing yourself off, by choosing rigid duty over human connection. It is a natural response to pain, my darling, but it is the wrong one.

There must be balance in all things. You have such capacity for love, for understanding, for seeing the human hearts beneath estate management and noble duty. Don’t lose that in your determination to be strong. Don’t let fear of loss prevent you from trusting again.

Someday, you will meet someone who challenges you to be better than your fears. Someone who shows you how duty and compassion can work together, how strength can coexist with tenderness. When that happens, my son, be brave enough to recognise it. Be brave enough to trust not just their actions, but your own heart.

All my love,

Mother’

Penelope’s vision blurred slightly as she finished reading.

“Alexander...”

“She could have been describing you.” His voice came soft and certain. “You’ve challenged me from the first moment - questioned my rigid approaches, showed me better ways to serve our people. And when I forgot her wisdom, when I let fear override trust, you proved her right again by putting duty above personal hurt.” He moved closer, close enough that she could catch that familiar scent of cologne and coffee. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I ask for it anyway. And I ask for the chance to prove myself worthy of your trust again.”

Penelope looked down at the letter in her hands, then back up at him. The morning light caught his face, showing every line of strain, every sign of sleepless nights that matched her own.

“It’s not that simple,” she said quietly. “Trust, once broken...”

“Can be rebuilt.” He took another step closer, though still not touching her. “Like estate boundaries can be reestablished, like ancient rights can be protected. Through patience, and care, and absolute dedication to truth.”

Despite herself, a small smile touched her lips.

“Are you comparing our relationship to estate management?”

“Perhaps.” That almost-smile she’d missed so much flickered across his face. “Though I hope with better results than my previous attempts at managing either.”

She handed the letter back to him carefully.

“Your mother was very wise.”

“Yes.” He placed the letter on his desk, then turned back to her. “Though not as wise as her son has been foolish. Penelope, I...”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever he might have said. Lord Albert’s voice carried through the wood.

“Alexander? Sir James needs both of you. Sir Lionel’s London solicitors have more documents to review before they make their formal statements.”

Penelope moved towards the door, but Alexander’s voice stopped her.

“Wait. Please. We’re not finished here.”

She turned back, meeting his eyes directly for the first time.

“No,” she agreed softly. “We’re not. But duty calls, doesn’t it?”

“For now.” His voice held promise rather than resignation. “But afterward...”

“Afterward,” she nodded, and was rewarded with a real smile, one that warmed his eyes to summer-leaf green.

They walked to the door together, not touching but somehow more aligned than they had been in days. There was still much to discuss, much to resolve, but for now, this careful beginning would do.

The library had filled with people during their absence - Sir James at his makeshift desk, the London solicitors looking even more nervous than yesterday, Lord Albert organising papers with his usual efficiency. But Penelope noticed how everyone’s attention shifted slightly as she and Alexander entered together.

“Ah, good.” Sir James looked up from his work. “Your Grace, Lady Penelope - these new documents require immediate attention. It seems that Sir Lionel’s schemes went deeper than we initially thought.”

“Deeper?”

Alexander moved to examine the papers, and Penelope noticed how he positioned himself so she could see them equally well. The old habits of working together seemed to resurface naturally.

“Yes.” The older solicitor stepped forward, his manner suggesting that he hoped to further secure his own position by being helpful. “We’ve found evidence that Sir Lionel began planning this attack on both estates years ago. Even before he started accumulating gambling debts.”

“He was watching,” Penelope realised, studying the dates on the documents. “Waiting for any sign of weakness or division between the estates.”

“Precisely.” Alexander’s voice held grim satisfaction. “Though he didn’t count on our ability to work together despite personal conflicts.”

She felt his quick glance, and acknowledged it with a slight nod. Yes, they had managed to protect what mattered, even when their own relationship lay in ruins. Perhaps that said more about their fundamental compatibility than either of them had realised.

“The Court of Chancery will want to see all of this,” Sir James observed, gathering the papers into careful order. “Though I suspect that Sir Lionel won’t be in any position to pursue his petition, given his current legal difficulties.”

“No,” Albert agreed cheerfully. “Latest word from London suggests he’s fled to the continent. Several of his creditors are in pursuit.”

“Then it’s over?” Penelope asked, though she already knew it couldn’t be quite that simple.