Page 9 of Trusting Her Duke

The morning room was filled with sunlight when Lord Albert spread a collection of documents across the table, his usually cheerful face uncharacteristically serious.

“You see the problem,” he said, indicating a gap in the sequence before him. “These records should match the originals in the London office, but there are clear discrepancies. The ones he gave us copies of, here, don’t match what I’d expect.”

The Duke stood at his cousin’s shoulder, his tall figure casting a shadow across the papers.

“When did you first notice this?”

“Yesterday evening, after Sir Lionel’s visit. Something about his manner made me suspicious, so I reviewed everything we have about the woodland boundaries.” Albert’s finger traced a line of text. “These dates don’t align with his claims.”

“No,” the Duke agreed grimly, “but they also don’t completely refute them. Not without the missing documents.”

Penelope, who had been quietly drinking her tea while they talked, leaned forward to examine the papers more closely.

“These signatures look different from the ones we saw yesterday in the library.”

Both men turned to look at her with surprise, as if they’d forgotten her presence. The Duke’s eyes sharpened with interest.

“Different how?”

She rose and moved to stand beside them, conscious of the Duke’s proximity as she pointed to specific examples.

“See here? The flourish on the ‘R’ is completely different. And the spacing between letters...”

“By God, she’s right, Alexander.” Albert exclaimed. “When did you become such an expert on handwriting, Lady Penelope?”

“My father taught me to notice such things,” she said, trying not to feel too pleased at their approval. “He says that details matter in estate management.”

“Indeed they do.” The Duke’s voice held that note of almost-approval which made her pulse quicken. “Though I wonder what else we might be missing.”

“If Sir Lionel has access to documents that we don’t, it seems” Albert mused, shuffling through more papers, “the question becomes - how did he obtain them?”

“And what else might he have acquired,” the Duke added. His shoulder brushed Penelope’s as he reached for another document, and she felt the brief contact like a shock of static. “Lady Penelope, would your father still have records from that period?”

“Some,” she said, forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand rather than his distracting proximity. “Though many of our older documents were damaged when the library roof leaked twelve or thirteen years ago.”

“Convenient for Sir Lionel,” Albert observed. “Almost as convenient as the fire that destroyed part of the Ravensworth records during your father’s illness, Alexander.”

The Duke’s expression darkened.

“Too convenient, perhaps.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. Jameson entered with his usual dignity, though something in his manner suggested concern.

“Your Grace, Mr Featherstone requests an immediate audience. He seems... agitated.”

The Duke straightened, his manner shifting from focused study to commanding presence in an instant.

“Show him in.”

Featherstone entered looking distinctly uncomfortable, his weathered face showing signs of a sleepless night. His eyes darted between the room’s occupants before settling on his master.

“Your Grace, I... that is...” He twisted his hat in his hands. “There’s something you should know about Sir Lionel’s visit yesterday.”

“Indeed?”

The Duke’s voice held carefully neutral encouragement.

“He made certain... suggestions. About documents that might be found. Or not found.” Featherstone’s discomfort was painful to watch. “He implied that if I were to... assist... in their discovery, there might be compensation.”

Penelope caught her breath at this blatant attempt at bribery. The Duke’s expression hadn’t changed, but she noticed how his hands clenched slightly at his sides.

“I see.” The Duke’s measured tone belied the tension Penelope could see in his shoulders. “And how did you respond to these... suggestions?”

“I told him I’d think on it, Your Grace.” Featherstone lifted his chin slightly. “Seemed safer than outright refusal, given how he was pressing. But I wanted you to know.”

“You did exactly right,” Lord Albert interjected, his usual good humour replaced by sharp attention. “Did he mention any specific documents?”

“Something about original boundary markers, my Lord. And...” Featherstone hesitated, glancing uncertainly at Penelope.

“Speak freely,” the Duke commanded. “Lady Penelope is fully involved in this matter.”

The estate manager’s weather-beaten face showed brief surprise before he continued.

“Well, sir, he mentioned records of meetings between the old Duke - your father, that is - and Lord Stanyon. Said there might be evidence of some agreement about the woodland that was never properly registered.”

Penelope felt cold anger rise in her chest.

“My father would never have made unofficial agreements about estate boundaries.”

“No,” the Duke agreed, his voice holding unexpected warmth as he glanced at her. “Nor would mine. Which makes me wonder what documents Sir Lionel thinks he can produce to suggest otherwise.”

“Or what documents he’s already removed,” Lord Albert added grimly. “These gaps in our records seem increasingly suspicious.”

A flash of memory made Penelope straighten suddenly.

“The library fire you mentioned - when did it happen exactly?”

“Three months before Father died,” the Duke replied, his expression shuttering slightly at the memory. “Why?”

“Because that’s when our library roof developed its mysterious leak.” She met his eyes, seeing understanding dawn in their green depths. “Too much coincidence, surely?”

“Far too much.” The Duke turned to Featherstone. “I want every record we have concerning the woodland brought to my study. Every map, every letter, every scrap of paper. And I want guards posted at all estate boundaries.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Featherstone hesitated. “And if Sir Lionel should visit again?”

“Inform me immediately.” The Duke’s tone was icy. “But do not refuse to speak with him. Let him think that his attempts at persuasion might be working.”

After Featherstone departed, Albert began gathering the scattered papers with methodical care.

“We’ll need to review everything, cousin. Every document from both estates.”

“Both estates?” Penelope asked, though she already suspected the answer.

“If we’re to counter whatever Sir Lionel is planning,” the Duke said, turning to face her fully, “we need complete understanding of both properties’ histories. That is...” he paused, something almost like uncertainty crossing his face, “if you’re willing to work with us on this?”

The question hung in the air between them. Penelope felt the weight of it - not just a request for assistance, but an offer of trust, of partnership. She straightened her spine.

“Of course I’ll help. Though my father should be informed.”

“Already done,” Lord Albert announced cheerfully. “I sent a message to Stanyon House at first light. The Earl should be joining us shortly, because the bridge is now repaired enough for some light traffic.”

The Duke shot his cousin a look that suggested this initiative hadn’t been discussed beforehand. But before he could speak, another knock interrupted them.

“Your Grace?” Jameson appeared, looking slightly harried. “Sir Lionel’s carriage has been observed on the London road.”

“Heading to London?” Albert asked sharply.

“No, my Lord. Returning from it.”

The Duke’s expression hardened.

“So. He’s been to see his pet judge. He’s obviously desperate – he must have risked the roads in the dark after he left here, or he couldn’t possibly have got there and back by now, even though we are relatively close to London.”

“We need to act quickly,” Lord Albert said, all traces of his usual levity gone. “Before whatever he’s planning can take effect.”

The Duke nodded, his attention already focused on their next steps.

“Lady Penelope, would you be willing to review these records with us? Your fresh perspective might notice things we’ve overlooked.”

“Of course.” She moved towards the table, then stopped as a thought struck her. “Though perhaps we should work somewhere less... visible than the morning room?”

Something that might have been approval flickered in his eyes.

“My study would be more private.”

They gathered the documents and moved through the house, Penelope acutely aware of the Duke’s presence beside her.

His study proved to be a handsome room panelled in dark wood, with windows overlooking the rear gardens.

Unlike the rather austere public rooms, this space felt lived-in, personal.

A half-drunk cup of coffee sat cooling on the desk, and papers were spread across various surfaces in organised disarray.

The morning sun caught the leather spines of books on nearby shelves, and a jacket thrown carelessly over a chair suggested that the Duke had been working early.

“I apologise for the disorder,” he said, quickly removing the jacket. “I wasn’t expecting...”

“To have your private space invaded?” she suggested, trying to lighten the moment.

That almost-smile touched his lips.

“I was going to say ‘to have company’, but yes.”

Lord Albert, who had been watching this exchange with poorly concealed interest, cleared his throat.

“Shall we begin? These boundary maps won’t examine themselves.”

They settled into what became a surprisingly comfortable routine, each taking a section of documents to review.

The Duke sat at his desk, Lord Albert claimed a chair by the window, and Penelope found herself at a small side table, afternoon sun warming her shoulders as she worked.

The quiet scratch of quills and rustle of papers filled the air, broken occasionally by soft discussions of particular points.

Penelope found herself increasingly aware of how the Duke would glance her way whenever she made a note, as if her observations particularly interested him. It was during one such moment of quiet study that they heard the commotion. Voices raised in the hallway, followed by rapid footsteps approaching the study door.

“Your Grace!” Jameson’s voice held unusual urgency. “Sir Lionel insists-”

The door burst open before he could finish. Sir Lionel stood in the doorway, his usual smooth manner replaced by barely contained agitation. He carried a leather folder that he clutched like a shield.

“Ravensworth, this really won’t...” He stopped abruptly, taking in the scene before him. His eyes moved from the Duke to Lord Albert, then settled on Penelope with obvious displeasure. “Well. How... industrious you all appear.”

“Sir Lionel.” The Duke’s voice could have frozen flame. “I don’t recall inviting you to my private study.”

“No?” Sir Lionel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “How unfortunate. Particularly as I have something rather important to discuss.” He patted the folder meaningfully. “Something that might interest Lady Penelope as well.”

Penelope felt rather than saw the Duke tense. He rose slowly from his desk, his height and bearing suddenly intimidating in the confined space.

“Whatever you wish to discuss can be handled through proper channels,” he said, each word precisely measured. “Through our solicitors, perhaps?”

“Oh, I think not.” Sir Lionel’s smile widened unpleasantly. “Some matters require more... immediate attention. Though perhaps Lady Penelope would prefer to discuss this privately? To avoid any... unnecessary complications?”

The threat in his voice was unmistakable.

Penelope rose, her hands steady despite her racing heart.

“I prefer to conduct all business openly, Sir Lionel. Unlike some.”

His face hardened.

“As you wish. Though you may regret such... transparency... when certain facts come to light.”

The Duke moved then, placing himself slightly in front of Penelope. The protective gesture might have annoyed her from another man, but from him it felt like partnership rather than presumption.

“If you have something to say, Sir Lionel,” the Duke’s voice held dangerous quiet, “say it. Otherwise, I suggest you leave. Immediately.”

Sir Lionel’s fingers tightened on his folder.

“Such hostility, Ravensworth. And here I thought we might reach an amicable arrangement.”

“There is nothing amicable about attempted blackmail,” Lord Albert observed, his usual good humour completely absent. “Or about bribing estate managers.”

A muscle ticked in Sir Lionel’s jaw.

“I see that Featherstone has been... indiscreet. How disappointing.” His gaze shifted to Penelope again. “Though perhaps not as disappointing as a lady of quality involving herself in matters that might damage her reputation.”

“My reputation?” Penelope stepped forward, anger overwhelming caution. “I’m not the one attempting to steal land through falsified documents.”

“Falsified?” His laugh held no warmth. “Such accusations, my dear. I wonder what your father would think of his daughter spending so much time in a gentleman’s private study? Particularly one known for his... rigid moral standards.”

The Duke moved so quickly that Penelope barely saw him.

One moment he stood beside her, the next he was directly before Sir Lionel, his height and bearing suddenly martial rather than aristocratic.

“Get out.” The words emerged as barely more than a whisper, yet they seemed to drop the temperature in the room. “Before I forget that we are gentlemen.”

Something like fear flickered across Sir Lionel’s face. He stepped back, clutching his folder tightly.

“As you wish. Though I think you’ll find this situation less easily dismissed than my person.”

He turned and strode away, his boot heels clicking sharply on the marble floor of the hall. They heard Jameson’s voice murmuring something, then the more distant sound of the front door closing.

Into the ringing silence, Lord Albert spoke quietly.

“Well, cousin. I believe that we’ve just discovered exactly what kind of man we’re dealing with.”

“Indeed.” The Duke turned back to them, his face still hard with anger. “Though I suspect we’ve only seen the beginning of his schemes.”

Penelope met his eyes across the study, seeing in them the same mixture of fury and determination she felt. Whatever Sir Lionel planned, they would face it together.

A clock chimed in the hall, marking the hour with gentle indifference to the tension filling the study.

*****

Morning mist clung to the gardens of Ravensworth Hall like a lace shawl, softening the formal edges of hedge and path. Penelope stood at her bedroom window, watching early light transform the moisture into diamonds that clung to every branch and leaf.

The peaceful scene belied the tension that had gripped the house since Sir Lionel’s threatening visit the previous day.

She had slept poorly, her dreams haunted by thoughts of missing documents and veiled threats.

The borrowed nightrail whispered against her skin as she turned from the window at Mary’s quiet entrance.

“Good morning, my Lady.” Her maid set down a breakfast tray, steam rising invitingly from the chocolate pot. “His Grace asks if you would join them in the library after you’ve eaten. Sir Lionel has sent a message saying he’ll arrive at ten with some documents for review.”

Penelope’s fingers tightened on her wrapper’s silk sleeve.

“So soon? I had thought he’d wait at least a few days after yesterday’s confrontation.”

“Perhaps that’s why he’s moving quickly?” Mary’s practical nature showed in her frown as she laid out a morning dress of deep blue silk. “The Duke was up before dawn, they say. Cook mentioned he’d already been through three pots of coffee.”

The image of Alexander - somehow she’d begun thinking of him that way in her private thoughts - pacing his study through the pre-dawn hours made something twist in Penelope’s chest.

She’d seen the weight of responsibility he carried, the fierce protectiveness he felt for his family and estate. This threat to both must be eating at him.

“The blue dress, Mary? Not very practical for sorting through dusty documents.”

“But very becoming, my Lady.” Mary’s expression turned knowing. “And certain gentlemen seem to notice such things, even when pretending to focus entirely on estate business.”

Heat crept into Penelope’s cheeks.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course not, my Lady.” Mary’s tone could have dried washing. “Just as His Grace doesn’t find reasons to pass the library door whenever you’re working there.”

Penelope busied herself with her chocolate, trying to ignore both Mary’s knowing looks and her own racing pulse at the thought of spending another day working closely with the Duke.

The morning sun caught the blue silk of her chosen dress where it lay across the bed, making the fabric shimmer like deep water.

“There’s something else,” Mary said, her tone turning serious as she began arranging Penelope’s hair. “I overheard two of the maids talking. Apparently Sir Lionel was seen speaking with several of the tenant farmers yesterday afternoon. They seemed... unsettled... afterward.”

“Unsettled how?”

Penelope turned sharply, earning a reproving click of the tongue from Mary as a curl slipped free.

“They wouldn’t say exactly. But Cook’s nephew - he works one of the boundary farms - mentioned Sir Lionel’s solicitors were there, taking preliminary statements from the tenants. Offering better lease terms to those willing to swear to certain facts before the Court.”

Anger flared in Penelope’s chest, hot and immediate.

“He’s trying to turn the tenants against their own interests! They may not understand that any temporary advantage he offers would be nothing compared to losing their traditional rights in the woodland.”

“Indeed, my Lady.” Mary secured another curl with careful precision. “Though perhaps someone should explain that to them?”

Penelope caught her maid’s eye in the mirror, seeing her own determination reflected there.

“Perhaps someone should.”