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A melia and Sir Frederick had barely made it back to the castle, their clothes still damp from their earlier soaking, when they heard Lady Pendleton’s strident tones echoing down the corridor.

“Completely incompetent! I won’t have it. Not in my house!”

Rounding the corner, they came upon a tableau that made Amelia’s heart sink. A young maid kneeled on the floor, desperately trying to gather up the shards of what had clearly been an expensive Chinese vase, while Lady Pendleton loomed over her.

“Mama, please.” The quiet voice was Lady Pendleton’s son, Albert. He stood a few feet behind the young maid, his expression pained. “It was my fault entirely. I wasn’t looking where I was going and bumped into Jenny as she was dusting.”

“Nonsense, Albert!” Lady Pendleton rounded on her son. “You needn’t cover for the girl’s clumsiness. She’ll be dismissed without a character, of course.”

The maid’s face went white. “Please, my lady, I beg you—my mother is ill, and my wages—”

“Enough!” Lady Pendleton’s voice was quiet, but harsh.

“Mother,” said Albert, his voice still gentle but now carrying an unmistakable note of authority, “I have already said it was my fault. I will, of course, replace the vase from my own allowance.”

“But Albert—”

“And Jenny,” he continued as if his mother hadn’t spoken, “is one of our most conscientious servants. When Grand-papa was alive, he often remarked on her attention to detail, particularly in caring for the library’s more delicate volumes.”

At the mention of her late father, Lady Pendleton’s expression flickered. Albert pressed his advantage.

“In fact, I was just coming to find you, Mama. I’ve been reviewing the estate accounts as you asked, and I have some questions about the tenant farmers’ rents. Shall we discuss them in your sitting room?”

It was masterfully done, Amelia thought. In the space of a few sentences, he had reminded his mother of her father’s values, demonstrated his own attention to estate matters, and offered her a graceful way to exit the situation without losing face.

Lady Pendleton drew herself up. “Very well. Though I still think—” She broke off, finally noticing their audience. “Sir Frederick! Miss Fairchild! I trust you haven’t been caught in that dreadful downpour?”

“Only briefly,” Sir Frederick replied smoothly. “Though long enough to appreciate the excellence of your roof repairs. The castle seems remarkably well-maintained.”

Another masterstroke, Amelia realized. Lady Pendleton immediately launched into a detailed account of recent improvements to the estate, allowing Albert to help the maid to her feet and whisper something that made her grateful curtsey markedly less shaky.

As his mother swept down the corridor, Albert turned to them with a rueful smile. “I apologize if you witnessed any unpleasantness. My mother can be…passionate about the running of her household.”

“It seems to me the household—and the estate—are fortunate in their future master,” Sir Frederick remarked.

Albert’s smile turned self-deprecating. “I try to live up to my grandfather’s example. He always said that true nobility lay not in how we treat our equals, but in how we treat those who depend upon us.” He glanced after his mother. “Though sometimes that requires a degree of…diplomatic skill.”

“A skill you seem to have mastered admirably,” Amelia said warmly.

He laughed. “Years of practice, I assure you. Though I’m still learning.

There’s so much to understand about running an estate of this size.

The responsibilities to the tenants, the preservation of the house itself, the balance between tradition and necessary change…

” He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be truly ready. ”

“Those who question their readiness are often the most prepared,” Sir Frederick observed.

“That’s kind of you to say.” Albert glanced down the corridor where sounds of cleaning indicated the maid had returned with reinforcements.

“If you’ll excuse me, I should go review those accounts with my mother while she’s receptive to discussion.

I’m hoping to convince her to moderate this quarter’s rents.

The spring floods hit our tenants hard.”

As he strode away, Amelia found herself exchanging glances with Sir Frederick. The weight of their recent discovery in the parish records seemed suddenly heavier.

“He’ll make an excellent viscount,” she said softly.

“Yes.” Sir Frederick’s voice was equally low. “One who clearly understands the true meaning of noblesse oblige.”

*

It was still a few hours before dinner, Amelia still had to dry her hair, the meager fire in the grate casting more shadow than warmth across the room.

Deciding the drying would happen faster outside, now that the sun had timidly emerged from behind slate-gray clouds, she gathered her shawl and headed back into the weak sunshine.

The gravel path crunched softly beneath her half-boots as she walked the path that led around the rose bushes, their late-season blooms hanging heavy with droplets from the earlier rain.

Rain threatened again, but for now the sun was winning the battle.

The battle.

Amelia gave a wry smile as she considered the various battles which she felt were playing about right now.

Caro and her battle of wills with her brother.

Of course, the young girl was intelligent enough to understand, in her heart, that Mr. Greene was nothing but a fortune hunter.

He’d already shown his colors by withdrawing his interest the moment he learned he’d have to wait several years for Caroline’s fortune.

And then there was Amelia’s own battle of the heart.

Why, oh why, did she keep thinking of Sir Frederick when she knew in her heart of hearts that relinquishing him to someone far more suitable was the only way to achieve long-term happiness?

Sir Frederick was not for her, and she was foolish if she thought otherwise.

If his smile grew warmer when he addressed her, and his tone held an edge of fondness that was absent when she heard him addressing other young ladies, wasn’t that simply all in her imagination?

Besides, even if it wasn’t, it was because he’d made a sport out of trying to get her to admit feelings for him.

Yes, that was it!

Her reflections were cut short when Henry hailed her from across the lawn, and he strode across to her side.

“I’m so glad I’ve caught you alone, Miss Fairchild,” he said, flicking a glance up at the fast-graying sky.

As the distance between them closed, Amelia saw lines of concern etched around his eyes.

His normally composed countenance was troubled, a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly at the corner of his jaw.

“Is Caroline in trouble again?” Amelia asked with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, hoping to ease whatever burden weighed so heavily upon him.

The smile was a practiced thing, designed to coax confidences from a reluctant source.

“I think her brother will be very glad when she is back home and her foolish fancies have something else to focus on. Mr. Greene will not be allowed to call on her at home.” She hesitated, the breeze lifting a wayward strand of hair across her cheek.

“I presume it is Greene that is the source of your concern?”

Henry nodded, his gloved hand absently smoothing the lapel of his coat.

“Yes, but not in relation to Caroline,” he said.

With a furtive glance that swept across the lawn—taking in the gardener pruning roses in the distant corner, the maid carrying linens to dry, the groundskeeper moving wheelbarrows near the kitchen gardens—he leaned slightly closer.

“Would you be so kind as to come to the library with me? You see, I’ve found something, and I don’t know what to do with the information. ”

Amelia hoped she stifled her gasp. Had he, too, realized that Pernilla and William had actually married?

But when they were back in the large, vaulted repository of books, Henry revealed that his discovery was of a different nature entirely.

“Let me show you,” Henry said as the library doors closed behind them with a soft thud that seemed to seal them into another world.

Here, the storm-washed afternoon light filtered through tall windows, catching dust motes that danced above the leather-bound volumes.

The familiar scent of beeswax polish mingled with aged paper and ink—usually so comforting to Amelia, but now holding an edge of foreboding as Henry led her between the towering shelves.

“Do you recognize this handwriting?” asked Henry. His fingers, slightly ink-stained at the tips, pushed aside a precarious pile of volumes—leather-bound classics whose gilded spines caught what little light filtered through the heavy curtains.

Amelia did. She’d seen the correspondence in his hand—admittedly brief and lighthearted between Caroline and Mr. Greene.

“I think someone interrupted Mr. Greene while he was writing a letter. He covered it with these volumes and obviously plans to return, though he clearly was unable to take the letter with him. But do you see what he has written? I certainly had no intention of prying into his personal affairs, but the letter was there to read the moment I picked up the volume of Virgil, which had interested me.”

Amelia put her head closer to the paper, unwilling to disturb its position, and read that which had so disturbed Henry.

The handwriting was unmistakably Mr. Greene’s—the same flowing script she’d seen in his previous lighthearted correspondence with Caroline, now transformed into something far more consequential.

“Dearest Cousin,” the letter read, “Your research was correct. I believe I’ve found the proof we need linking the Greene family to Pernilla and William. Their marriage certificate provides all we need to prove our claim…”

She turned to find Henry looking as shocked as she felt, the afternoon light casting long shadows across the library’s intricate parquet floor.

“Mr. Greene believes he is the rightful claimant to Lady Pendleton’s title and estate?” she whispered, the words barely disturbing the library’s hushed atmosphere. “But why bring this to me?”

“Because you have a wise head on your shoulders,” replied Henry.

His voice was low, careful—the voice of a man who understood the delicate nature of the secrets that could destroy reputations.

“If I told Sir Frederick, he’d have the man horsewhipped because he’s already feeling such angst towards him with regard to Greene’s blatant courting of his sister, Caroline.

As for Lady Pendleton, well, I couldn’t speak to her.

I felt I needed to discuss what I’d found first with someone who had, perhaps, less at stake. ”

Amelia nodded, still looking at the letter. She’d taken care not to move it, conscious of the potential devastation such a document could unleash. It would be best, she felt, that Mr. Greene remain ignorant that his research had been uncovered.

“You did right not to take it to her or Albert, I think,” she said, her tone measured and calm.

“Do you mean because you also think Mr. Greene is not a worthy inheritor of Pendleton Castle and all the rest of it?” Henry asked.

He put his hand to his cravat as if it was too tight, a gesture that betrayed his inner turmoil.

Then, in a lowered tone that seemed to invite conspiracy, he added, “Colonel Blackwood said he’s heard whispers that if Greene’s debts were called in tomorrow, the man would have to declare bankruptcy. ”

Amelia pressed her lips together as she frowned. Slowly she asked, her voice a mere thread of sound, “Do you think there might be some truth to this supposed connection between our Mr. Greene and Pernilla?”

“Lord, no!” Henry exclaimed, though he kept his voice low.

“Pernilla is in the family crypt. Caro and I visited it with Greene only yesterday. Lady Pendleton said she died the night she tried to run away with her lover. I thought it was a story to add drama to her ghostly house party, but now I believe it. She certainly didn’t disappear from her home, get married, and produce children, of which our Mr. Greene is the last in the line! ”

But Amelia feared that was exactly the truth of it as her mind raced ahead to all the implications—not just for the Pendleton inheritance, but for Caroline, whose heart might be broken twice over when she discovered both Mr. Greene’s duplicity and his true connection to her godmother’s family history.

Even Albert, who showed such promise as the future master of Pendleton Castle…