Chapter Two The Duke Who Came Demanding #4
Sebastian looked at the black japanned box.
He could take it. Not by force, not with his hands, but by law perhaps, by pressure, by magistrate, by accusation, by the weight of his name and the vulnerability of a house dependent on discretion.
He knew how power worked because he had been born into its machinery.
Lantern House was respectable, but respectability was a fragile roof.
One public scandal, one whisper of stolen ducal property, one suggestion that women of questionable conduct were being sheltered there, and the entire institution might find itself standing in the rain.
Miss Vane knew it too. He saw that she did.
Miss Vale certainly knew it. Her shoulders had squared, though only slightly, as if she had heard the thought before he spoke it.
The knowledge disgusted him.
Not because it was false. Because it was available to him.
He had come prepared to use whatever was necessary to reclaim Halgrave property. Now Evangeline’s letter lay upon the desk, and necessity had become less obedient.
Miss Vane said, “I propose a bargain.”
“No.”
“You have not heard it.”
“I do not bargain for what is mine.”
“Then think of it as a condition of entry into a truth you have not yet earned.”
His gaze hardened.
Miss Vane did not retreat. “Lantern House will not hand over Lady Theodosia’s papers. You will not remove them. But if you genuinely seek the truth of your sister’s ruin, you may examine the documents here, under supervision.”
“Supervision?”
“Yes.”
His eyes went to Miss Vale.
She looked no more pleased than he felt.
Miss Vane continued, “You will bring whatever Halgrave records remain in your possession. Estate accounts, copies of settlements, correspondence, names of solicitors and servants, anything concerning Lord Ashmont, Mr Mordaunt, or the financial arrangements made after Lady Evangeline’s disgrace.
You will use your influence to obtain access where Lantern House cannot.
Miss Vale will interpret my aunt’s notes, ledgers, markings and stored correspondence. ”
“No,” Miss Vale said.
The word came as swiftly as his own had.
Sebastian turned to her. “We agree on something at last.”
Her eyes flashed. “Do not take comfort from it, Your Grace.”
Miss Vane folded her hands before her. “Marianne.”
“I cannot work with him.”
“I did not ask whether you wished to.”
“He believes we are thieves or conspirators.”
“He believes his sister’s memory has been mishandled. You believe the same.”
Marianne’s mouth tightened.
Sebastian said, “I do not require Miss Vale’s assistance.”
“No,” Miss Vale replied. “You have done splendidly without it.”
The blow was too easy. He should have ignored it. Instead, his eyes locked on hers, and the air between them sharpened again.
Miss Vane’s voice cut through. “The truth is more important than either of your pride.”
That silenced them both, though neither enjoyed it.
Miss Vane looked first at Sebastian. “Your Grace, you may possess rank, access and certain documents. You do not possess Lady Theodosia’s knowledge of this matter.
My aunt did not preserve papers randomly.
If she marked a witness, there was reason.
If she tied rosemary to a packet, there was reason.
If she named Halgrave in her private instruction, there was reason.
Miss Vale knew her systems better than anyone. ”
Then she turned to Marianne. “And you, my dear, may possess memory, suspicion and a gift for seeing what others overlook. But you cannot enter gentlemen’s clubs, family archives, legal chambers or ducal strongrooms by strength of indignation alone.”
Miss Vale looked as though she wished to dispute this on principle, then refrained because she could not do so honestly.
Sebastian experienced, to his annoyance, a degree of respect for the restraint.
Miss Vane placed Lady Theodosia’s note in the centre of the desk. “My aunt wrote that if Halgrave came, his grief must cost him something. Perhaps this is the first cost. You will not command here, Your Grace. You will participate.”
He looked at the words in Lady Theodosia’s hand.
If Halgrave comes, do not trust his anger. Trust his grief only if it costs him something.
He had not yet decided whether to resent the dead woman’s insight or be grateful for it. Both responses felt premature.
“What guarantees do I have that evidence will not be concealed from me?” he asked.
Miss Vale answered. “What guarantees do we have that evidence will not be destroyed by you?”
The question should have insulted him.
It did insult him.
It also had the shape of reason.
Miss Vane said, “Every document examined will be listed. No paper leaves this room unless all three of us agree. Copies may be made where appropriate. Mrs Finch will witness the inventory if required.”
From the doorway, Mrs Finch said, “Gladly, miss.”
Sebastian had nearly forgotten she was there. This, he suspected, was unwise in Lantern House.
“And if I refuse?” he asked.
Miss Vane’s gaze was steady. “Then you may attempt whatever legal or social pressure your conscience permits. We shall answer as we must. But ask yourself this before doing so: if your sister was wronged, who benefits from your making an enemy of the house that kept her letter safe?”
It was the first argument since his arrival that cut cleanly through anger.
Who benefited?
He had been trained to ask that in estate matters, political matters, legal matters.
He had failed to ask it where Evangeline was concerned because grief had made him both defensive and blind.
If someone had sent him to Lantern House hoping he would storm in, threaten, reclaim and perhaps destroy, then he had nearly obliged them.
His gaze moved to Miss Vale. She stood with one hand resting lightly upon Evangeline’s papers, not possessive exactly, but protective.
Her gown was plain brown wool, well kept, unadorned except for narrow white cuffs.
Her hair, a dark, unremarkable brown at first glance, had been pinned with efficient care, though one loose strand near her temple had escaped.
She was not beautiful in any obvious society sense.
A ballroom would not turn. Men would not compose foolish verses.
Yet there was something arresting in the economy of her.
No gesture wasted, no expression offered cheaply, no softness displayed for comfort.
She was not cold. He knew coldness. Hers was discipline.
He wondered suddenly what had taught it to her.
Then he disliked himself for wondering.
“Very well,” he said.
Miss Vale looked at him with open suspicion. “Very well?”
“I will examine the papers here. For now. I will bring what records I possess.”
“And you will not remove anything?”
“Not without agreement.”
“Written agreement?”
His brows rose. “You doubt a duke’s word?”
“I doubt most words until they have endured inconvenience.”
Again that spark. Irritation, yes. But something else too, unwelcome and keen.
Sebastian inclined his head. “Written agreement, then.”
Miss Vane looked satisfied, though not relieved. “We shall begin tomorrow.”
“No. Today.”
Miss Vale said, “Of course. Dukes command time as well as people.”
“I command my own urgency. If someone else seeks this ledger, delay is dangerous.”
That, at least, she did not contradict.
The next hour passed in a manner Sebastian would not have believed possible when he entered the house.
He, who had expected to leave within minutes either with the ledger or a plan for compelling its surrender, found himself seated at Lady Theodosia Vane’s desk under the supervision of two women and a housekeeper, drafting a written acknowledgement that no papers would be removed from Lantern House without mutual consent.
He signed it with his full title because Miss Vale insisted the document should bear legal weight and not merely “the ornamental force of masculine assurance.”
Mrs Finch made the inventory with such grave satisfaction that Sebastian suspected she would have enjoyed commanding troops.
Miss Vane listed the four items in the Evangeline packet.
Miss Vale wrote copies of descriptions in a neat, slanting hand.
Sebastian watched her work despite himself.
She was quick, but not hurried. When she blotted a line, she waited precisely long enough before moving the page.
When Miss Vane referred to “the settlement copy,” Miss Vale added “purported copy,” and when Sebastian objected that this was prejudicial, she replied that accuracy was not prejudice merely because it inconvenienced certainty.
He gave her the date of the original draft from memory. She looked up, surprised before she could hide it.
“You remember the date?”
“Yes.”
“After so many years?”
“Some dates do not leave.”
It was the closest he had come to confession.
Her eyes softened, not much, not enough to become pity. Something more dangerous. Understanding, perhaps. He looked away first.
When the inventory was complete, Miss Vane locked the packet again in the japanned box, leaving only copies upon the desk and Evangeline’s letter in a smaller folder under Miss Vale’s hand.
“I shall send to Halgrave House for the necessary records,” Sebastian said, rising.
“You may have them delivered here,” Miss Vane replied.
“I will bring them myself.”
“Then we shall expect you tomorrow at ten.”
“At nine.”
“At ten,” Miss Vale said, without looking up from the list she was numbering. “The household has breakfast at nine, and Mrs Finch becomes unreasonable when gentlemen interfere with trays.”
Mrs Finch’s expression suggested this was a mild description.