Page 125 of Unmasking the Diamond
“You will know the right thing to do when the time comes,” his father remarked.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Luca muttered.
The duke’s eyes twinkled with subtle amusement. “Now, as to Jude’s earlier question—how, precisely, do you plan to persuade Miss Winslow to marry you?”
“With charm,” Luca said at last. “And a great deal of persistence.”
Jude let out a bark of laugher. “Heaven help you, if you are relying on your charm to win a woman over.”
“I can be charming,” Luca protested.
“I have yet to see it,” Jude countered with mock solemnity. “Normally, this is when I would tell you to run far away and avoid the parson’s mousetrap entirely, but I fear it is far too late for you.”
Luca opened his mouth to retort, but the butler appeared in the doorway, as silent and composed as ever. “A Lord Rupert Milnes has requested a moment of your time, my lord.”
All trace of humor vanished. Luca rose at once, pushing his chair back with a scrape. “Show him in.” Then glancing at Jude, he added dryly, “Please be less annoying when I return.”
Jude smirked, utterly unrepentant. “The same applies to you, dear brother.”
Suppressing a sigh, Luca left the dining room and strode down the corridor towards the entry hall. He found Lord Rupert waiting near the door, his usual air of composure replaced by something darker—haunted, even. His jaw was set, and there was a shadow behind his eyes that spoke of what he had seen.
“What is it?” Luca asked, bracing for more grim news.
Rupert lowered his voice. “After escorting Miss Dawlish, her son, and Mr. Bancroft to Newgate, I went back for the others—the prisoners left behind at The Chelmsford Asylum.”
Luca’s stomach clenched. “And?”
“I found four of them alive,” Rupert said quietly. “Barely. They were in deplorable condition. The physicians believe they’ll survive, but it will take time.”
Luca exhaled, tension easing only slightly. “Did you learn who they are?”
“I did.” Rupert’s expression darkened. “Their stories mirror Lady Matthew’s. They awoke in that place with no memory of how they arrived, held for weeks—some longer—fed little more than bread and water until their minds began to fray.”
He reached inside his coat and produced a worn ledger, its leather cover scuffed and stained. “I found this in Mr. Bancroft’s office. It lists every soul imprisoned at The Chelmsford Asylum over the years.”
Luca accepted the book and opened it carefully. Line after line of names filled the ledger, each entry marked with dates, initials, and cruel notations. His pulse quickened as he flipped through it. “There are over a hundred names here,” he murmured. “Surely, they weren’t all killed?”
“I don’t know,” Rupert admitted. “But many of the names matched those etched into the cell walls. I can only hope this book will bring answers—closure, at least—to some families.”
Luca looked up, the weight of the ledger heavy in his hands. “Thank you, Rupert. You’ve done more than anyone could have asked.”
Rupert inclined his head. “If you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”
“Wait,” Luca said quickly. “May I ask you something?”
Rupert’s expression flickered with wariness. “That depends on what it is.”
Luca hesitated, then asked the question that had been gnawing at him since the confrontation in the corridor. “Who is Rosalie?”
For the briefest moment, Rupert’s entire body went still. The shift was almost imperceptible, but Luca caught the guarded look in his eyes.
“Rosalie is a friend,” Rupert said at last, his tone deliberate. “One I would protect with my life.”
“Yes, but who is she?”
Rupert placed a steadying hand on Luca’s shoulder. “No one you need concern yourself with.”
And with that evasive answer, he turned and departed, his boots echoing against the marble floor until the front door shut behind him.
