Page 3 of My Wicked Duke Next Door

“Is that supposed to frighten me, Your Grace?” Rosamund asked, bristling. Again, she did not like it whenever he claimed he knew her.

Peregrine seemed to have stepped closer. There was less than an arm’s length distance between them now. Rosamund’s mind had been too preoccupied to notice that he had moved. At this point, she could smell the clean scent of his kin, mixed with something that reminded her of a rainforest. Of rain and wood. She almost backed away, her senses overwhelmed, but pride held her there. She would not let him see her back away first.

“On the contrary,” he whispered. “I suspect it should frighten me.”

Rosamund frowned. What a strange thing for the Duke to say! Before she could process the unsettling set of words, Peregrine gave her a formal bow.

It was a dismissal.

“A good afternoon to you, Lady Rosamund. My butler, Hayes, will see that you are escorted back to your carriage.”

Then, he turned on his heel without another word. His strides were long and quick, and soon he was gone. She was left in the drawing room, her heart pounding. She could not understand the myriads of feelings that she harbored in her chest then. She was angry at him and at herself.

“Lady Rosamund?” The butler, a man in his early sixties, approached her.

“Hayes.”

Rosamund marched out of the room, not even trying to silence her deliberately loud footsteps. Soon, she was at the drive, feeling the crisp air rush over her face. The familiar scents of damp earth and autumn leaves invaded her nostrils.

She stopped and slowly turned to watch Ashbourne Hall. It stood tall and magnificent against the gray afternoon sky. The honey-colored limestone blended with darker browns. It was beautiful. It was not as large and grand as Westbourne Abbey, but it was theirs. Now, it was being held captive by a wealthy, arrogant man who rejected a generous offer.

“I am not giving up, Henry,” she whispered. “I do not care how long it takes, but I am going to get our home back.”

Two

“He did not demand more money,” Rosamund said, as she paced the length of Rosewood Cottage’s parlor, while holding a teacup and a saucer.

It was probably not the best idea to be walking around anxiously with such delicate things.

“I was expecting him to demand a few more thousand pounds either to get more money for Ashbourne Hall or to merely make me feel terrible. He did not demand timber rights, either. I felt like I had been swatted like a fly!”

Her friend Alice Bellamy was the perfect listener. She calmly pulled a needle through her linen hoop. She did not look up to meet Rosamund’s gaze immediately, but a smile played on her lips.

“Drink your tea, Rosamund. You need it,” Alice murmured. “And I need you not to spill it on the carpet or shatter the saucer on the floor.”

“B-but it is not tea that I truly need now, Alice. I need things to make sense!” Rosamund exclaimed. She did remember to set her cup and saucer down before dramatically flinging her arms about.

“You were very anxious to get your tea earlier,” Alice reminded her. “It may calm you down.”

Rosewood Cottage was charming and cozy. It had low oak beams, and true to its name, roses climbed up instead of ivy. It should calm Rosamund down. However, the house had an unfortunate geography. It was inconveniently situated close to the boundary line of Ashbourne Hall. Westbourne Abbey and the rest of the Duke’s primary holdings were also all uncomfortably close. Avoiding the infuriating man would be an utter impossibility. From the cottage, she could see the taunting outline of her former home.

“You expected the Duke to be greedy,” Alice said, resting her embroidery in her lap. This time, she met her friend’s eyes with her own clear, brown ones. “You have spent so much time planning an attractive amount for your offer. You have rehearsed ways to counter his suggested prices. However, you did not expect him to refuse you altogether. Do you not find it curious that he said no with such conviction?”

“Curious?” Rosamund echoed, her eyes flashing. “He was being petulant, Alice. Peregrine Blackwood had designs on Ashbourne for a long time. When he finally had the opportunity, he took it. His pride will not allow him to relinquish the house.”

Alice sighed. “Rosamund, you have already judged him. But have you ever considered if there might be another reason? Perhaps he is not doing it out of spite. There could be a reason that he cannot share with you because -”

“Because we are not family?” Rosamund interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “I cannot think of any other reason, Alice. And it is not like you do not know him. You know what he did. You were here with me. With us.”

How could Rosamund ever forget? Four years ago, Peregrine Blackwood had become wholly involved in her family’s affairs, and for the wrong reasons. He had publicly accused the now-deceased Earl of Ashbourne of misusing the trust fund that was legally Henry’s own. However, before her father could clarify the matter, the young Duke had already acted upon what he thought to be a theft. He exposed the discrepancy, which brought her father to ruin.

“I can explain! There is more to the circumstance than what you understand, Your Grace!”

Her father’s pleas still rang in Rosamund’s ears. That one sentence reminded her of the devastation that the Earl had gone through. In effect, her whole family felt the brunt of the ruin.

As soon as word spread about her father’s financial indiscretion, credit vanished. The Harcourt family name was dragged through the mud. Echoes of the Duke of Westbourne’s declaration had passed from one gentleman’s club to another. From one household to the next.

Swarmed by creditors, selling every stick of furniture eto keep the wolvesf rom the door, Rosamund’s beloved home had become more like a prison than a safe haven.