Arthur leaned forward. "Do you have proof?" he asked. "These copies are nothing; the court's papers say only what the court was told. Is there anything that shows your father innocent?"
"There was a ledger," Genevieve said. "My father's own book, the true accounts, kept in his own hand. He swore it would clear his name, but it vanished the night before the trial. He believed it was stolen—that whoever ruined us took it so that the lie could stand." Her voice dropped. "I have searched ten years and never found a trace of it."
Arthur sat back. He had come seeking a curiosity, a strange thread on a maid's sleeve. He had found instead a wrong that had gone unanswered for a decade, and a woman who had borne it without breaking. The fairness men spoke of in him stirred and would not be quieted.
"Then we shall search together," he said.
She stared at him. "Your Grace, you cannot! If it were known you helped a disgraced—"
"I know what I risk." He rose and gathered her scattered papers into a neat pile. "But I will not stand by a verdict I have reason to doubt. You have my word, Lady Genevieve. We will find your father's ledger, and we will see the truth set right."
For the first time in ten years, Genevieve felt the cold weight she carried shift just slightly upon her shoulders.
The conservatory at Ashworth Hall was a place of glass and green, where rare ferns and orange trees grew in gray clay pots beneath a domed roof of glittering panes. The afternoon light fell soft and warm through the leaves, and it was here, away from the bustle of the summit guests, that Duchess Beatrice had arranged to take a private dish of tea with two of her dearest friends.
They made a handsome trio among the foliage: Lady Margaret in dove-gray silk, the widow Mrs. Holloway in plum, and the Duchess herself, still nursing the insult of the day before like a splinter beneath the skin.
A maid set down the tray and was waved sharply away. Beatrice waited until the girl's footsteps faded before she spoke.
"I am quite at the end of my patience," she said, pouring for her guests with a hand that trembled faintly. "He has made the wretch his assistant! His assistant! She sits in his study with his papers, and the whole house whispers of it!"