Ellie heard something beneath the anger now. Shame. "Perhaps," she said. "But seeing it late is still better than refusing to see it at all."
His gaze shifted to her. "Is that how you intend to comfort me?"
"I wasn't aware I was employed for comfort."
"You aren't employed at all. You keep reminding me."
His mouth almost curved.
The next morning Alexander did not wait for Hardgrove to return. He ordered horses and rode north to the tenant cottages himself. To Ellie's astonishment, he told her to come.
"You wanted me to look," he said when she protested. "You are coming to make certain I do."
They spent the day moving from farm to farm beneath a pale winter sky. Ellie watched the cold Duke become someone entirely different among people who did not want his title. He crouched beside a broken mill wheel with a tenant farmer. He listened while an elderly widow explained that her rent receipt showed more than she had actually paid. He removed his gloves to examine a leaking cottage wall, pressing his bare fingers into damp mortar. He did not promise what he could not repair. He simply wrote everything down.
At the final cottage, a boy of perhaps eight stood behind his mother, staring at Alexander's scar. "Did a sword do that?"
His mother whispered, horrified. "Samuel."
Alexander touched the scar. "A piece of glass."
"Did it hurt?"
"Very much."
The boy considered this. "You don't look like it hurt."
Alexander glanced at Ellie. "I have been told I hide things too well."
Ellie looked away before he could see her smile.
On the ride home, dusk gathered purple over the fields. They stopped where the road climbed above Whitmore Hall. Lights glowed in the windows below.
"It's beautiful from here," Ellie said.
Alexander looked at the house without answering. "My brother loved that view." His voice was quiet. "Edmund could walk into a room and make everyone believe he belonged there. I envied him."
"And he envied you."
Alexander looked surprised. "Why would he?"
"Because people probably trusted you when something actually needed doing."
The reins shifted in his hands. "You have an irritating habit of finding generous explanations for difficult men."
"Only when the evidence supports them."
He looked at her then, not briefly this time. The cold air seemed suddenly too still. "And what does your evidence say about me?"
Ellie's breath clouded between them. "That you notice more when you stop trying to control what people think of you."
Alexander's eyes lowered to her mouth for one dangerous second before returning to the road. "We should go."
That evening, they worked beside the library fire. No candidates. No mothers. No performances. Ellie poured tea and Alexander passed her a ledger without asking. The shared silence no longer felt accidental. Near midnight, the front doors opened somewhere beyond the corridor. Footsteps followed, hurried, uneven. Alexander rose before the library door burst inward. Mr. Hargrove stood there, wet from rain and breathing hard.
"Your grace."
Alexander's face became unreadable. "You were expected yesterday."
Hargrove looked at Ellie, then Aunt May, then the ledgers covering the table. Fear flickered across his face. "I can explain."
"Good." Alexander stepped away from the fire. "Begin with Edmund's name."
Hargrove went pale. His hand slipped inside his coat. Ellie stiffened, but he withdrew only a folded letter. "Before you accuse me of stealing," Hargrove said, "you should know who ordered those payments."
He held the letter toward Alexander. The seal was broken, but the handwriting across the front was unmistakably old. Alexander took it. His expression changed before he reached the second line.
Ellie stood. "What is it?"
Alexander slowly raised his eyes to Hargrove. "This letter was written by my brother."
Hargrove swallowed. "Three weeks after the day you buried him."
Alexander read the letter again without sitting down. The library clock ticked into the silence. "Where did you get this?"
"From Edmund," Hargrove said. "Personally."
Alexander's eyes lifted. "My brother died on the 7th of January."
"The man buried on the 7th was believed to be your brother." Hargrove's voice shook. "The carriage burned after it overturned. You know what condition the body was in."
Alexander's fingers tightened around the paper. Ellie watched color drain from his face. "You identified his signet ring and his coat," Alexander said.
"Both could have been placed on another man." Hargrove lowered his gaze. "Edmund owed money to people who would not accept apologies. He believed disappearing was the only way to keep them from coming after Whitmore. So, he let me bury a stranger."
Hargrove flinched. "He was afraid."
"And then he stole from my tenants."
"No," Hargrove stepped forward. "Those transfers were mine. Edmund asked for money. I began taking small amounts from household and estate receipts because I knew you would never willingly support him after what he had done."
Alexander stared at him with such stillness that Ellie could hear Hargrove breathing. "You forged my accounts to finance a dead man, your brother."
"A distinction Edmund apparently found convenient."
Alexander crossed to the bell and pulled it. When a footman appeared, he said, "Mr. Hargrove will remain in the east guest room tonight. His correspondence is to be collected and brought to my solicitor in the morning."
Hargrove stiffened. "You mean to imprison me?"
"I mean to prevent you from disappearing before I understand how deeply you betrayed this estate."
After Hargrove was escorted away, Aunt May quietly excused herself. Ellie remained beside the table. Alexander stood with his back to her, staring into the fire. The letter hung loosely from his hand.
"You should go, too." he said.
"Do you want me to?"
His shoulders shifted. "No."
Ellie stayed. Minutes passed without either speaking. A coal collapsed in the grate. Alexander finally sat, elbows on his knees. The posture so unlike the rigid duke she knew that Ellie felt almost intrusive witnessing it.