Page 59 of When He Was a Duke
Ice ran down Rose’s spine. “You mean my father?”
Mary’s lips parted, but no sound came. Then, so quietly Rose almost missed it: “And Hargrave.”
The room went cold. Rose gripped the edge of the worktable, her knees suddenly weak. Now she was getting somewhere. Get her to talk about Hargrave, a voice whispered in her ear. “What did he do?”
Mary pressed herself against the wall, eyes wide with terror. “I saw what happened to Lizzie. She said too much, and they took care of her.” Her voice broke. “Please, my lady. Let this be. What good does dragging it up do now?”
Rose stared at her, pieces clicking into place with horrible clarity. Lizzie had known the truth and they killed her because of it. All so obvious now. How could she not have put this together before? Because she had blinders on, that’s why. She hadn’t been brave enough to see the truth, even though it had been right in front of her this entire time.
“If what I suspect is true,” Rose said carefully, “if my father and Hargrave were involved in my mother’s death, then exposing them would protect you. And me.”
Mary let out a bitter laugh. “You think the law cares about protecting servant girls? About protecting you?” She shook her head. “Rich men make the rules, my lady. The rest of us just try to survive them.”
The words settled into Rose’s chest like stones. Even if she proved her father’s guilt, even if she escaped Baron White’s bed, what justice would there really be? Men like her father always found a way to land on their feet.
But the alternative was accepting Baron White’s hands on her body for the rest of her life. Living with the knowledge that her father had killed the person she’d loved most in the world.
“My mother wouldn’t have wanted me to just survive,” Rose said, more to herself than to Mary. “She would have wanted me to fight.”
Mary’s face crumpled. For a moment, she looked like that frightenedthirteen-year-old again. “I wish I could help you, my lady. I truly do. But Annie is my family.” She clutched the linens to her chest like armor. “I’m all she has.”
Without another word, she grabbed the remaining linens and fled, leaving Rose alone with the weight of what she now knew and the terrible choice ahead of her.
Rich men make the rules. We just survive them.
But survival, Rose was beginning to understand, came in many forms. And she was no longer sure she could live with the safest one.
*
Rose knocked onceon her father’s study door and waited.
“Who is it?” came the clipped reply.
She opened the heavy door and stepped inside without waiting for permission. The familiar scents of leather, pipe smoke, and brandy clung to the room. Lord Wentworth sat behind his imposing mahogany desk, swirling amber liquid in a crystal glass, eyes flicking to hers with visible irritation.
“What is it now, Rose? I’m expecting company.”
“I need a moment of your time.” She kept her voice steady.
He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit, then.”
“I’d rather stand.”
His brow lifted. “Suit yourself.”
She drew a slow breath. “I’ve been thinking about Mummy.”
Fear flickered in his eyes—quick, controlled. But she caught it.
He leaned back. “What good does that do you?”
“It might do me quite a lot. If I finally learn the truth of what happened to her.”
He sighed like a man forced to explain arithmetic to a stubborn child. “What truth is left to uncover? Lord Ashford killed her. He was tried, convicted, and hanged. A tragedy, yes, but not a mystery.”
“A tragedy,” she repeated. “Is that the same as a murder?”
He studied her. “Sometimes they’re one and the same.”
