The suite he’d procured for her was one of the most elegant in the hotel. The parlor had a cluster of velvet-cushioned sofas and chairs drawn near a marble fireplace, with a heavily carved dining table and matching chairs on the other side of the room. A gas chandelier above them stretched out gilded arms ending in etched globes to soften the harsh light. Tall, draped windows graced the other side of the room, the lace curtains letting in patterns of sunshine.
The bedroom was still more elegant, with a large carved bed heaped generously with pillows, the dressing table more vast than the one she’d had in her dressing room at Sittford House, the Duke of Southdown’s estate. Everything Rose needed for a comfortable stay had been provided, including a maid to look after her.
Captain McBride was giving all this to her. When Rose had tried again to ask him why, he’d shrugged and said of course he’d take care of his betrothed. He’d told Miles to go home to his wife—Miles still technically worked for Albert, though Albert rarely came to town. Albert kept Miles and the coach simply so he wouldn’t have to take a hansom from the train whenever he did arrive in London.
Steven would arrange for the transportation from now on, he’d said. He’d slipped Miles a handful of banknotes, saying they were compensation for Miles putting Steven up for the night and feeding him in the morning. Miles had been touched, Rose could see.
“The entail is very clear,” Mr. Collins was saying. “Albert Ridgley, the new Duke of Southdown, of course inherits the title, house, and land, and all moneys and goods tied to the house. The new duke has no legal obligation to give you anything, Your Grace, except what was specified in the marriage settlements, or put into trust for you by your own family—but Mr. McBride has told me that your family was gone before you married and left you with little.”
“That is true,” Rose said. “My father had nothing to leave.” She stopped, her grief for her charming but rather feckless father never far away.
Mr. Collins made noise rustling papers, as though giving her time to compose herself. Steven was watching Rose, though, his gray gaze taking in her grief with understanding.
“The new duke is blocking the settlements on you, claiming . . .” Mr. Collins kept leafing through papers Rose had no idea where she’d obtained. “Here it is. Claiming that your marriage to the duke wasn’t quite legal.”
Rose nodded. “I know he is. But I don’t know how he can say that. My marriage to Charles was perfectly all right—Albert attended the ceremony himself. The banns were read the requisite number of weeks before the wedding day, a bishop conducted the service, and we signed a register, everything done properly. We didn’t elope clandestinely in the middle of the night or anything like that.” She waved her hand. “It was a perfectly aboveboard service, Mr. Collins. I remember it well.” Rose flashed him a smile. “I was there.”
Mr. Collins flushed and moved uncomfortably. “Yes, I’m certain you were, Your Grace. But the new duke’s solicitor showed me the evidence he had when I went to him to challenge him. The new duke is putting forth that the marriage isn’t legal because—my apologies, Your Grace—because you were already married at the time.”
His voice died away, and Rose shot to her feet, eyes wide. “Rubbish.”
Steven was up next to her, a hand on her arm. “What the devil are you talking about, Collins?”
Collins went as red as his hair, but he rose politely and held out a piece of paper. “I’m afraid it’s here.”
Steven snatched the paper from him as Rose clenched her fists. She liked that Steven came back to stand next to her, shoulder to shoulder, to look at the damning document with her.
It was a copy of a parish register from a church near Dundee in Scotland. On it was a plainly written entry:
Rose Elizabeth Barclay and Keith Erskin, married, June, 1880.
Chapter Four
Rose stared at the two names in shock. One was hers, Rose Elizabeth Barclay, in fine copperplate handwriting. The other was Keith Erskin, her first beau, a young man she hadn’t seen in years.
Steven was watching her, his shoulder still against hers. His voice was low, calming, but at the same time brooking no lies. “Did you know this Mr. Erskin?”
Rose’s breathing came with difficulty, the names swimming before her eyes. “Yes, of course, I knew him. But I never married him. Never was even betrothed to him.” Rose looked at Mr. Collins, who regarded her with his stoic solicitor’s expression. Steven only waited, so close that the heat from his body warmed her side. “It was another scandal, but this never happened. I promise you.”
Rose expected Steven to demand an explanation, for her to tell him that she’d lied, and the certificate was true. But he only gazed at her, his eyes light gray among the parlor’s garish colors, before he handed the paper to back Collins. “Must be a forgery.”
Collins shrugged as he took the page. “I considered that the document was false, and I will look into it. But it is the argument the new duke is using to keep you from any funds, and out of the dower house.” He tucked the offending paper away and cleared his throat. “Your Grace.”
Rose hadn’t moved her gaze from Steven who looked steadily back at her. “You believe me?”
Steven’s eyes were quiet as he gave her a nod. “You’d best know who you married and who you didn’t, wouldn’t you?”
She couldn’t help letting a corner of her mouth turn upward. “And who I’m betrothed to?”
Steven’s almost-smile in answer made her face grow warm. “Exactly. It’s a forgery, Collins.” He guided Rose back to her chair, his hand strong on hers, and they all sat again. “Make the new duke admit it.”
“I will do so,” Mr. Collins said, sounding determined. “You may at least take comfort, Your Grace, of the duke’s bequests to you in his will. You have those, if nothing else.”
Rose blinked, her attention dragged from Steven. “Charles left me something in his will? I had not heard this.”
Mr. Collins regarded her in surprise that turned quickly to shock. “Are you saying you were not made aware of the will’s contents?”
Rose clenched her hands on the chair’s carved arms. “Albert and his solicitor told me the will had nothing to do with me. Blast the man.” Her temper rose as she realized the extent of Albert’s treachery. “He’s tried to cut me out at every turn.”