Mr. Collins shuffled more papers, apparently his method of diffusing a tense situation. “Your stepson might contest the bequest, of course, but what the late duke left you, I’m happy to say, is to you by name, absolutely, and not dependent on trusts, settlements, and former relationships.”
“Get on with it, Collins,” Steven said. “Tell her it’s something like the sum of twenty thousand guineas, to be settled on her without question.”
“Unfortunately not.” Mr. Collins looked apologetic and smoothed another paper in front of him. “He names no sum.”
“What does he name, then?” Rose asked, as impatient as Steven.
Collins cleared his throat again and read from the page he’d pulled out. “To Rose Elizabeth, née Barclay, whom I regard in the highest esteem, and because of her kindness, patience, and caring nature, I leave two pieces of furniture of her choice from Sittford House, my ducal seat, and all the contents of those two pieces, whatever they may be. To be hers absolutely, for her use, or for her to dispose of as she sees fit.”
Collins lowered the paper, and Rose stared at him, puzzled. “Two pieces of furniture? Are you certain?”
Mr. Collins put his finger on the line. “Quite certain.”
“What an odd thing for him to do,” Rose said softly. Charles had proved he’d had a taste for whimsy, but she wished he’d been more practical on this matter. A sum of money, no matter how small, or a pair of diamond earrings, or even Charles’s favorite horse, would have been welcome. Furniture was nice, but she no house in which to put it.
Steven was frowning, but his voice vibrated comfortingly. “Some old furniture can be valuable. Had the duke any good pieces?”
“Charles’s collection was famous,” Rose said, feeling nothing. “Sittford House has furniture and artwork from many periods of history, handed down through the family. But I thought it was all connected to the estate.”
“Much of it is,” Collins said, his apologetic tone becoming even more so. “The paintings and the more priceless of the antiques are part of the trust and must remain with the estate.” He gave Rose a look of sympathy. “If it’s any consolation, your stepson can’t sell them either.”
Steven frowned and brought his scarred fingertips together. “All the contents of the two pieces. Interesting way of putting it. Maybe he left her something in a bureau somewhere in the house. Jewels or something like that.”
Mr. Collins considered. “It is possible. Any jewels, though, that belong to the family stay with the family, unless the duke bought them specially for you.”
Rose shook her head. “Anything I wore belonged to Charles’s mother.” Albert hadn’t liked that one bit.
“You’re saying Albert gets his paws on everything,” Steven said, still frowning. “Except a few sticks of furniture. Not very fair to Rose.”
“Not everything is attached to the estate,” Mr. Collins said. “You’d have to go to the house or look at an inventory, Your Grace. I suggest you make an inventory yourself. Perhaps there was something your husband knew you liked, but feared to state it specifically in the will, in case his son tried to destroy it or sell it. The new duke can hardly get rid of every piece of furniture in the house to keep you from having any.”
“He might,” Rose said darkly. “Albert is as tightfisted as they come.” She lifted her chin. “But he’s kept me from what Charles wanted this long. I believe I’ll pay him a visit and take my two pieces of furniture, blast him.”
Steven reached over and rested his hand on hers. His fingers were hot, warmth on this cold, rain-streaked day. “Good for you,” he said. His eyes too, held heat, and a strength that Rose wanted to draw into herself. When he released her to turn back to Collins, his warmth remained, as though he’d gifted it to her.
“Is that all?” Steven asked Collins. “Nothing else she can do?”
“Not for the moment,” Collins said. “I’ll work to prove the marriage registered in Scotland never occurred, and fight for your settlements. I am good at what I do, if I say so myself, Your Grace. I wouldn’t give up yet.”
“Thank you.” Rose’s anger fell away in a rush of gratitude. “I’ve not had any hope since the day Charles passed. Bless you, Mr. Collins.” She rose and held out her hands to the man, and Mr. Collins, blushing even more heavily, stood up and let her grasp his.
“It’s my job,” Mr. Collins said, extracting himself, and putting his papers back into a valise. “Thank Mr. McBride for sending for me. He enjoys helping people, does Mr. McBride.”
Steven remained expressionless. “Appreciate you coming out in the rain, Collins,” he said. “I’ll walk you down.”
Mr. Collins took his leave of Rose with many expressions of politeness. Steven clasped Rose’s shoulder and leaned to gently kiss her cheek. “It will be all right,” he said. “I promise you.”
The kiss was like a touch of sunlight in gloom, a flicker of hope in a morass of fear. Steven’s confidence was so great that it reached through her veil of despair and found the Rose who’d been shivering in the dark since Charles had died.
His touch, his voice, his very presence was daring her to believe in miracles.
***
“Still helping those in need, are you, Stevie, lad?” Mr. Collins, whose Christian name was Tavis, said as he and Steven left the hotel.
They emerged to fine November rain, which coated the streets and stone buildings, turning the gray scene even more gray. The only contrast was black—carriages and hansoms, dark-colored horses, men in black overcoats and black hats. Collins’s bright red head and Steven’s kilt were the only colors in the gloom.
“Can’t seem to help myself,” Steven answered, trying to sound nonchalant.
Collins’s look turned serious. “Have you seen her yet?”
He wasn’t talking about Rose. Steven shook his head. “She’s been out of London. I have an appointment with her in two days’ time.”
“She already knows, I take it?”
“Yes—a cold, impartial telegram. But I want to see her. She deserves that.”
“It might not be easy.” Mr. Collins put his hand on Steven’s shoulder. “If you’d like me to go with you, I will. I am her solicitor too, you know.”
Steven shook his head. “She’ll be angry with me, and you need have no part in it.” He shrugged, and Collins released him. “I’ll cheer myself up helping Rose—the dowager duchess, I mean. Fortify myself for my task.”