After Being Falsely Accused of Stealing From the Estate, She Handed the Duke Her Resignation — But He Tore It Up Before the Entire Household, Then Risked His Family’s Name to Prove the Governess He Couldn’t Let Go Had Been Framed

PART 4

William did not look at the document case.

“Which solicitors?”

Finch hesitated. “Mr. Avery and Mr. Cole, Your Grace.”

“Send them to the drawing room.”

Charles gave a soft, impatient laugh. “They have traveled from London for your signature.”

“Then another ten minutes will improve their appreciation of Blackwood hospitality.”

Finch’s mouth tightened. “And the agreement — ”

William rested one hand on the estate map. “Remains unsigned.”

“Because your governess objects?” Charles let the words hang. “After she explained why you should,” William said, his expression cooling, “I will decide.”

“You are becoming unusually interested in Miss Carter.”

“I am interested in who advises the Duke of Blackwood.”

“Then tomorrow morning you may attend the estate meeting,” William said, “and discover exactly who does.” He turned to Emily. “Miss Carter. Nine o’clock.”

The silence was almost impressive.

Finch recovered first. “Your Grace, surely you do not mean — ”

“I rarely schedule imaginary meetings, Finch.”

The following morning, Emily stood outside the estate room wishing he had. She wore her plain dove-gray dress, freshly brushed, hair pinned as severely as she could manage. Through the closed door came male voices and the scrape of chairs.

William appeared at the end of the corridor carrying a leather portfolio. His eyes dropped briefly to her clenched hands.

“You can still refuse.”

“I know.”

“Good.” He opened the door.

Six men turned toward her. Finch sat beside the solicitors. Charles occupied the chair nearest William’s place at the head of the table. There was no chair for Emily.

William stopped. His gaze traveled once around the room. Then he crossed to the wall, lifted an unused chair himself, and placed it at his right hand.

“Miss Carter.”

Charles leaned back. “This is absurd.”

Emily sat.

“Then I shall try not to enjoy it.”

One solicitor abruptly became fascinated by his papers. William’s mouth twitched.

The Eastern Agreement was laid out. Finch described improved roads, increased commerce, generous compensation. Charles spoke of modernizing Blackwood before neighboring estates surpassed it. Emily listened, and said nothing, until William asked:

“What did you find?”

Every face turned toward her. She unfolded her notes.

“The agreement values eleven cottages as vacant, or available for clearance.”

Mr. Avery frowned. “According to the information supplied to us, they — ”

“Nine are occupied.” Emily looked down her list. “Mrs. Hayes has lived at Rose Cottage for twenty-three years. The Bakers have held their tenancy for fourteen. Thomas Reed was born in East Lodge and now lives there with his wife and three children.”

Charles’s fingers tapped once against the table. “Sentiment does not invalidate a contract.”

“No,” Emily said. “Incorrect information might.” Mr. Avery reached for the agreement. Emily continued. “There is also a clause permitting compulsory surrender of adjoining strips of tenant land — if required for drainage and widening.”

William’s head turned sharply. “Show me.”

She pointed to the paragraph buried near the end. He read it twice.

“This was not in the summary Finch gave me.”

Finch cleared his throat. “Standard legal language.”

“Then why was it omitted?”

No answer came. The coal fire popped, startlingly loud.

Charles leaned forward. “Blackwood needs revenue. Your father left obligations you have spent years pretending strength can erase. This road gives you capital — without selling the core estate.”

Emily saw William’s fingers tighten around the paper.

There it was. The wound beneath all that control. Not greed — inheritance. A house expected to remain standing because generations of Harrington men had been taught that admitting weakness was more shameful than bleeding quietly.

William looked at her. “If I refuse?”

She did not soften the answer. “You lose immediate revenue. If you sign — you gain money by transferring the cost to families who were never told they were part of the bargain.”

Shared silence stretched between them. Then William took up his pen.

Charles relaxed. Finch exhaled.

Emily’s stomach dropped.

William drew the agreement toward himself — and struck a hard black line through the signature space.

“Blackwood will find another way.”

Charles stood. “Do you understand what you are risking?”

“Better than I did yesterday.” William closed the document. “The meeting is over.”

Chairs scraped back. Finch left without looking at Emily. Charles paused beside her.

“Enjoy the chair, Miss Carter.” His voice dropped low. “Furniture can be removed as easily as it is brought in.”

Emily met his eyes. “Then perhaps you should be careful where you sit.”

His smile vanished.

That evening, she found William alone in the library. Coat discarded, sleeves rolled to his forearms, working through correspondence. A forgotten cup of coffee had gone cold beside him.

“You have not eaten.”

“Neither have you.”

“I had a sandwich at luncheon.” He stared at her. Then laughed under his breath. Emily found herself smiling.

“I came to return these.” She placed her notes beside him.

William touched the top page but did not open it. “You saved me from signing something I would have regretted.”

“I read a paragraph. Everyone else in that room read it too.”

Their eyes met. The fire settled softly. For the first time, Emily became conscious of how close she stood. She stepped back. William noticed. He said nothing.

His gaze fell to the margin of her notes. “What is this?”

Beside several calculations, she had absent-mindedly written a list. Desks. Slates. Primers. Rent. Coal. She reached for the page; he caught its edge first.

“A school. An impractical habit of mine.”

“You want to open one?”

Emily hesitated, then nodded. “Someday.”

His attention remained on the little column of figures. “How much would it cost?”

“Your Grace — ”

“William.” The word was quiet. Her breath caught. He looked up. “You called me that yesterday. I found I preferred it.”

Before she could answer, a folded note slid beneath the library door.

William crossed the room and picked it up. No signature. He read the single sentence, and all the warmth left his face.

Emily held out her hand. After a moment, he gave it to her.

Ask your clever governess why her name appears on payments missing from Blackwood for the last eighteen months.

Emily read the sentence twice. The paper remained perfectly steady between her fingers. Only the pulse at her wrist betrayed her.

“Well,” she said at last. “That is inconvenient.”