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.”
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.”