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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