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provision in his will. This letter was to be presented to Olivia upon the occasion of her twenty-first birthday.”
    James shook his head, certain he hadn’t heard correctly. “Olivia is twenty-one?”
    “Almost twenty-two. Whitby admitted that the letter had slipped his mind.”
    “Did your father leave any other instructions?”
    Huntford snorted. “None. Only that no one, save the solicitor, should be told about the letter until Olivia turned twenty-one. And at that time, it should be given to her.”
    James pondered the possibilities for several moments. The dark shadows beneath the duke’s eyes hinted at his fears. The note could stir up all the grief Olivia endured when her mother deserted her and her father took his own life.
    “Is there a separate letter for Rose?” James asked.
    “I asked the solicitor if I should expect another when Rose turns twenty-one. Whitby swore that this was the only one.”
    “Olivia knows nothing of it?”
    “No.” Huntford’s eyes locked on his. “Whitby and I—and now you—are the only ones who know the letter exists. You’re the only person I trust enough to tell.” The duke stood, stalked to the window, and stared outside. “After all this time. My sisters had finally seemed to come to terms with my father’s sudden, violent death. Rose is much improved—although still more reserved than she used to be—and Olivia has shown much more maturity of late.”
    James resisted the urge to squirm. She’d grown up, all right.
    “I’d intended to see her engaged by the end of the season,” Huntford continued. “But now… this.”
    James coughed, grateful that the duke was not facing him and therefore unable to see the sheen of sweat that had broken out on his forehead.
    “Perhaps the letter’s contents are benign,” James said. “Your father could have set up a trust for Olivia.”
    “I can’t imagine he would have done so for Olivia and not for Rose. He adored them both.”
    “Maybe it’s just a bit of family history that he wanted to pass down to his older daughter,” James suggested.
    “It’s unlikely,” Huntford said, turning to face him squarely. “My father was not of sound mind in the days just before his death, and I must assume that he penned the note during that time. I’m sure you’ve heard the gossip about the circumstances of his death. It’s all true. When my mother ran off to the Continent with one of her lovers, my father could not bear it. He shot himself.” The duke grimaced. “I’ve never spoken of it with anyone besides my sisters and Belle—before now.”
    The words
I’m sorry
were on James’s lips, but somehow he didn’t think his friend wanted his sympathy. What the duke wanted was a solution to today’s problem, and the least James could do was help him sort through his options.
    “If your father wrote the note in the days leading up to his death, as you suspect, it could be an explanation of sorts.”
    “That’s what I’m afraid of. It could stir up all the pain of that time. And what purpose could it possibly serve, other than to convey the depth of his anguish?”
    “It could be an apology.”
    “I had considered that. But we’ve already forgiven him. It took me the longest, I’m ashamed to say, but we’ve all come to terms with it.”
    James stroked his chin and considered all his friend had shared. “As you’ve probably already deduced, you have four possible courses of action.”
    Huntford raised a brow. “First?”
    “Carry out the provision of your father’s will and giveOlivia the letter. As your solicitor, I would advise you to do so.”
    The duke scowled. “Next option.”
    “You could read the letter and then decide whether to give it to Olivia.”
    “Let me guess, you’d advise against this.”
    James shot his friend an apologetic smile. “I would. For legal reasons, obviously, but more so because Olivia would likely resent it.”
    Huntford nodded. “Third option?”
    “Destroy the letter.