Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

“ I was five years old, but I remember her talking to me, clear as day,” Rosamund said in a shaky voice, visibly gathering her courage. “Everyone had labeled her a spinster. Unmarriageable. The bane of her mother’s existence. She was thirty but hadn’t gotten married yet. I remember asking her about it, and she told me she hadn’t found the ideal match yet, but there was someone she liked.”

“A Kendall?” asked Sophia, hesitant.

“Yes… Edmund was his name. She told me he was a kind man who treated her right and didn’t care that she was old. She told me that… she loved him. Her whole heart loved him.”

Sophia heard her voice crack and held her hand, but Rosamund kept going.

“Around a year later, I remember it all unfolding. I remember noises and shouts at the house but only behind walls and closed doors. They wouldn’t let me hear them, you understand. But I figured it all out by myself, eventually. Eliza was with child.”

Sophia felt her heart sink. Even if this was a story about people who had lived eighty years ago, it tugged right at the strings of her heart. She couldn’t even imagine how much worse it was for Rosamund, reliving it as a memory rather than a story.

“Unfortunately, the child was born out of wedlock. They humiliated her. I remember the family shouting with such fury that it rattled the windows. Only anger and hate. ‘ I will not raise a bastard in this household! ’” the old woman said, mimicking the voice of an old man. “They had to marry her off, and fast, or risk ruining the family name forever.”

“Rosamund… I’m sorry, but… why didn’t they just marry her to the Kendall fellow?”

Rosamund shook her head. “Not possible. They had… notions of what had occurred—to appease themselves, I suppose, rather than believe that their daughter had… chosen to share Edmund’s company before marriage. Not the truth, of course. In my family’s eyes, Edmund had violated her… ruined her. They never would have allowed it. She begged and cried and tried to change their mind, insisting that it was love between them, but it was for naught. And Edmund, as much as he tried, was not even permitted a moment to voice the truth.”

She sipped her tea again and took a deep breath.

“They married her off to an older man, one she didn’t love, and a few days later…” She gulped and cleared her throat. “She ended her life.”

Tears brimmed in Sophia’s ears, wetting her eyelashes. The revelation hit her like a brick.

That’s… not what I was told…

But she did not have the heart to tell Rosamund that the version she had heard was a story of spite and murder and betrayal, though with that same love at the center of it. There wasn’t even a hint of a hint of a lie in Rosamund’s words, and Sophia wasn’t about to doubt a testimony that seemed to be derived from a real-life experience. She had no idea what to say.

“I am… so sorry,” she choked out.

Rosamund took Sophia’s hand in her own and patted it gently. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, my dear. It’s not helping anyone. It’s a story from the past, and perhaps it will finally stay there because of you and my grandson. That is my hope and my wish. Maybe one of my last.”

“I… Forgive me if this is too forward, but why are you so certain about this?” Sophia bowed her head. “I told you, Thomas and I aren’t exactly… in love. We are barely on speaking terms, at present.”

Though that is not a story for your ears.

Rosamund’s grim face broke into a wide, warm smile. “Because I know him. And now, I know you. That’s why I insisted on meeting you. I already know my grandson. Who do you think built this house?”

Sophia was stunned. “Thomas?”

“When his father passed and he became Duke, his first order of business was to talk to me, though his mother kicked up a fuss about it. He told me, ‘ Grandmother, what would make you happy? ’ I told him, seeing him happy with a wife and children. He didn’t like that.” Rosamund cackled, and Sophia laughed with her.

“Then he asked me, ‘ What else would make you happy? ’” Rosamund continued and looked out the window with a sigh. “I told him I always wanted a quaint house near the woods, with a small garden where I could tend to the flowers myself. Some place I can … Well, I wanted to say, ‘ Not be a bother to anyone ,’ but I knew if I had said that, he’d have denied me. So, instead, I said, ‘ A place where no one would bother me ever again. ’ Then, he built this house.”

Sophia chewed on her lower lip. “And he just… left you here?”

“Heavens, no. He visits as often as he can and ensures I am well taken care of. I don’t go to the manor so that I don’t cause any upset with his mother—she has never liked me, as she believes I made him too soft, and I don’t want conflict. So, I stay here, as happy as I can be, awaiting my grandson’s visits.

“But that’s the kind of man Thomas is. I may have failed my son and had to watch him risk his life in foolish bouts of hatred, but I could never be more proud of my grandson. And now that I know you too, Sophia…”

Sophia realized that her cheeks were wet with tears as Rosamund reached out and wiped them with a finger.

“Even if you didn’t marry for love… I know you will end up finding each other. I know it in my heart—and, my dear, it has never been wrong before.”

Sophia lay awake in the guest bedchamber, not much soothed by the fragrant scent of lavender that drifted through the air. The events of the day were running rampant through her mind. Rosamund had just told her the story of a lifetime and one that if it was true…

That means all of this has been for nothing. All of the stories I have heard about duels of honor ending in death… All of those people died for… for nothing…

And then there was Rosamund’s unshakable belief that Sophia and Thomas could fall in love. The worst part was that Sophia couldn’t deny it. Not anymore. Knowing that the feud had started with love had changed every single thing she had learned about the Pratts. And most importantly, him .

How could Thomas possibly get closer to her, perhaps love her, when lies were ingrained in him?

While at Rosamund’s, she had ceased believing that his abandonment of her in the study was a cruel game. Instead, she had a feeling he had left her because he thought he should, because he thought he had stepped over an eighty-year-old boundary and could not bear the idea of being the Pratt who had.

The marriage was just to end the feud in a formal sense, but it couldn’t undo all those years of lies.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Sleep was not meant for her this night, it seemed, so she got up.

She hadn’t packed any books with her, but she didn’t have to. She knew Rosamund had her own collection of books, and Sophia was bound to start exploring them at some point. And there wasn’t a chance of Thomas interrupting her reading this time.

No temptations…

She wandered quietly through the house, as she could hear Rosamund snoring in her bedroom. It sounded funny to her more than anything else, and she wouldn’t dream of waking her up.

Before long, she was in the small reading room on the north side of the house. It was not as large and luxurious as the one back at Heathcote Manor, nor occupied by any scantily clad husbands, but it was a lot cozier. This one even had its own set of lanterns, so there was no need to skulk around like a thief at night.

She started running her eyes over the book titles and giving them a quick read. A lot of them were practical books about different household chores—mostly gardening, embroidering, and even some cooking. But something caught her eye due to its unusual color—a bright blue.

This has to be interesting .

She immediately rose on her tiptoes and pulled it down.

Huh… this is… odd.

The book did not have a title. Only a single embossed sigil on the front cover. She recognized it instantly, as she had to look at it every day when she walked out the door of the manor. It was the Pratt family sigil. Unmistakably so. Suspecting it might be a dull ledger or something—but still curious—she opened it, to be sure.

I met a man… His name is Edmund Kendall.

Sophia’s eyes widened in surprise as she realized what she was looking at. This wasn’t a business ledger or anything of the sort.

This was a diary.

Is this diary… whose I think it is?

She carefully carried the book to the reading table and focused the lantern light on it, her heart beating with fervor in her chest. She read, fast, faster than she had ever read before.