“Printing costs are nominal. And I need to complete my task?—”
“Your task is no longer of consequence.”
The air left her lungs in a rush and a thin ringing filled her ears.
At some point, the writing had ceased to be about securing her inheritance, or even honoring her father’s memory. It had grown beyond that—beyond even redeeming the Duke of Bexley’s name.
It was Finch. And Wallace. Mrs. Wetherby and Tilly. Even Angus and Sable.
It was livelihoods. It wasproof.
She had not exaggerated when she told Julian that more than his pride would suffer if he lost the estate.
“It isn’t a hobby.”
She had lost Julian, but she absolutely wouldnotlose this. All her work—however carefully hidden behind an alias—would not be surrendered so easily.
“You loved Father,” she said quietly.
“Of course I did.”
“Then why are you trying to undo what he wanted for me?”
Her brother’s spine stiffened and his gaze shifted, just for a fraction of a second, to the portrait above the mantel. His jaw flexed before he dragged his attention back to her.
“I am not undoing anything,” he said, quieter now. “I am preserving what remains.”
“You are wrong!”
“No.” His restraint snapped—not loudly, but decisively. “Father was wrong.”
The words hung between them.
“You have always been impulsive, Rosa. Brave, yes—but reckless.” His jaw tightened. “He should have known what you would risk to make him proud.”
Rosamund went very still.
There was truth in what he said. Irritating, inconvenient truth.
But she would not yield.
She would not be exiled to London. She would not abandon her work. And most of all, she wouldnotbreak her word.
“And what,” she asked quietly, “if I choose not to comply?”
“Rosamund…”
Had he truly believed she would fold so easily?
“You may send me to London,” she continued evenly, “and force Mother to take me in. But you cannot supervise every conversation I have. Every letter I write. Or how I choose to spend my pin money… I imagine there are excellent printers in London.”
His hand dragged through his hair. “God damn it, Rosa. Are you truly willing to drag your sisters down with you?”
“They will endure,” she replied evenly. “As we always have. And mypoint, Charles, is that short of locking me in my chambers, you cannot keep me from fulfilling my task.”
“Do not tempt me.” He pushed back from the desk and began to pace. “You cannot publish anything about Bexley. Do you not see? The moment his name appears in connection with yours, people will look closer. And yes, I’m well aware that Father’s stipulation involved publishing in your own name.”
“How did you know that?”