The transformation at Kestrel Chase did not go unnoticed. News of the Duke's new archivist spread through the county, carried on the wings of gossip. At the forefront of this gossip was Arabella Sinclair, a celebrated local beauty who had long considered the Duke her personal property. That he would install a plain, penniless nobody from a disgraced family in his own home was an insult she could not abide.
"She's a scheming little mouse," Arabella declared at a tea party, her voice carrying across the room. "She clearly forged that document to entrap him. Now she's living in his house, preying on his grief. It's utterly scandalous."
Her words found fertile ground. It was a far more interesting story than the truth. Joining her in this campaign was Lucian Trent. Humiliated by the discovery of the codicil, he was now bent on revenge.
Discrediting Prudence was the key to undermining Gideon before the auction. If he could prove she was a forger, the codicil would be invalidated, and perhaps the Duke's reputation would be tarnished enough to weaken his standing in the county. Their whispers escalated into a formal attack. Trent, using his London connections, procured an expert opinion from a handwriting analyst who declared the signature on the codicil a clever but definite forgery.
He presented this finding to a local magistrate, a weak-willed man indebted to Trent for past favors. An official inquiry was launched. The news struck Kestrel Chase like a physical blow. A summons was delivered requesting Miss Prudence Bellamy to appear before the magistrate in Marley to answer questions regarding the provenance of a certain legal document.
Prudence read the summons in the muniment room, the paper shaking slightly in her hand. For all her courage, she was still a woman alone, her reputation the only currency she possessed. An accusation of forgery, even if baseless, could ruin her forever. Mrs. Vickers found her there, her face ashen.
The housekeeper, who a month ago would have watched with cold indifference, now placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's lies, miss. Don't you mind them." But Prudence did mind.
She thought of the Duke. She had brought this trouble to his door. She had involved him in her family's sordid affairs and exposed him to public scandal. Gideon was in his study when the magistrate, Mr. Ellery, paid him a visit.
The man was sweating despite the coolness of the day. He presented a copy of the expert's report. "Your Grace, I have no choice but to investigate. The evidence presented is compelling."
"The ink composition is inconsistent with other documents from that period in the late Mr. Lockhart's files. The pressure of the nib on the downstrokes of the signature..." Gideon listened, his face a mask of stone. He was a man who lived by evidence, logic, proof.
He had built his life around tangible facts, not messy emotions. And the facts being presented to him suggested that the woman he had brought into his home, the woman he had begun to trust, was a criminal. A seed of doubt, cold and poisonous, was planted in his mind. Could he have been so wrong?
Had her quiet integrity been nothing more than a masterful performance? The thought was a shard of ice in his gut. He dismissed the magistrate with a curt nod, promising his cooperation. Then he sat alone in his study for a long time, the expert's report on the desk before him.
He thought of her clear eyes, her plain speech, her refusal to take payment for the codicil. He thought of the life returning to his house, the scent of roses and lemon cake, the quiet companionship in the dusty archive room. None of it aligned with the portrait of a scheming forger. Yet the report was there.