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He was, she thought, with an unwelcome jolt of clarity, remarkably handsome.

And he was looking at her still. Not rudely. There was nothing in it she could name as rude, only a frank, unhurried attention, his gaze moving over her face as though he were reading a page set before him and meant to have all of it. It came to rest, for a moment, upon her eyes, and she saw his own expression alter, some small revision of a first impression, before his manners recalled him and he glanced away.

"Allow me to make the introductions." Mr. Braithwaite stayed behind his desk, as though he meant it for a wall between them. "Lady Colbourne, might I present the Duke of Blackwood?" He turned to the gentleman, who was regarding Harriet with plain and open curiosity. "Your Grace, this is Lady Colbourne."

"Your Grace." Harriet sank into a curtsy, and was grateful that she neither wobbled nor stumbled, for the surprise of him had prickled along her skin like cold water. "A pleasure to meet you."

The name was known to her at once. She had never been introduced to the man, but no one in England had not heard of the Duke of Blackwood — his estates were reckoned among the greatest in the country, his influence, social and political both, considerable and not lightly crossed. He was a figure of consequence in every sense. What Harriet could not for the life of her understand was why a figure of such consequence should be standing in a solicitor's office, waiting, it appeared, for her.

"If you would care to sit?" Mr. Braithwaite gestured to a chair, and Harriet, glad of it, sank into it. The Duke took the chair beside her. "I am grateful for your presence, the both of you. As I have said, we have lately come upon a note among Lady Warrington's papers, held with her will and overlooked until now." His eyes went to the Duke. "A note addressed to you, Your Grace."

The Duke nodded, unhurried. "So your letter told me. I have not yet seen it."

Mr. Braithwaite drew a few sheets toward him and lifted one to the top of the pile. Beneath it, half slid back into the stack as though it had strayed there by accident, Harriet caught a glimpse of a heavier document — a folded letter, sealed with a great disc of dark wax, set apart from the loose papers around it. The solicitor's hand passed over it without pausing, and covered it again with the others, and she thought no more of it than to note, dimly, that a careful man kept some things more carefully than the rest.

The Duke put out his hand for the sheet — and the solicitor hesitated, drawing it back, so plainly that both Harriet and the Duke marked it.

"If I might be so bold, Your Grace — would you permit me to read it aloud? I believe it may be better understood that way."

The Duke's jaw tightened, and for a moment Harriet thought he might insist. But he dropped his hand to his knee and gave a short nod, glancing sidelong at her as he did, as though to mark that they were both, for the moment, at the solicitor's mercy. She said nothing. She had folded her hands in her lap and gripped them together, and she waited, wondering what a dead woman she had met but once could possibly have written that touched upon her at all.

Mr. Braithwaite cleared his throat, and read.

"'It is my request that, should any difficulty arise as regards Lady Colbourne's endowment, Benedict, the Duke of Blackwood, take upon himself the mantle of its protection.'"

Harriet could not help the small gasp that broke from her, her hands loosening in her lap. The solicitor did not appear to notice, and read on.

"'The Duke possesses an authority that few others can command. He is, besides, determined, considered, and more than able to stand alongside Lady Colbourne, to see her interests properly guarded and any difficulty regarding her endowment brought to a swift and just conclusion. This is not a demand but a request. I am nonetheless quite certain the Duke will do all that is required of him.'"

For a moment there was nothing but silence in the room. Harriet could not bring herself to look at the man beside her. Her pulse struck hard at the base of her throat, so hard she was half sure he must see it. Why should Lady Warrington, of all people, have named the Duke of Blackwood to a difficulty over Harriet's money? It made no sense at all.

And then, underneath the confusion, a colder thought turned over and lay still.

Should any difficulty arise. Lady Warrington had written those words, and sealed them, and left them with her solicitors — before ever she died. She had not written them in answer to a trouble. She had written them in expectation of one. She had looked ahead, from wherever she sat with her pen, to a difficulty that had not yet come, and had set a protector in place to meet it when it did.

Harriet did not know the shape of what she was afraid of. But she knew, now, that Lady Warrington had been afraid on her account, long before Harriet had known there was anything to fear, and had troubled, from beyond her own grave, to set a guard against it.

"I am to involve myself in the matter of Lady Colbourne's endowment." The Duke spoke slowly, as a man will who is setting a strange thing before himself to look at it from all sides. "I take it, from this, that there is already some difficulty?"

"There is, Your Grace." Mr. Braithwaite nodded. "We have, very lately, received a note stating that Lady Colbourne was never intended to be the beneficiary at all — that the endowment was meant for her husband alone."

"A note?" The cold in Harriet's stomach spread outward. She had never heard of any such thing. "Who sent it?"

And even as she asked, an answer rose unbidden before her: her brother-in-law, cold and selfish and grudging of every coin, who had turned her out of the house within a fortnight and would, she did not doubt, begrudge her the small fortune Edward had left her if he thought he might contrive to keep it. She groaned softly and pressed a hand to her forehead, ashamed of the thought and unable to be rid of it.

"We do not know whose word lies behind it," the solicitor said gently, "though I suspect you may have your own notions on the matter. Whatever its source, the Duke has been requested to step in and lend his aid to the affair."

"But what is there for me to do?" the Duke asked, low, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "I do not understand why my aunt — and she was not my aunt by blood — should ask such a thing of me."

Mr. Braithwaite's shoulders lifted, and fell, and he said nothing.

Harriet's throat had gone tight. Her eyes went to the Duke's and held there a moment, against her intention. He did not smile, only looked back at her, solemn and steady, while she sat feeling anything but steady herself. And then another understanding struck her, and her eyes went wide with it.

"Lady Warrington suspected there would be some difficulty over my endowment." She heard her own voice go thin. "She knew. Before any of this. She knew."

"It would appear so, Lady Colbourne," Mr. Braithwaite said. "Yes."

"But how can that be?" Fear was climbing back into her chest, cold and certain. "What was she expecting? What did she know that made her set a duke to guard my inheritance before she ever died?"