Charles’s father had been a good man, with a name honorably built on the findings of great pieces which he’d shared with England. He’d been a hero—one who would never have stooped to such low levels as deceit and theft.
Not his father.
Charles read through the rest of the journal, which described the findings within the tomb in considerable detail. No further suggestion or implication was made of any untoward acts.
The absence of such eased the twist in Charles’s stomach. Surely his father’s earlier words had been written merely as a precaution, in the event that he’d need to go beyond the rules a little in order to bring an item home. The Duke had been an honorable man whose efforts had always been morally sound.
Charles closed the book and lifted the glass of brandy. He drank half in one great swallow before settling back in the seat. His mind nudged from his father to the distraction of Lady Eleanor.
There was something strange about the way the lesson that evening had gone—how she’d seemed so fully connected one minute and then separated the next. Regardless, she had appeared to be positively affected by his more pleasant demeanor.
He would need to meet with her again and ensure she did not fall prey to discouragement. She had to continue her lessons with Lottie and her association with him.
He was surprised to find he rather looked forward to it.
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