Rosamund
Lord Whitmore.
I turned the name over in my mind as I descended the staircase, my hand trailing the bannister. It sounded familiar. My brain kept insisting that I'd heard the name before, but I couldn't remember where I had heard it.
Mrs Harlow led me to the visitor's parlour at the end of the ground-floor corridor. She opened the door and announced. "Her Grace is here," before stepping aside.
I walked in and stopped.
He was standing by the window with his back to me, dressed in a dark blue coat with polished brass buttons, his dark hair neatly combed back. He looked different from the last time I'd seen him.
But I recognised him instantly. It was the man who had saved me from that strange woman five days ago. For some strange reason, I felt relief seeing him here. Nevan had arrested him because of me, and I'd spent the days since wondering whether he'd been released or was still sitting in Wellspring's lower quarters paying for the crime of saving my life.
