Page 33 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

William stood frozen, the wheels turning rapidly in his mind.

He turned toward Anthony, who was watching him with a stunned, contemplative expression. The letters Seraphina had received bore no heavy red wax seal. There was no missing wax, no physical residue, and not a single sheet of official estate paper unaccounted for in any ledger they had checked.

“A signet ring would cause the mark that was embossed into that particular letter,” William said, tilting his head to the left.

“But it is an odd way of marking a letter,” Anthony said. “Why not just use a normal wax?”

“If there is no wax...” William mused aloud. “...could the paper have been dampened? If the fiber were softened with water or a solution, a signet ring pressed into the page with enough force would leave an impression.”

He gestured with his hands, visualizing the paper Seraphina had shown him. “A blind mark. An embossed impression etched right into the weave of the paper. It would leave a faint shadow of the crest without needing ink or wax.”

Anthony frowned, crossing his arms as he weighed the idea. “William, that sounds difficult, and it’s very weird. What would be the aim then?”

“If she managed it at all, it was no accident,” William conceded quietly. “It is possible that my father did it first and she learned from him. Perhaps used that technique to send secret letters to his many lovers so they would know it was from him, without outright putting his stamp on it. He had affairs with even married women of the ton, if I recall correctly.”

Mr. Higgs, who had been listening intently, shook his head slowly. “If I may speak, Your Grace...”

“Please, Thomas,” William said.

“The late Duke never did anything of that sort,” the old man said plainly. “I worked closely with your father for over thirty years, managing his private correspondence when he stayed here. He never once marked a letter without proper red wax. There was never a private mark he used with his ladies. He was... bold.”

“You’re certain?” William questioned, his eyebrows pulling together.

“Yes, Your Grace. To mark a paper blindly...” He shook his head. “Well, it sounds unusual.”

William’s jaw tightened. That left them facing a far more unsettling reality.

If the impression was not a technique invented by his father, then whoever was writing those letters to Seraphina had developed the method themselves. It was a calculated choice.

A choice to toy with him.

“Why go to such lengths?” Anthony repeated, voicing the exact question weighing on William’s chest. “If you want to threaten someone, a simple unsigned letter accomplishes the goal. Why take the immense risk of perfecting a dry-stamp technique using a stolen signet ring?”

“To tie my family to the threat,” William said quietly, his brow furrowing as he considered it. “A wax seal would be too bold. But this... this looks almost like a mistake. Perhaps this person banked on the fact that the victim would find it and cause a ruckus. Exposing me to society as the blackmailer. But the victim came to me first.”

The calculation of it made William’s blood run cold. Whoever was holding that ring was playing a deeply dangerous game, one that directly threatened Seraphina and entangled his own bloodline in its net.

“Thomas,” William said, stepping closer. “Think carefully. Do you recall her name? Any title, a family surname, even a Christian name she went by while she was here?”

Mr. Higgs rubbed the back of his neck, his face working hard as he searched his memory. He shook his head slowly, a frustrated grimace touching his mouth. “For the life of me, Your Grace, I cannot bring her name to mind. Your father was always careful never to use full titles around the staff when he brought guests down. It was always ‘my dear’ or ‘my lady.’ Never names.”

“Can you describe her, then?” Anthony asked, stepping alongside William. “Anything at all. Her appearance, her mannerisms, how she spoke?”

“Oh, she was a striking woman, Your Grace,” Mr. Higgs said, looking up as the vision came back to him. “Uncommonly beautiful, though cold as winter glass. She had dark hair, very dark, long, worn in rich curls that hung past her shoulders. She was clearly the daughter of someone in the peerage, you could tell. High-born, through and through.”

William’s hand tightened into a fist at his side. “There is no record of her stay here?” William asked. “No ledger, no correspondence left behind?”

“Not in the regular guest accounts, no,” Mr. Higgs replied. Then his eyes lit up slightly. “But... your father kept a locked chest in the store closet upstairs. Papers he didn’t want sent to the main house, old receipts, bits of private correspondence he meant to burn and never did. I haven’t opened it since he passed, but if there is any trace of her still left in this house, it will be in the store closet.”

Mr. Higgs looked at William then. “Let me search through it, Your Grace. Give me time to go through every scrap of paper line by line. If her name is anywhere in this cottage, I will find it for you.”

“Do it, Thomas,” William said. “If you find even a single initial, send word to the main estate immediately by private courier.”

“You have my word, Your Grace,” Mr. Higgs bowed respectfully.

“Thank you, Thomas,” William said, closing the book and handing it back. “You and Eleanor have been helpful, as always.”

“Will you not stay for dinner?” Mrs. Higgs asked, her eyes searching his face with concern. “Or perhaps, lunch? We could have the master bedchamber prepared in half an hour. You look utterly exhausted.”