That gave Rosalind pause.
Only that afternoon, she had told William she could no longer trust him. Now he had appeared outside her house in the middle of the night, asking her to follow him downstairs, and every instinct warned her to be cautious.
But there was none of William’s usual humor in his expression now. Even from the second floor, she could see the urgency in his face.
Behind her, the forged letter still lay upon the table.
Rosalind looked down at him. “Give me one reason why I should.”
“Because I think we know where your father is.”
Rosalind’s pulse quickened. Beside her, Isabella’s irritation disappeared beneath sudden attention.
“What did you find?” Rosalind asked.
“I cannot explain it from the garden.”
“Why not?”
William glanced toward the house. “Because I would rather not shout information concerning your father loudly enough for half the household to hear.”
Annoyingly, he had a point.
Rosalind exchanged a glance with Isabella before looking down at him again. “We found something too.”
William frowned. “What?”
“The letter Papa supposedly left behind is a forgery.”
The effect below was immediate. Gabriel’s amusement vanished, while William stared up at her in disbelief.
“You are certain?”
“Quite certain.”
“How?”
Rosalind glanced at the woman beside her. “Isabella discovered it.”
William’s attention shifted toward Isabella, who lifted her chin with unmistakable satisfaction.
“The handwriting is an imitation,” she explained. “A very good one, but an imitation nonetheless.”
Gabriel stared at her for a moment before a slow, almost offensively delighted smile spread across his face.
Isabella narrowed her eyes. “Do not look so pleased with yourself. You had nothing to do with it.”
“I know,” Gabriel said. “That is why I am pleased with you.”
For once, Isabella appeared to have no immediate answer.
William ignored him. “Rosalind, that makes what we found even more important.”
She hesitated.
“If you have come here to defend your brother—”
“I haven’t.”