The fourth knock was so faint that Duke Magnus Thorne almost pretended he hadn't heard it.

The air inside Magnus’s private study was heavy with the scent of old leather, ink, and centuries of history.

Magnus set the candle on his vast mahogany desk and pulled the brass key from his pocket. Without hesitation, he unlocked the middle drawer and pulled out the yellowed, dust-covered packet from the British War Office.

Lavvenia stood near the edge of the desk, her heart pounding against her ribs as she watched the Duke untie the faded black ribbon.

"This report arrived six years ago," Magnus said softly, his long fingers carefully unfolding the crisp parchment. "When I received it, I was so blinded by grief over Robert’s death that I read only the first page detailing his fall. I never read the secondary officer statements attached to the back."

He laid the pages out flat under the bright candlelight.

There were three separate sheets of paper. The first was the official death notice of Captain Lord Robert Thorne. The second was Major Sir Arthur Vance’s formal statement declaring Sergeant John Ashby a deserter and a thief.

And beneath them lay a third, smaller sheet of coarse, blood-stained paper—a page torn from an army field ledger, written in a shaky, frantic hand.

Magnus frowned, leaning closer to read the faded brown ink.

"What is it, Your Grace?" Lavvenia asked, stepping to his side.

"It is a field report," Magnus muttered, his eyes scanning the lines rapidly. "Written by Captain Lord Robert Thorne... on the night of the Battle of Alba de Tormes."

Lavvenia let out a soft, choked gasp. "Captain Robert wrote it himself?"

"Listen to this," Magnus said, his voice rising with a sudden, fierce intensity as he read the words aloud into the quiet room:

'19th November, 1812. To Commanding Officer, 4th Division. I write this from the bridge at Alba. Our rear guard is cut off by French cavalry. Major Arthur Vance has abandoned his post, fleeing across the river with two supply wagons, leaving the regiment's payroll chest in the mud...'

Magnus stopped, his breath catching in his throat as he looked at the next line.

'...Sergeant John Ashby and four men of the 40th have stayed with me to hold the bridge against the enemy advance. Sergeant Ashby has buried the gold chest beneath the stone foundation of the east bridge arch to prevent French capture. If I do not survive this night, let it be known that Sergeant John Ashby is a hero of the realm, and Major Vance is a disgraced coward who left his men to die...'

The parchment slipped from Magnus’s trembling fingers, falling onto the desk.

Silence fell over the study—a thick, profound silence that seemed to vibrate with six years of buried truth.

Lavvenia buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with violent, unrestrained sobs. Tears of raw, overwhelming relief poured down her cheeks, washing away six years of shame, poverty, and cruel insults.

"He was innocent," she sobbed, sinking into the leather armchair beside the desk. "My John... my sweet John was innocent! He died an honorable man!"

Magnus stood frozen behind his desk, staring down at his brother’s handwriting.

For six long years, he had carried the crushing weight of Robert’s death, believing his brother had died in a chaotic, disgraceful retreat caused by a traitorous sergeant. He had allowed his heart to harden, shutting out the world, while the true coward—Major Sir Arthur Vance—had returned to England, built a grand reputation on a lie, and allowed John Ashby’s family to starve in the streets.

A cold, terrifying rage began to burn deep within Magnus’s chest—a rage so bright and pure that it melted every remaining shard of ice around his heart.

He walked over to Lavvenia, kneeling beside her chair, and gently took her trembling, rough hands in his own.

"John Ashby was a hero, Lavvenia," Magnus said, his voice rich with an absolute, unshakeable conviction. "He stood beside my brother until the very end. He saved my family's honor... and I promise you on my life, I will restore his."

Lavvenia looked down at the handsome Duke kneeling before her, seeing the bright, clear light returning to his dark eyes. "How, Your Grace? Major Vance is dead, and Lady Augusta holds immense power in this county. She will stop at nothing to protect her family's reputation."

"Major Vance may be dead," Magnus said, standing up with an iron resolve in his posture, "but the truth is alive on this paper. And Lady Augusta is about to discover what happens when you cross the Duke of Mardell."

Suddenly, a loud commotion broke out in the entry hall downstairs.

Shouts echoed up the marble staircase, followed by the sound of heavy iron doors being thrown open.

Old Bramble began to bark furiously from the hallway outside.