She dropped her hands, but her fingers still twitched. She clenched her hands into fists, tucking her thumbs tight against her palm.
Cousin Alex, however, read her silence as disagreement.
“What say you? Have ye noticed anything amiss around the estate, Lady Charlotte?”
Lottie folded her arms, further restricting her thumbs, mind whirring.
“I cannot say that I have,” she said. “I certainly haven’t noticed anything unusual in the village.”
But even as she said the words, memories of the last six months surfaced.
In October, she had all but stared at a beggar in Frome while visiting the milliner. A ragged woman carrying a babe and a smaller child clinging to her skirts. The woman had her hand out, importuning passersby.
Lottie had never seen a beggar in their small village.
And then there had been an odd conversation between Frank and Ferndown that she had overheard. Frank had been insisting to his father that they needed to dismiss Mr. Argent, her late father’s man of affairs.
“Mr. Warden can oversee it all, Father,” Frank had said. “I have every confidence in his abilities.”
“Are you sure, boy?” Ferndown had asked. “It’s an impossible amount of work for one man.”
“Mr. Warden assures me he has a plan.”
“You have gone rather silent, Lady Charlotte,” Cousin Alex said.
Lottie relaxed her arms, releasing a breath. “I was merely thinking. Lord Frank dismissed my father’s man of affairs last summer—Mr. Argent. I cannot imagine my father would be pleased with that, were he still alive.”
“Why do you say that?”
“My father always described Mr. Argent as indispensable. The marquisate is a far-ranging enterprise, as I am sure you are well aware. Mr. Argent was the man who oversaw the whole. The estate stewards and others would report to Mr. Argent. Mr. Argent, in turn, would make decisions and deal with matters that did not require my father’s input. Father always said that having a competent man of affairs was the first priority of any wealthy lord.”
“But Mr. Argent is no longer with the marquisate? Was he replaced?”
“No. I think Mr. Warden has been asked to fulfill that role.”
Cousin Alex’s forehead furrowed. “He is managing the affairs of theentiremarquisate? In addition to being the steward over Frome Abbey itself? That is far too much work for one man.”
“I agree.” Lottie nodded.
“Aye. And with Mr. Warden gone for the rest of the week, I cannae ask him.”
“Though it does perhaps explain why he is away. He has other interests to see to.”
“Agreed, Lady Charlotte.”
“Cousin Lottie.” The words tumbled out of her before she could call them back.
“Pardon?”
“We are cousins, after all. Why not call me Cousin Lottie? Cousin Gabriel always did.”
“Perhaps.” He paused. “But it’s a rather distant relationship, our cousinhood.”
“Yes. But it exists nonetheless. And if you call me Cousin Lottie, then I can call you Cousin Alex.”
“Very well . . . Cousin Lottie.” His smile faded slightly. “I genuinely do not wish tae assume the title. And if Mr. Warden is incompetent or overworked, surely more helping hands can be hired.” He stretched out his hand, as if to assure her, resting it atop the counterpane. “We arenotat an impasse. We are not.”
Lottie stared down at his outstretched hand.
