Andrew was the very best of men.
The next letter was a response from this unknown Mr. S. Smith regarding his wish to consult on a medical matter related toThe Minerva.
I am most sorry to hear about your injury. Though I reside in Yorkshire, I will be traveling to Plymouth and London on business the last week of February. I should be passing along the stagecoach route between Bath and London. Could we possibly meet at The Dancing Bull outside Chippenham along the way? The coach breaks there for an hour for luncheon, and I could use the time to consult with you.
Alex frowned, thinking.
If this S. Smith did indeed have new information aboutThe Minerva, Alex needed to do everything in his power to acquire it.
Though the distance was not far—less than two hours via carriage—he could not make such a journey with his leg in its current state. However, the date Mr. Smith mentioned was still a few weeks off, as they were only just barely into February. Once Alex was able to graduate to the Gooch-designed leg brace, it was possible he would feel equal to such a brief journey. He could ensure his leg was thoroughly cradled and cushioned throughout the ride.
He knew he was placing too much hope on this proper leg brace. Was he being naively optimistic, looking for anything to shrink the time of his convalescence?
Or wouldkarma, in the end, demand he languish in bed for months to come?
Fortunately, Mr. Wardenreturned the following day, easing Alex’s boredom.
Alex had many questions for the steward.
Why had Mr. Argent, Lockheade’s former man of affairs, been let go? And why was Mr. Warden tasked with the man’s duties?
Managing the marquisate was surely akin to ruling a small country—a sprawling enterprise of lands and buildings and industries. Frome Abbey with its thousands of acres, tenants, and structures was just one cog in the larger machinery of the title. Acting as steward over the estate was already a monumental task. But then adding the management of the entire marquisate, in addition?
Madness.
“I will not prevaricate; my tasks are numerous,” Mr. Warden said when Alex questioned him on the matter. “But I am confident in my abilities.”
Mr. Warden was precisely as Alex remembered from the ill-fated impromptu shooting party—thin-lipped, thin-haired, and Alex suspected, rather thin-skinned. The steward clearly did not like the insinuation that he might be in over his head.
“I do not doubt it.” Alex used the voice he reserved for placating patients who balked at a required treatment. The tone that said,Please do not make me escalate this situation. “But what tasks do you feel could use another helping hand?”
“With all due respect, Dr. Whitaker, my hands are more than capable of fulfilling everything I have been hired to do.” Mr. Warden folded his arms, his entire body a wall of defiance.
Alex sighed inwardly. Escalation, it seemed, was Mr. Warden’s preference. Given that Alex might very well become this man’s employer, Mr. Warden was being rather recalcitrant.
“Thank you, Mr. Warden.” Alex nodded. “I would appreciate having the estate ledgers brought up. I wish to look them over.”
Mr. Warden’s demeanor became even stiffer. “I cannot imagine that is necessary, Dr. Whitaker. I will need to clear the matter with Lord Frank.”
“Lord Frank has no authority in this, Mr. Warden.” Alex set his jaw. “His son is merely a claimant, just as I am a claimant. As such, I was tasked by the Crown to familiarize myself with the inner workings of the marquisate. That is what I am doing. Had I not been injured, I would have perused the books weeks ago.”
“The ledgers are merely an endless list of numbers, nothing to interest a medical man. They will bore you silly.”
Alex nearly laughed. “I assure you, Mr. Warden, that the estate books could hardly be more boring than staring out the window, willing my leg to heal faster.” He spread his arms wide, indicating his leg in a cast and his confinement to the bed. “Please see that the ledgers are brought up as soon as possible.”
Mr. Warden glared, but as he had no ability to refuse, he nodded curtly and left the room.
The estate ledgers arrived in Alex’s bedchamber an hour later—seven volumes that spanned the past five years.
The steward had not been wrong. They were mind-numbingly tedious. Endless entries of rents received, repairs authorized, and expenses paid, all neatly tallied and summed.
Alex checked a few pages and all appeared in order. The numbers added up correctly. The rents collected were consistent. There were no large nor unexpected expenditures.
Did he need to surveyallthe records?
Alex wasn’t sure he had the willpower to recalculate the thousands of transactions, line by line.
If anything, staring at the estate ledgers merely confirmed, yet again, why he did not wish to assume the title of Lord Lockheade.
