"Mr. Fletcher." Her voice had changed, become softer, less certain. "Why did the duke really send you here?"
"To review the estate. I told you."
"Yes, but why now? Why December? It can't be coincidence."
Alaric was silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "The irregularities in the ledgers have become... pronounced."
"You mean Fletcher was stealing more than candlesticks and brandy."
"That would be the logical conclusion."
"How much?"
"I'm still determining that."
"But enough to finally get the duke's attention."
"Yes."
She wrapped her arms around herself, though whether from cold or emotion, he couldn't tell. "It's strange. Fletcher seemed so... proper. Boring, even. Then one day he's gone, and we find out he's been skimming from everyone's rents."
"Everyone's?"
"Oh yes. Charging the tenants one amount, reporting another to the estate, pocketing the difference. Some families have been struggling to make the inflated payments."
Alaric felt a cold anger settle in his chest. His tenants, his responsibility, had been suffering while he sat in London, ignoring his duties.
"I'll fix it," he said.
Marianne looked at him sharply. "You'll fix it?"
"The estate will make restitution. Once I determine the full extent of the theft."
"That's... that's very generous."
"It's not generous. It's just. The estate failed in its duty of oversight."
"You mean the duke failed."
"Yes."
She studied him in the dim light. "You don't like him much, do you? The duke?"
"I don't know him well enough to like or dislike him."
"But you work for him."
"That doesn't require liking."
"It must be strange, though. Managing the life of someone you never see."
"No stranger than him owning the lives of people he never sees."
"That's a rather radical sentiment, Mr. Fletcher."
"Is it? It seems merely observational."
"Observation seems to be your primary skill."
