He did have men he could ask to handle the work for him, but he was a firm believer in not delegating tasks he didn’t understand himself. If there were errors or if someone was swindling him, how would he ever know?
Now, however, something was definitely amiss in the household accounts – and yet he could not figure out what. He did not think his addition was at fault, having checked it so many times, but it was always a possibility.
Just as he thought he might have pinpointed the issue, there was a knock at the door. He swore under his breath before calling out for whoever it was to enter, his tone sharper than perhaps was necessary.
He was surprised to see Albert, considering he had only recently heard the clock chime midday. Perhaps there was an issue with the confounding girl.
"I just wished to inform you that luncheon is ready, Your Grace."
"Now? But I requested it for one. I have a lot of paperwork to finish."
Albert looked a little flustered. "I’m–I’m sorry, Your Grace. I thought I was told noon. Perhaps… I’m very sorry. I can have Cook take it back."
Either the lad had misunderstood, or the mysterious girl had. James supposed it didn’t matter much either way. He would not ask for the meal to be taken back to the kitchen; surely, in an hour’s time, it would be dry and far less appetising.
Besides, he had been working for hours on the accounts without making much progress.
He sighed. "Very well. There’s no need to send it away, or to look quite so terrified, Albert. I shall eat now. Perhaps in future, I’ll relay the timings directly to Cook."
"I am very sorry," the footman said with a bow before disappearing through the open door.
James watched him go and was sure he saw the girl disappearing out of view in the opposite direction. He frowned. What on earth was she doing there? He’d thought she wasexploring the grounds, and yet there she was, lingering near his study.
Perhaps there had been some progress with her memory. He certainly hoped so. She was an extra burden he didn’t need.
Then again, perhaps it wouldn’t be terrible to dine with a companion for a few days. Maybe she would offer more stimulating conversation than his sisters if he tried to engage her in a topic of interest – assuming, of course, she could remember what interested her.
Chapter Nine
The study door was ajar, so she didn’t feel as though she was snooping. After all, she didn’t want to see all his financial records – just get an idea of the sort of man he was, economically.
If she had learnt anything from the gossip of the wives and widows in London, it was that it was not uncommon for a man to seem like everything was in order but secretly gamble away large sums of money, leaving a title penniless or a widow destitute.
When men knew of her dowry, she was always concerned they were merely interested in her to increase their fortunes or pay off outstanding debts. But she realised that if she were looking to marry a man, she would like to find one who was sensible with his money. He didn’t have to have a great fortune, although she was used to a certain level of luxury. But she hated the thought of a man wasting his money – and hers, once they were married – in gambling hells.
And so, as she wandered the castle that afternoon, wondering how long she ought to keep up the ruse of having no memory, the open study door was far too tempting.
She slipped through the small gap, her slim frame not disturbing the door at all, and quickly checked to make sure the Duke was not somehow within. She was confident she had seen him riding away, his impressive horse taking him speedilyacross the estate, but it still wouldn’t do to stumble across him unexpectedly.
As expected, the study was empty, and there were several documents on the desk.
She might only have had an education in sewing, dancing, and art, but she had seen plenty of ledgers at Amblewood Castle. Her father employed a man of business to deal with such things, and when Penelope grew tired of her own company, she would sometimes ask him to explain what all the neat rows of numbers were and what they meant.
Because anything that related to her beloved Amblewood was interesting to her – even mathematics.
She was very happy to be a woman; she liked fine dresses, dancing, and painting beautiful scenes. But there were many things about being a man that also appealed to her – the freedom to make choices, to go where one pleased without being questioned, and the ability to inherit.
For she thought that if she could inherit Amblewood after her father was gone and live there for the rest of her days, she would be quite happy to remain a spinster. She did not wish to marry the wrong man, but she wasn’t sure she was bothered about marrying at all – except for the fact that it was rather a necessity for a woman in her situation.
Presuming he would not be back for some time, she took a seat at his desk, the smell of cigar smoke and whiskey permeating the air. Her eyes scanned rows of figures, which seemed to be household expenses. Another page showed the rents from the tenant farmers, and another the Duke’s personal expenses. There seemed to be no sign of gambling debts, at least in his official records, which Penelope was pleased to see. He seemed like an eminently sensible man, if rather gruff, and she was glad to find she had not been entirely wrong in judging his character.
His largest personal expense appeared to be at the modiste, and for a moment, that did surprise her – until she remembered his comments about his sisters. She supposed that exorbitant figure was for his sisters’ dresses and other accoutrements for their time in London.
Well, it seemed he had the money to spend, and she was pleased he was a good brother, even if he seemed to think his sisters were silly. She flipped back to the household expenses, a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that there was something she had missed.
She glanced down at the itemised descriptions and found nothing amiss. All the usual necessities were there: candles, sheets, fabric, salt. And yet the figures attributed to each seemed far larger than she would have expected. She double-checked the dates, wondering if it was for a larger period than she expected – but no, these were the accounts for the previous month.
How odd. She had seen the accounts at Amblewood many times and so knew roughly the costs of running such a castle. Dunloch wasn’t particularly bigger than Amblewood and was, in fact, less inhabited. Could goods really be so much more expensive just over the border in Scotland?
