It all seemed rather mysterious, but at least it didn’t reflect badly on the Duke. Another test passed, although this time, he hadn’t even needed to be present.
"You do have a habit of ending up in places you shouldn’t be, don’t you?" the icy voice of the Duke said, making Penelope jump out of her skin. How long had she been staring at the ledger to not have heard him return?
She jumped up, knocking the book onto the floor in her haste. "I am so, so sorry, Your Grace," she stuttered, hastily picking the ledger back up and replacing it on the table. "I was merely exploring the castle and wandered in here, and..."
"Thought you would look through my personal finances," the Duke said, striding towards the desk. "With your propensity to find yourself where you do not belong, I wonder sometimes whether you are a spy – perhaps sent by some British official who does not trust me – and not a lost English girl with no memory of her name or her family."
"I’m not a spy," Penelope insisted quickly, realising she had once again messed up – but this time by making him suspicious of her intentions. She had to admit, it did look rather strange.
"It’s just…" She grasped desperately for an idea to explain the chain of events without him thinking she had some nefarious purpose. "I saw the ledger, and some sort of memory came to mind. I don’t really know why, but I feel like I’ve dealt with ledgers such as these before..."
The Duke scoffed. "I find it unlikely, my lady, that you have been poring over ledgers wherever your life normally is. Women have little knowledge of such matters, you see."
Penelope’s blood began to boil. She knew women generally didn’t manage the finances, but it certainly wasn’t because they were incapable. In fact, she didn’t understand why women were so often overlooked in household management – especially when they were the ones dealing with the items on a day-to-day basis.
"I think you’ll find, Your Grace, that there’s something amiss with your records."
His eyes narrowed. "Is there, indeed?"
Penelope stuck out her chin defiantly. "Yes. The cost of the items bought for the household is massively inflated. Somewhere, someone is making a tidy profit out of you."
He frowned, then strode over to the desk, flipping the ledger open to the correct page and jabbing his finger at it. "Show me."
His brusque attitude made her a little nervous, and she was wary of how much she could say without giving away that she knew exactly who she was and where she’d come from.
"I just... I feel I know the costs of these items for a castle like this," she said with a feeble shrug. "And these are double, if not triple, what I would expect to be spent in a month on things like candles and salt. Who does the ordering, Your Grace?"
He frowned before answering. "The housekeeper, Mrs Simmons." For a moment his eyes were focused on the figures before him, and then he looked back at Penelope. "But I do not understand why she would be inflating figures, or why this change would have happened when she has ordered for the castle for years…"
"Perhaps her circumstances have changed," Penelope said softly. "Or maybe costs here are much higher than…wherever I come from." She bit the inside of her lip, very aware that she had nearly messed everything up again by admitting that she lived in England, and knew the prices there.
"The figures have seemed…out of alignment, for the last two months. I did not know where the inconsistencies were coming from…"
He met her eyes, and a shiver ran through her at the heated look he was giving her. She wasn’t sure if it was anger, or frustration, or something else, but it made her quite forget why she was here and what she had been saying.
"It seems I need to speak to Mrs Simmons. Thank you. Even if you should not have been in here…I appreciate your insight."
Chapter Ten
James generally felt confident about fulfilling his duties as the Duke of Dunloch – but he did not particularly enjoy dealing with issues involving the staff. Especially female staff, as they had a tendency to cry and make him feel rather uncomfortable.
Thankfully, over the years, there had not been many occasions where he needed to speak to the staff about a problem, and so it was with a rather heavy heart that he went downstairs to speak with Mrs Simmons that evening.
The housekeeper was surely approaching retirement, for she had been housekeeper for as long as James could remember – he was pretty sure his entire life. And yet, she still ran the house with confidence, never seeming to tire, even with the endless stairs and boundless duties.
He just could not understand why, after so many years of loyal service, she would inflate figures. He very much hoped that she had a reasonable explanation for her actions.
He knocked on the door to the little sitting room in the servants' quarters which belonged to her, and when she saw who it was, she bobbed her head and went pale.
"Your Grace! What a surprise. Is there something you require?"
"I must speak with you on a rather serious matter," James said, not relishing the task. "Perhaps we could close the door and sit down."
She nodded and hurried to close the door as he took a seat on a large armchair.
"I'll be direct, Mrs Simmons. You have worked here for a long time, and I have never had any cause to fault your service."
"Thank you, Your Grace," she said, not quite meeting his eye.
