“We begin here,”Alex said, his voice low but firm, “reviewing each document.”
Alex’s finger paused at the column of figures again. “This entire shipment is misdated,” he said, tapping once. “And not just by days. It’s weeks out of step with the others.”
Georgina leaned in, brow furrowed. “Then it’s more than forgery. It’s an orchestration. Someone wanted that entry to be seen at a glance and accepted.”
Barrington joined them at the table, eyes scanning the spread of documents with practiced scrutiny. “This one too,” he said, drawing out a slip Georgina hadn’t yet noticed. “Coal. Same supplier. Different recipient.”
He held it out for Alex, who frowned as he read. “Hawkstone Holdings,” he muttered. “We’ve seen that name before.”
Georgina nodded. “In Rowland’s accounts. Once. A single mention, and I remember it because he corrected it in the margin. He crossed it out and wrote ‘error.’”
Barrington exhaled through his nose, setting the slip beside the others. “It wasn’t an error. It was a thread they meant to snip before anyone noticed.”
Alex looked between them, something cold settling in his chest. “Then we scrutinize everything. From this point forward, nothing is too small. Nothing is assumed.”
The room fell quiet for a beat, the rain offering its steady rhythmas the only sound.
Georgina reached for another page, sliding it across the table. “If we follow the names, the shipments, the payments, you can see the pattern. It’s not clear yet, but it’s there.”
Alex glanced at her. “We’re not chasing shadows anymore. We’re building the map.”
Barrington stepped back, eyes on the growing line of papers. “And when we’ve got it?”
Alex didn’t hesitate. “Then we start pulling threads.”
Alex glanced at her, meaning to study the page, but his gaze caught instead on her mouth as she read. She licked her lips in concentration, and his body betrayed him before his mind could take hold. He forced his eyes back to the ledger, the neat columns his only refuge from thoughts he had no business entertaining.
And yet the memory caught hard, her mouth beneath his, warm and certain, nothing held back. She had kissed him back. No pretense, no caution. A woman certain of herself, and, for that moment, certain of him. But this was not the time.
He dragged his attention back to the ledgers, as neat columns and cold ink might cool the heat in his veins.
“This supplier name,” he said, his voice rougher than he meant, “we’ve dealt with them before.”
“Legitimate dealings?” Barrington asked, his arms folded, his gaze leveled on the page.
Alex pressed his mouth into a grim line. “To my knowledge. But Bexley manages most of the estate’s transactions. He should have caught this.”
Georgina’s gaze sharpened. She knew Bexley by reputation, buried in paperwork and apologies, known for his diligence yet forever scrambling to keep pace with the estate’s needs. Overwhelmed, perhaps. But complicit? She tucked the thought away.
“We’ll speak with him,” Barrington said quietly, as if reading herthought. “Discreetly.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed on the ledger. “We’ve also had trouble with Tom Carver. Refused to fill a coal order last quarter. Said it was an issue of stock from his mine, but I wonder now if there’s more beneath it.” Alex rolled his shoulders once, a tight, unconscious motion. “Could be coincidence. But it doesn’t smell like one.”
“Could Carver be at the center of this?” Georgina asked.
“If he is,” Barrington replied, “he’s played it well. Either his refusal is genuine, or someone’s using his name to muddy the trail.”
Georgina frowned as she traced the supplier’s name with her fingertip. “Then they’re using Carver’s name to conceal the real transactions.”
“Exactly,” Alex said grimly. “Carver would never cooperate willingly. But his name provides convenient cover.”
Barrington squinted at another entry. “Here. Trentham & Clegg. They’re legitimate and reputable. They’re large enough to handle multiple contracts without raising questions.”
“Didn’t they supply the iron railings for the garden enclosure?” Barrington asked.
“They did,” came Mrs. Bainbridge’s voice from the doorway. She swept into the room like a general, a second ledger balanced in one hand. “And household coal for the seminary. Reliable enough, though not flawless. We’ve had to chase them over missing invoices more than once. Their clerk has a most inconvenient habit of disappearing the moment answers are required.”
She tipped her head toward Georgina, adding wryly, “You recall the poor fellow, Lady Georgina? Pale as milk, sweat beading on his brow, and all too eager to blame the post.”
