Georgina returned to the ledger before her, pressing past the warmth that bloomed in her chest at the observation. “Fortunately, he is pointed in precisely the right one.”
They bent over the ledgers once more, the rhythm of their search resuming.
Georgina paused, her brow knitting as she studied a particular entry. The amount struck her first, unusually high for even the seminary’s considerable needs.
“This sum is too large for household use,” she observed, her finger trailing beneath the line.
Mrs. Bainbridge adjusted her spectacles and leaned closer. Her eyes narrowed. “And the supplier?” She exhaled slowly, her voice cooling. “Not one of ours. Nor anyone I would entrust with so much as a bundle of kindling.”
A coil of unease tightened in Georgina’s chest. “That makes two irregularities. Different names, same strategy.”
“They’re weaving a careful pattern,” Mrs. Bainbridge agreed, “but we’ve caught the thread.”
She reached for a slip of paper and marked the entry with decisive strokes. The impact of their discovery settled over them like agathering storm.
Georgina closed the ledger, her pulse steady but quickened by purpose. “We take this to Lord Hawkesbury.”
Mrs. Bainbridge stood, smoothing her skirts. “Without delay.”
As they crossed the office to retrieve their cloaks, Georgina allowed herself one final glance at the ledgers spread across the table. The pieces were aligning, the shadows thinning.
They were no longer chasing whispers. They were closing in.
*
The fire inthe Hawkesbury study had burned low, casting long shadows across the papers strewn like fallen leaves over the desk. Outside the rain had eased to a sullen mist, clinging to the windows in thin, wavering lines. The room carried the scent of damp wool and woodsmoke, and beneath it all, the faint sharpness of ink left uncapped for too long.
Alex stood before the hearth, one hand braced against the mantelpiece, the other holding Kenworth’s latest dispatch. The paper, still creased from its hurried folding, bore the unmistakable marks of haste. Ink smudged in the margin where the messenger’s hand had slipped in the wet.
“A stranger asking after Carver’s operations,” Alex read aloud, his voice tight with tempered urgency. He lowered the paper to the desk, weighing its meaning. “It seems we are not the only ones following this trail.”
Barrington, standing at the opposite side of the room, gave a grim nod. “They’re watching their loose ends.”
“Then we’ll see them unravel faster than they can tie them,” Alex replied.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor beyond, brisk and purposeful. Moments later, Georgina and Mrs. Bainbridge entered the study,cloaks still damp from their ride. Rain pearled along the edge of Georgina’s hood before she pushed it back, revealing eyes alight with determination.
“We found a second irregularity,” Georgina announced, moving directly to the desk. Her pulse ticked at her throat. This was no coincidence—no clerical oversight. It was too clean, too intentional. A false thread sewn into truth. She set the seminary ledger between them with practiced efficiency and opened it to the marked page. “Another payment routed through dormant accounts, buried so neatly it might have been missed entirely.”
Mrs. Bainbridge stood beside her, her expression as firm as the inked annotations on the ledger. Her voice cooled, the edge of steel replacing civility. “Not one of ours. And not one I’d trust with a paper lantern in a rainstorm.”
Alex stepped closer, scanning the entry. The pattern emerged at once. It was a clever concealment masquerading as a routine expense. His jaw tightened. “They’re using legitimate channels to mask their diversions.”
“And counting on chaos to hide them further,” Mrs. Bainbridge said with a note of contempt.
Barrington leaned over the desk, studying the figures with a soldier’s eye. “It’s a careful construction,” he agreed. “But not without cracks.”
Georgina met Alex’s gaze across the table. “And we have found them.” For a heartbeat, the firelight flickered between them, catching in his eyes. He trusted her judgment. It was evident in the quiet stillness between their words. That knowledge settled through her like warmth after a storm.
For a moment, Alex saw nothing but her and the fire’s reflection flickering in her eyes, her posture steady despite the damp chill of her cloak. She had not come this far to falter, and the certainty of it settled in his chest like the first true breath after a long climb. Somethingfierce twisted in his chest. Not fear. Not worry. Rather, a quiet awe, sharp as it was steady.
His voice, when he spoke, carried the weight of decision. “Barrington, have the Brigade prepare to move. Quietly.”
“Already done,” Barrington replied, a faint trace of approval beneath his customary steadiness.
Kenworth stepped forward from the shadows near the door, clearing his throat. “My lord, word from our informants near Carver’s holdings. Unfamiliar riders, seen twice at the far ridge.”
Alex’s gaze sharpened. “They’re moving their pieces.”
