She would be back in plenty of time.
The Greyline Holdings offices were located in a narrow brick building near the edge of town, where the streets grew quieter and the scent of salt and coal mingled in the air. It bore no sign of wealth or power. There was no polished brass plate, no livery at the door, just a modest knocker and a name discreetly painted on the window above.
Georgina stepped down from the hired carriage and paused to gather herself. Her gloves were buttoned. Her reticule hung neatly at her wrist. She looked every inch the composed young widow she had learned to be.
Inside, the office was dim and spare, the front room dominated by a counter and two tall stools. A clerk looked up from behind a pile of ledgers, startled to see her.
“Good morning,” she said smoothly. “I’m Lady Ravenstock. I believe you have some holdings previously managed by my late husband.”
The clerk rose at once, bowing quickly. “Of course, my lady. Do you, did Lord Ravenstock have a scheduled appointment?”
“No,” she said, not unkindly. “But I’m sure someone can spare ten minutes.”
He hesitated, clearly unused to titled women arriving without notice, especially not ones with eyes this direct.
“I’ll see if Mr. Hargraves is in,” he murmured, then disappeared through the rear door.
She stood in silence, glancing over the neat but weathered appointments, the chipped paint near the wainscoting, the faded registry log on the counter. Everything clean, quiet, respectable.
The clerk returned. “He’ll see you in the back room, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
Hargraves was a broad man with thinning hair and the uneasy air of someone who didn’t like surprises. He rose when she entered, but didn’t offer a chair until she had already claimed it.
“Lady Ravenstock,” he said with an approximation of warmth. “What can we help you with today?”
She placed her gloves on the desk and offered him a calm smile.
“I came across a reference in my husband’s estate papers. Greyline Holdings– Schedule B: Disbursements. Dated some months before his passing. It wasn’t filed with his other investments.”
Hargraves lifted his brows but kept his expression unreadable. “Greyline maintains many partnerships, my lady. Not all are public.”
“I’m aware. I’m simply hoping to understand whether my husband was an active investor or something more passive. I’m trying to get a sense of… obligations he may have left behind.”
“Obligations?”
“Quiet ones,” she said lightly. “The sort that don’t make it into probate but have a way of returning if ignored.”
He glanced at a ledger on his desk, fingers drumming once. “Your husband was listed among our limited partners, but only for a brief period. He divested before the summer.”
She inclined her head. “Why?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Of course you could. But I understand you won’t.”
He offered a small, practiced smile. “I believe Lord Ravenstock handled those matters privately,” Hargraves said, his hand resting lightly atop a closed ledger. “We were not always invited to inquire.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “He did.”
There was a pause.
“I appreciate your time,” she said, rising smoothly. “Please don’t trouble yourself with sending word if anything changes. I prefer to ask my own questions.”
She turned, gloves in hand, and walked with quiet precision from the room.
The air outside was cooler than it had been an hour ago. A breeze stirred the edge of Georgina’s cloak as she stepped back onto the street, the autumn sun caught in the angles of the brick buildings around her. Somewhere, a bell chimed the half hour.
