Caldwell swallowed, eyes flicking betweenMaximilian, Lydia, and the door. His fingers worried the papers, as if the truth might flutter free if he shuffled fast enough. “Of course, Your Grace. It is only... these files... there have been some difficulties.”
Lydia, startled by Maximilian’s intervention but unwilling to show it, hid her irritation behind a cool smile. She did not need rescuing, but Caldwell was already unraveling beneath the Duke’s gaze.
“Difficulties?” Maximilian asked, his stare unblinking.
Caldwell dabbed at his brow, leaving damp marks on the parchment. “Records were lost in transit. The clerk responsible was dismissed, but gaps remain. I am working to?—”
“Are you,” Lydia cut in, her tone sharp, “because it seems every record tied to the east wing or to missing assets has conveniently vanished. Is this how your office treats its clients?”
Caldwell’s color ebbed. “No intent to deceive, I assure you. These are ancient documents. Copying errors, recent upheavals...”
Maximilian leaned in, filling the space with calm authority. “You will produce what records you have. All of them. Even those you would prefer we not see.”
The solicitor’s hands trembled as he draggedforward three battered ledgers and a red-tied folder. “You may review these. If I locate the missing files, I will notify you immediately. Perhaps we might arrange another meeting?”
“Do,” Maximilian said, the single syllable cold.
Lydia reached across and plucked the folder before Caldwell could reconsider. “We will let you know what we find. Expect a full accounting by week’s end.”
Caldwell tried to rise, thought better of it, and subsided. His eyes darted between them, searching in vain for mercy.
Lydia turned and left, ledgers under her arm. Maximilian lingered long enough to give Caldwell a nod before following.
On the threshold, Lydia muttered, “I can handle a country solicitor perfectly well without ducal interference.”
He offered her a half-smile. “I know. But I enjoy assisting.”
She scowled, though not with true anger. “You do not need to rescue me.”
His answer was quiet. “It was not you I meant to protect. It was the truth.”
She weighed that, then gave one firm nod.
Together they crossed the square, ledgers heavyin her arms, morning sharpened with purpose. Lydia felt anticipation spark. This was only the beginning. Caldwell had seen their teeth, but he had yet to feel their bite.
A sharp wind scoured the square, rattling signs and snapping the flag above the town hall. Lydia paced the curb, her crimson skirt tangled with dust, boots slapping the cobblestones. She made no effort to disguise her agitation.
“He is hiding something,” she said at last, halting before Maximilian, her feet planted, arms crossed. “Did you see how he dodged every question about the east wing? As if the former owners were broken furniture instead of people.”
“I saw,” Maximilian replied. “He is not merely inept. He is afraid. Of what you might uncover, or of you. Perhaps both.”
Lydia smiled without warmth. “I mean to find out.”
“You do not require my protection, but allow me to give it anyway.” Almost an apology, but not quite.
“No,” she agreed, eyes narrowed. “I do not. Though I appreciate your help.”
He inclined his head. “I do not regret stepping in.”
Her expression softened a fraction. “You arebetter at intimidation than I am, but worse at subterfuge. Next time, let me handle the words until something needs breaking.”
“I yield to your expertise,” he said, managing a faint smile.
They walked on, Lydia setting a brisk pace as if daring him to match it. “I want to see the estate today,” she pressed. “Before Caldwell has time to scrub more history from his ledgers.”
“He will try,” Maximilian warned. “And he may succeed—briefly.”
She spun to walk backward, chin high. “Not with us.”
