“Shillings?” I leveled him a look that ought to have refuted his wishful thinking. “Explain then.”
“Forsyth, our solicitor, is reporting an amount sent to Thornton. Matthews, the steward, is reporting receiving a smaller amount. Banking documents match Forsyth, so I’m inclined to believe him.”
“Matthews has been with the estate for nearly two decades. How far do the discrepancies go back?”
He grabbed a random ledger, turning through the pages at an alarming pace. As if he would find the answer in his flipping.
“Two years at least, maybe farther. I haven’t gone that far back.”
“Well, let’s figure that out at least, hand me the ledgers. It seems unlikely Matthews suddenly started pocketing funds after so many years.”
“I made it to January of 1812 before supper last night.”
“Leave these here,” he said, gesturing to the ledgers. “Go clean up. You smell the bottom of a bottle.”
“Thanks ever so.” He waved me off, nose already buried in columns of numbers and dates.
Suddenly, my younger brother did not seem so young. “Tom?” He peeked his head up. “Thank you.” He shrugged a shoulder, before turning back to the book, taking a sip of my tea before making a face at the temperature.
Dragging myself up the steps I had not managed the night before. I found a tepid wash basin awaiting me. Stevens. The man was incredibly skilled at making his displeasure clear without a word.
In an ill-considered maneuver, I dunked my entire head in the basin. It was effective at washing away the lingering effects of drink and sleep, in the most unpleasant manner possible.
Throwing my head back, I patted around with closed eyes for a linen to dry with. Finding nothing, I ripped my shirt over my head, dragging the damp fabric over my face to dry. I tossed it, still damp, in a corner. At least Stevens would need to deal with that, punishment for the cold basin.
My clothes were already set out. I should have rung for the man, but I was still peeved at him. I dressed with brutal efficiency before the wind abandoned my sails.
Perched on the edge of my bed, I stared at the door to Katherine’s room. Something like guilt twisted in my chest. I should have put my foot down. I knew last night was bound to be a disaster, but I was too distracted to properly explain the situation to her when she asked.
And Michael… Tom wasn’t precisely wrong. Mother had been in fine form. Historically, her insults had been more veiled and couched under an air of plausible deniability. Nothing about last night could be excused away as anything other than outright hostility. Such a poor showing, for my Katherine’s first time hosting a dinner.
I had not the slightest hint of her this morning, none of that sweet orange blossom scent to be found. Why had I been in such a hurry to return to town from Kent?
I had thought to confirm a misunderstanding with the ledgers. Instead, I had confirmed thatsomeonewas swindling me. Now I wished like hell we had just stayed in the country.
Here there was no pianoforte, no intimate dinners between the two of us, no smiles just for me. It seemed Katherine was an entirely different person in town. And, to my great surprise, I found I quite liked the Katherine of Kent.
It was just everything else about Kent I hated. Tenants requiring new roofs, mills in need of repair, fields in need of irrigation, everyone wanted something from me. Always. Except her.
She never asked anything of me, my wife. Perhaps that was why I agreed to the damn dinner with so little thought. It was the very first thing she had asked of me. At least since she asked to have her brother for Christmas dinner.
Finally, I dragged myself up. Couldn’t leave Tom alone with the ledgers for too long.
Stepping into the hall, I ran headfirst into Katherine. She did that thing she always does when I am close. Stared at my chest with interest before tipping her head back, back, back to meet my gaze. As if she was surprised at the size of me every time. It was charming as hell.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I am glad I caught you though. Do you know Michael’s favorite dish? No, of course you don’t. I’ll ask Mrs. Hudson. I’m inviting him back next week. And the week after. And every week thereafter.” The words rushed from her, almost faster than she could enunciate.
“You wish a repeat of last night?”
“Yes. I intend to get to know your other brother. And if I have to do it one week at a time, then that is what I shall do. Oh, and I’m inviting him to the ball.”
“What ball?”
“The ball I’m hosting. I told you.” My head was too full of cotton to follow her rapid clip.
“All right,” I answered distractedly. She nodded, pert and fetching, before dancing around me and down the hall. I blinked inanely after her, before heading down the stairs for the study.
Finding Tom in much the same position I left him, but with the addition of a plate of Shrewsbury cakes, I settled back into my seat with a sigh.
