“Would you review your records and our ledgers for any discrepancies, including dates and amounts? I wish to know if there are any others.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Gleason, slanting a look from the corner of his eye, though his face remained turned to the page.But Frederick didn’t wish to voice his suspicions. Clearly, they were just a flight of fancy. Nothing but the wild speculation of a worn mind. Mr. Gleason would review it all and discover the mistake that had been made, and all would be right again.
How he wished Thea were there beside him. She didn’t know a thing about ledgers or accounts, yet she possessed the rare gift of seeing straight through the chaos of things—of finding the clear, simple truth beneath all the tangle. When the world tilted beneath his feet, she set it to rights again with nothing more than a word or a quiet touch.
No doubt his chums would laugh at that, but they didn’t know the love of a good woman. They didn’t understand that a wife was more than a pretty face to warm the bed. They’d never experienced the utter joy of having someone who supported and uplifted, of a friend and confidant who would walk alongside him to Hell and back.
But could he ask that of her?
As Mr. Gleason explained the current state and what was needed to bridge the gap between their income and their expenditures, Frederick couldn’t help but see that if the family was to overcome the damage Father had done, there would be many difficult days ahead. A good many. Perhaps all of them.
“With everything cut to the bare bones, and if the drainage scheme pays out, then it might be possible to keep Dunsby Hall,” said Mr. Gleason, though there was a suppressed sigh in his tone.
For all that Frederick had worried about the family’s future, he hadn’t thought of it in such grave terms. “You think we may lose our home?”
“Or you may need to let it out.” Mr. Gleason considered the figures before him as the silence stretched. “I have a solicitor in Lincoln, whom I trust implicitly. He is the soul of discretion and can assess the property and assets to give us afair approximation of the value so that we can choose the best solution. It may be that we can simply sell off some furnishings and incidentals to make ends meet.”
Frederick drew in a deep breath. “If you think it is best.”
“I think it is important to explore all options at our disposal,” said Mr. Gleason. “Even if you sold every last bit of furniture and slept on the floor, it would be worthwhile if it meant keeping the estate intact, would it not?”
“Absolutely.”
Timothy didn’t mind one jot; his brother often slept wherever his feet carried him and ought to return to his post in Leeds regardless. But it was impossible to imagine his mother or sister doing so, and Frederick’s heart chilled at the thought of asking Thea to live in such a diminished state. But surely, it would be worth it. To be together in their family home.
Mr. Gleason wrote out his instructions, and Frederick examined each line item. This would be difficult to manage, but if the family banded together, they could do it. He knew it.
But when the steward finally took his leave, the silence closed in at once. For a time, Frederick sat motionless at the desk, his eyes on the neat columns the steward had drawn up—each figure so deceptively simple, each instruction so clear. It all appeared manageable while the man was there to explain it and lend his quiet certainty. But as the minutes slipped by and the gray morning dulled into afternoon, that certainty began to fray.
The house creaked in the stillness, the sound deep and resonant, as though Dunsby Hall itself took offense at the indignity of such brutal cuts. The timbers groaned with every springtime gust, the floorboards creaked with each passing footstep, and the wind whispered along the chimney like a sigh of reproach.
The numbers swam on the page, shifting like sand beneath his feet. He would do it—he must—but that conviction nowtrembled, replaced by the heavy feeling that ruin was coming to the Vosses no matter what steps he took.
Heavens. He needed Thea.
Leaning his head back against the chair, Frederick stared at the ceiling as he wondered when he had become so dependent on her. It wasn’t as though he were incapable of making decisions on his own, but in the months they’d been courting, he’d come to rely on her in every aspect of his life. Thea couldn’t alter what was to come, but her mere presence soothed and strengthened.
Yet Frederick knew he could do this. He would.
Chapter 9
Rising to his feet, Frederick moved through the corridors, winding his way from the study into the heart of the home. In the parlor, he found Phoebe, Timothy, and Mother all seated, awaiting him, and the scene was a stark reminder of how much life had changed since Father’s passing. Frederick was now head of the household, and when he summoned the family, they listened—though Timothy folded his arms tight across his chest, eyes narrowing as his elder brother stopped before the fireplace.
“I thank you all for coming,” said Frederick, though it felt far too stilted and formal for a meeting with his family. Yet he supposed the die had already been cast when he sent the summons.
“I feel as though I ought to stand at attention,” chuckled Phoebe. “This is a tad overdone, don’t you think, Frederick?”
“Not at all,” he replied, shuffling the papers he and Mr. Gleason had prepared. “I must speak with you about a serious situation. Matters are quite dire.”
“You are ill and soon to perish,” suggested Timothy with an irreverent grin. “I am the head of the family now. You are all dismissed.”
Mother’s brow furrowed as she watched her flippant children with a frown. “After our great loss, we shouldn’t jest about such matters.”
And with that, she dabbed at her dry eyes with her handkerchief. Phoebe’s gaze met Frederick’s, and she managed not to scoff, though it was rife in her expression; as there was no one for whom to perform, he didn’t know why Mother was playing the part.
“Do not fret, Mama. We laugh so we shan’t cry,” said Phoebe, coming over to the lady’s side and settling in beside her.
“Just like your father,” whispered Mother, and with another strain of her brow, she nearly managed to wring out a tear.
