She looked up at him sharply. There was no mockery in his expression, only concern. “How many are there?” she asked.
“Three anomalies in six months,” he said. “It is enough to merit an inquiry but not enough to condemn.”
Her thoughts moved swiftly. She trusted Kendall. She had always trusted him. Yet trust was not proof. If she dismissed this without investigation and it later proved to be worse, her authority would be undermined far more profoundly than by allowing a review.
She exhaled. “You will not approach the bank, will you?”
“Not without your consent.”
“You will not accuse Mr. Kendall?”
“Not without evidence.”
She considered him carefully. “What will happen if the evidence suggests mismanagement?”
“Then you will address it,” he replied.
That answer settled something in her. He was not attempting to seize authority. He was returning it. She closed the ledger gently. “Very well,” she said. “We will review all the quarterly accounts thoroughly.”
A faint inclination of his head acknowledged the decision without triumph.
They bent again over the columns. The room grew quiet save for the turning of pages and the occasional measured question. As the day advanced, Francesca felt indignation transform into something more complex—not fear, precisely, but vigilance. If Kendall had taken liberties, whether through carelessness or ambition, she would uncover it herself. Major Manners might have initiated the scrutiny, but she would conduct it, and she would not, under any circumstance, permit her fortune to become an instrument of chaos through her complacency. When at last she straightened, hours later, she felt altered.
“You have your review,” she said evenly. “How would you propose I proceed?” It was a concession to ask his advice, to be sure, but thus far he had not been condescending and truly appeared to be acting at her uncle’s behest.
He did not answer immediately, and she appreciated that more than any prompt reassurance. He closed the ledger with deliberate care, aligning its edges against the desk.
“First,” he said at last, “we determine the scope.”
“Scope?” she repeated.
“These entries span only one year.”
She felt herself frown. “I have but one year’s worth of ledgers with me. It could have been occurring longer, but that would have been under my father’s supervision.”
She had not meant to speak that last sentence aloud. It emerged unbidden, edged with something that felt perilously close to defensiveness.
Major Manners did not seize upon it. He did not soften either. He regarded her with unwavering attention. “Then we do not speculate beyond what we can examine,” he said. “Your father is not here to answer for decisions. You are.”
It was not accusation, it was simple reality. She found, to her irritation, that she did not resent him for saying it. She drew in a measured breath. “Very well. We must determine whether these discrepancies are isolated to this year.”
“And whether they increase in frequency,” he added.
She nodded once. “What will it mean, do you suppose, if they do not?”
“Then it may be incompetence or clerical error. If they do…”
He left the sentence unfinished.
“If they do,” she supplied coolly, “then I have been inattentive.”
“That would not be my conclusion.”
“It would be mine,” she replied tartly. “It is my name attached to those cheques.”
He inclined his head slightly. “Then allow me to refine the language. If they increase, then someone has taken advantage of your confidence.”
She did not like that phrasing either, but it was closer to the truth. Confidence was not blindness. It was trust exercised without suspicion. She had never considered that suspicion might be necessary. “How do you propose we investigate without alerting Mr. Kendall?” she asked. “I would need him to send me any previous years’ ledgers.”
