“I have handled my affairs alone for a year,” she replied.
“You have done so well,” he acknowledged. “That is precisely why Sir Percival does not wish you to be taken advantage of now.”
She felt the faintest stirring of reluctant gratitude. It unsettled her more than anger would have done. “Very well,” she said again. “You may assist if we deem it necessary.”
He nodded. “What do you propose in the meantime?”
“In the meantime,” she said, straightening, “I shall behave precisely as I have been doing. I shall attend my salons and implement my reforms. I shall allow no hint of suspicion to fall.”
A faint flicker of approval crossed his features.
“You do this well,” he said.
“What do I do well? Suspicion?” she asked dryly.
“Composure.”
She did not smile. “If Mr. Kendall has misused my funds,” she said, “he has misjudged me entirely.”
“Perhaps,” Major Manners replied, “he believes you will hesitate to accuse a man long trusted.”
“Then he mistakes loyalty for weakness.”
“Many do.”
The words hung between them with more resonance than she would have expected. She studied him then—not as an adversary or escort, but as a gentleman who, that morning, had chosen restraint over authority. He had requested permission rather than assumed it; he had reasoned rather than commanded and he had returned the decision to her. She had expected resentment at his intrusion. Instead she felt something more complex—a grudging awareness that his intervention might have prevented a greater humiliation to come.
“You must understand,” she said quietly, “that if this proves nothing, I will not have you hovering.”
“I would not endure that either,” he said evenly.
Despite herself, the corner of her mouth curved faintly.
“If it proves nothing,” Major Manners replied, “it is contained here between us.”
She exhaled slowly. “Yes,” she said, “between us alone.”
There was something bracing about that thought.
She closed the final ledger and tied its ribbon neatly. “We will proceed carefully,” she said again.
He rose. “As you wish, Miss Vale.”
“I will say this, however,” she continued. “If I have been careless, I prefer to know it sooner rather than later.”
“You have not been careless,” he said, adding, almost dryly, “You have been occupied with improving the world, which leaves little time for guarding against those who claim to assist you in doing so.”
She let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh.
“I begin to suspect,” she said, “that I dislike being outmanoeuvred more than I dislike being doubted.”
“Then we must ensure that neither occurs,” he replied.
When he took his leave, she remained standing in the quiet room long after the door had closed.
If Kendall had erred, she would confront him. If he had betrayed her, she would remove him.
If Major Manners believed he had merely assisted in reviewing her books, he might soon discover that he had done something more dangerous. He had made her look again. Once alerted, she would not look away.
