“I have the intention of attending a number of salons and private gatherings where reform is discussed with somewhat greater frankness than in Parliament.”
“Salons,” she said thoughtfully.
He nodded. “They will be similar to the one you have already attended.”
She met his gaze. “Mr. Tidd’s salon.”
“Yes, among others.”
For a moment they regarded one another across the small distance of the room, the conversation hovering delicately between familiarity and something more cautious.
Kendall spoke again first.
“I had hoped to find you still interested in such discussions.”
Her fingers rested lightly on the arm of the chair. “I am interested, yes.”
“Are you wishful, still, to be involved?”
“That depends on where the discussion leads.”
His expression softened with quiet approval. “I thought you might feel that way.” He leaned forward slightly. “There is a gathering tomorrow evening which may interest you. Several industrial reformers will be present, along with two members of Parliament who are quietly sympathetic to the idea of factory regulation.”
Francesca considered this. Ordinarily, she would have agreed without hesitation. Political conversation energized her more than half the entertainments London offered, yet the memory of the ledgers lingered stubbornly in her mind. Two discrepancies, possibly three, could not be ignored.
She forced herself to keep her tone neutral. “You seem well informed for someone just arrived.”
“I have correspondents,” he said lightly.
That was entirely expected, she reflected. He corresponded with her almost daily, after all. Still, something in his composure made her study him more carefully than she might once have done. Kendall had always been measured. Today he seemed almost… vigilant… as though London itself were a board upon which pieces had begun to move, and he was calculating his next.
“You have not yet said how the estate fares,” she said.
“Well as far as I am concerned. I assumed you would tell me if there were new difficulties.”
“And should there be none such?”
“Then you would not trouble me with unnecessary detail.”
She allowed herself a small smile. “You know me very well.”
“I have known you since you were a young girl.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, “you have.” The familiarity should have been reassuring. Instead it complicated matters, because if Manners was correct—if any of the discrepancies in those ledgers pointed towards Kendall—then the betrayal would not be merely professional. It would reach far deeper than mismanaged accounts. She refused to believe that without proof.
“How are you enjoying Society? Dancing until dawn every morning, I make no doubt!”
“Some days I do, to be sure, but I have been staying busy reviewing the accounts,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “including those from before Father’s death.”
Kendall nodded without surprise. Had he already been told? “A wise habit to cultivate.”
“I believe so, particularly when one is managing the estate alone.”
His expression grew thoughtful. “You are not entirely alone.”
Francesca met his eyes. “I dare say I am not.” No, she was not entirely alone. The phrase echoed in her thoughts with curious weight. Major Manners’ warning lingered at the edge of her mind like distant thunder.Do not confront him without confirmation. She rose and crossed towards the window, allowing herself a moment to look out at the street while she gathered her composure.
Behind her, Kendall spoke with calm assurance. “I believe the coming months will prove significant for reform,” he said. “The atmosphere in London is changing. People are beginning to accept that action cannot be postponed indefinitely.”
