Page 81 of A Perfect Gentleman

“Very little, I’m afraid.” He laid a large envelope on the table and took a seat across from her. “Have you had letters from home?”

“Yes, my aunt and cousin have both written me, but they had very little gossip, as they’d spent much of the summer in Carolina with the Vanderbilts.”

They chatted for a few minutes about friends and acquaintances, then Prescott shoved the envelope across the table to her. “I received some reports from various of your investments. I thought you would like to see them.”

“Thank you. Has your business gone well here?”

“Yes, I am almost through; I shall be returning to America before long.”

“I hope you will not go without letting me know.”

“No. Of course not. It is my hope that you will decide to come back with me.”

She smiled but shook her head. “No, this is where I must stay.”

Conversation fell off after that, and David rose to take his leave. As Abby walked with him into the hall, the front door opened and Graeme stepped in. He stopped, seeing them, then nodded.

“Good afternoon, Abigail. Prescott.” Graeme handed his hat to the waiting footman and strolled forward. “Kind of you to keep my wife company.”

“Always my pleasure.”

Graeme smiled grimly. “Have you come to make your farewells?”

“I haven’t decided when I’m leaving London.”

“Rather a long time to stay away from your business, isn’t it?”

The undertone of Graeme’s words was unmistakable: he did not like finding David Prescott in his home. Abby contemplated the possibility that he was jealous. It was terrible of her, she supposed, but she couldn’t help but feel a little fillip of pleasure. Perhaps Graeme was not as indifferent to her as he acted.

“Oh, I have business here, I assure you,” Prescott said. “Important business.”

“Ah. Well, I wish you well with that.” The bite in Graeme’s voice belied his words. With a terse, formal good-bye, he strode off down the hall.

David turned to Abby, frowning. “Are you sure you’re all right here?”

“I’m fine.” At the moment she felt almost cheerful. “Really.”

“Very well. But remember, if you need me, you have only to send for me.”

“I’ll remember. You’re a good friend, David.”

After he left, Abigail glanced down the hall. Graeme had disappeared. She turned and made her way back to the library. There was little chance of a book engaging her interest now, so she opened the envelope David had brought and began to look through the reports of her investments. She picked up a statement from her bank, and started perusing it. She stopped suddenly, an idea forming.

“Graeme!” She jumped up from her chair and hurried down the corridor, her heels clicking on the stone marble floor. Graeme must have heard her approach, for he was already coming around his desk when Abby whipped through the doorway.

“Abby! What is it? What’s wrong?” He extended a hand toward her, then let it fall back to his side.

“Nothing. I’m fine. I just had a thought.” She waved the paper in her hand. “The bank account. If your father put the money in a bank, he must have received statements from the bank, yet we found none when were at Lydcombe Hall.”

“Oh. Well. Yes, I suppose so.”

“We must have missed them when we were searching his office. We could compare the bank statements to the ledger your father kept for the fund. There might be useful information in them.”

“Actually . . . Father would have done his banking in London. He collected whatever came in at Lydcombe in a strongbox, and when he returned to London, he deposited the money in his bank here. So if those records exist, they would be in this house.”

“Oh.” Abby felt deflated. “But we’ve already searched this study.”

“I didn’t throw away the bank statements. There wouldn’t have been a lot of statements for the fund, and they would have been old because it was inactive by that time. I may have just bundled them up with the other banking records.”