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His concern was Eliza.
"It is a necessary expense," Arthur replied. "My wife's happiness is worth considerably more."
The words escaped involuntarily, and he continued at once, giving neither man the opportunity to dwell upon them.
"You have my gratitude for agreeing to an eight-week arrangement. Once your household has had sufficient opportunity to adjust, should there prove a need to extend Miss Cecily's stay, I trust we may discuss the matter."
"Naturally, Your Grace." Danbury inclined his head readily. "We shall miss her greatly, but needs must. One cannot stand in the way of duty."
Arthur doubted the Earl would miss anyone half as much as he would miss the payment in his hands.
"Very well." Arthur brought the meeting to a close with a single decisive clap of his hands.
"Mr Ellis will show you to your chambers. Dinner will be served in your chambers to your satisfaction, and I trust you shall be ready to depart promptly after breakfast tomorrow."
The dismissal was unmistakable.
Ellis appeared in the doorway almost as though he had anticipated the moment. Danbury, to his credit, recognised when an audience had concluded. He bowed, offered another round of effusive thanks and followed Ellis out of the study.
Arthur resumed his seat behind the desk, though his attention remained fixed upon the clock resting on the mantelpiece.
His final appointment of the evening. The household itself operated with impeccable punctuality as a measured knock sounded on the study door.
"Enter," he commanded.
Mrs Clapton stepped inside first.
Behind her stood Miss Cecily.
"Miss Dawson, Your Grace," the housekeeper announced with her customary precision before dipping into a curtsey. "If there is nothing further, I shall leave you."
Arthur bowed his head, and the door closed quietly behind her.
Silence settled over the room.
Arthur studied the young woman standing before him. This was Eliza's sister. She stood with her hands planted firmly upon her hips, one fair brow arched in unmistakable challenge. Rather than appearing intimidated by the Duke of Buckingham, she looked remarkably like a governess preparing to reprimand an unruly schoolboy.
It was unexpected.
"Is something amiss, Miss Cecily?" Arthur asked evenly.
"To begin with," she replied without hesitation, "it's Miss Dawson."
"My apologies."
He genuinely had not known. He had searched household records before her arrival, hoping to learn something of the woman who had occupied such an important place in Eliza's childhood, yet servants rarely left trails.
"I have heard the stories about you, Your Grace."
Arthur waited.
"I shall not pretend they had no effect upon me. Some are quite terrifying." She considered him for a moment.
"One footman assured me you have personally killed more than a thousand men."
That was a new one.
"But rumours are only rumours, and I learnt a long time ago not to place much faith in what people say."
