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She took the journal. The leather was stiff and creased, and the pages crackled when she turned them. But it smelled of Papa’s tobacco, and she held it close to her heart. “I will.”
He turned away and began stacking the sorted papers on top of the ledger. “I’ll match up the bills with the payments, to see if he owes anyone or anyone owes him. He might have made a quiet trip to discuss a debt. It will be quite tedious, I’m afraid, or we could do it here. I know you wish to stay informed of all I do.”
Cressida blushed at his matter-of-fact statement. “I do, but I don’t want to interfere.” He gave her a wry look that indicated he knew exactly how much she wanted to interfere, and she blushed harder. He would think her face permanently red, the way things were going. “I hope you find something helpful.”
“And I you.” He placed one hand on the ledger and the other on his hip. With the window at his back, in his dazzling white shirtsleeves, he looked powerful and overwhelming. “How shall we go on?”
“Go. . . ” She cleared her throat. Her voice seemed to have failed, this close to him in such familiar circumstances. He was in his shirtsleeves, addressing her as an equal partner. She kept seeing his large, beautiful hands moving tenderly across the panel, the way he might stroke a lover’s skin. “Go on?”
“Yes. You did say you want to remain involved. Shall I work until I discover something, or shall I call every day even if I have no news?”
Every day. She cleared her throat again. “As often as you see fit, Major.”
He looked at her. “Mr. Hayes. Or Alec,” he said. “Please.”
“Oh.” She tried to laugh and ended up making a strange coughing sound. They were very close together here between the window and the desk. Cressida didn’t remember the last time she’d been so close to a man who wasn’t Tom or her father, let alone one who looked at her like this. “I don't think. . . That is. . . If you wish.”
“We’ll be thrown together a fair amount, I expect.” Finally he looked away. “I’m not in the army any longer. I haven’t used the rank in some time.” He raised one brow and cast a significant glance over her shoulder, to where his coat lay on the chair.
Cressida hurriedly stepped aside, and he moved past her, so close his boots brushed her skirts and she caught a whiff of shaving soap. She stood clutching Papa’s journal to her chest as he put on his coat and collected the ledger and papers. They walked into the hall, where he bowed and left with a promise to return soon.
Alec. He swung onto his horse’s back and touched the brim of his hat to her. We’ll be thrown together. Did that mean he wanted to call her Cressida? He hadn’t asked. She hadn’t invited him, either, but that was more because her tongue had tied itself into a knot. What would her name sound like on his lips? And just how soon would he return?
“Cressida.” She jumped, and turned to see Tom standing in the hall behind her, twisting his cap in his hands. “Might I have a moment?”
“Of course, Tom. What is it?”
He glanced over her shoulder. Cressida could still hear hoofbeats, and her mind called up the image of Major Hayes—Alec, she reminded herself with a nervous tingle—with his perfect cavalry posture, riding away, guiding the horse with the smallest touch of a heel or a knee, his hands as calm and gentle as they were steady and commanding.
“He’s been around a lot,” Tom muttered.
Cressida plastered on a smile to hide her wanton thoughts. “He’s going to help us find Papa.” She held up the journal in illustration. “And see, today we’ve found something.”
The color drained from his ruddy face as Tom stared at it. “Where’d you find that?”
Cressida stared at him in surprise. Tom had obviously seen it before. Why did he look so dismayed by it? “In the study.”
Tom’s eyes were riveted on the book. “Did you find anything else?”
“Yes,” she replied slowly. “A ledger. Major Hayes has taken it to see if it will reveal anything useful.”
“Should you have let him?”
“Why not?”
Instead of answering, Tom pushed one hand through his hair, standing it on end. “What do you hope to find?” he asked her, sounding weary and almost despairing.
“The truth. I want to know where Papa is, and why he hasn’t come home.”
He closed his eyes and hung his head. “Truly? What if it’s ugly or unpleasant?”
“What do you mean? How could it be worse than not knowing?” He didn’t answer. “I want to know what’s happened to my father,” she exclaimed. “Do you fault me for that?”
He sighed again. “No. I just fear. . . I fear you might find things you don’t want to know.”
“What do you mean?” Cressida was just realizing that never once had she heard Tom say he hoped Papa came back. He was always ready to lend a helping hand or a comforting word on any other subject, but not that one. When Papa had been gone a month, he’d offered to go look for him. She and Callie had refused, and he’d never mentioned it again.
But Tom had been with her father for years, over a decade. If he didn’t have any affection for Papa, why had he stayed so long? “Do you know where he went?” she demanded.
