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As if Ronan had asked him to steal the Crown Jewels and pawn them to feed starving urchins.

“Besides, your lordship, there were no funds available. None. I expected the household had sufficient foodstuffs in reserve, and the staff was…are, that is…free to seek employment elsewhere.”

The governess isn’t, you bloody arse.

Ronan couldn’t regret his lapse into vulgarity.

Who would’ve cared for his new wards had Miss Feathers taken it upon herself to abandon them?

Deep in Ronan’s belly, molten anger stirred and sidled along his veins. A rare but dangerous thing.

This little rodent turd of a man hadn’t bothered to ensure Masterson’s daughters or his staff had provisions? Firewood? Coal? Bralen obviously knew nothing of the mechanisms of running a large household.

Wrestling his ire under control, Ronan modulated his tone and asked coolly, “How many servants did Lieutenant Masterson employ?”

Few people cared enough to worry about retainers when an estate was liquidated, as must happen in this case. The girls had not only lost their father, but they were going to lose their home as well, and likely the company of servants they’d known their entire lives.

Life was bloody, bloody unfair.

“Eight, including the…governess,” Bralen said, a strange inflection entering his brusque tone. “Two recently left of their own volition. As for the others, I’m sure with letters of reference from the marquess…”

He trailed off at Ronan’s steely glower.

Was Bralen even aware of how much of a condescending piece of excrement he was?

“Yes, well.” The solicitor noisily cleared his throat. “With references, they shouldn’t have any trouble finding new positions,” Bralen muttered sourly. “Except for Miss Feathers, that is, your lordship.”

“And why is that, Mr. Bralen? Why is Miss Feathers singularly undeserving of a recommendation?”

In Ronan’s mind, a governess who stayed and cared for her charges without pay and who took it upon herself to write him inquiring about their futures was deserving of admiration.

There is no finer person on earth, other than their governess, who I would trust Arabelle’s and Bellamy’s care to than you.

Masterson had obviously held the woman in high esteem. Regardless, he couldn’t very well make her guardian of his daughters. It just wasn’t done.

Bralen sniffed contemptuously.

“Her official capacity might’ve been that of a governess. However, I have reason to believe she played an entirely different role in Lieutenant Masterson’s household.”

The solicitor’s meaning was as clear as one of the crystalline raindrops trailing down the study window. He might as well have called Mercy Feathers a slattern.

Ronan stiffened and drew his hand resting atop the desk into his lap, where he curled it into a tight fist. Teeth clamped, he barely restrained himself from springing from the chair, lunging across the desk, grabbing hold of Bralen’s artful neckcloth, and shaking the man like a terrier with a rat.

Masterson had been devoted to his wife before her death. He hardly seemed the type to disrespect her memory and flagrantly flaunt a mistress in his house under the guise of a governess. Particularly at the risk of smudging his daughters’ reputations.

His patience shredded, Ronan flexed his jaw and met Bralen’s superior gaze directly.

“What precisely are you implying, Bralen?” The flinty look he leveled the solicitor had sent many a man to trembling in their footwear. “That Miss Feathers was Lieutenant Masterson’s lady love?”

Instead of being cowed as any sensible man would’ve done, Bralen lifted his bulbous nose. The epitome of self-righteous superiority, he looked down its considerable length with an expression that was surely meant to intimidate but which only made him appear cross-eyed.

Ronan knew the solicitor’s type well. Self-righteous, self-proclaimed saints, condemning and judging others while never noticing their own shortcomings or vices.

“Miss Feathers is far too attractive to be just a governess, my lord. No wife would have ever been foolish enough to have hired her. As I’m sure you know, men have needs. I am convinced that though she may have initially been retained to oversee the Masterson girls’ education, Miss Feathers also…ah…erm…that is…warmed the lieutenant’s bed.”

At that mumbled, disparaging pronouncement, Bralen’s ears burned a fiery reddish-purple.

If talking about sexual congress turned the man into a bumbling fool, he pitied the solicitor’s wife.