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Verity paused in her searching and briefly looked up. “To what end?” Verity pressed. “When you receive the monies from selling everything, what do you do?”

“What do Ido?”

“Malcom.” Verity set the book down on her lap. “On this page alone there must be ...” She glanced down and silently tabulated in her head, mouthing her count aloud. “One thousand pounds in material items.” She sharply turned the next page, and silently added the numbers there. “And ... and ...” Her eyes bulged. “This is another two thousand pounds.” Her voice climbed. “And that is just two pages.”My God, he must be worth ...She frantically flipped through the book, and sat back, stunned. “You’re richer than Croesus.” And just off the funds he’d inherited. The riches before her had nothing to do with what he’d amassed as a tosher.

“I should expect you’d understand the value in an accumulated fortune,” he said without malice. Then he reached dismissively for his pen, dipped it into the crystal inkwell, and resumed writing.

That was it? That was all he’d say? “But—” He looked up suddenly, his unwavering stare commanding to silence her, and mayhap if she were a different woman with a greater modicum of fear and a desire for self-preservation, she’d have let the matter go ... But she’d come to know that gruff as he may be, neither was Malcom North one who’d hurt her or anyone. She tried to reason with him. “Malcom,” she said gently, turning the ledger around, “this issomuch money.” My God, she could provide for her and Livvie and Bertha for the remainder of their lives, and comfortably, on but one and a half of the items recorded here.

“And you’d have me give it away?”

“What is the point in keepingallof it?” she rebutted.

“I’m not keeping it.”

“Fine, then selling it,” she said, not missing a beat. Goodness, he was obstinate. “Why—”

“Let it be,” he said sharply, a vein bulging at the corner of his temple. With that, he resumed his frantic writing, the staccato tap of the pen flying across the pages punctuating the quiet.

As he worked on, Verity studied his bent head. The lone blond tress that had escaped his queue lent an almost ... vulnerability ... to the stoic figure he presented to the world.

Malcom might not recall the specifics of what had happened to him in the earliest part of his life, but there was an inherent remembrance of having, and then ...not. Her heart squeezed. If, however, he simply gave away these items, then he’d lose those pieces that linked him to the parents who’d died. The parents who’d undoubtedly loved him. With the losses of those items, so, too, went items that might jog any memory.

And mayhap that is what he wishes for, too.Whether deliberate or inadvertent, perhaps he was doing all he could to shut out everything except for the hardships.

As she exchanged the leather tome in one hand for another, he continued working, but she felt him tense. Saw his gaze creep briefly over to her hand as she gripped that book and pulled it to her.

He’d not acknowledge her actions, but he was aware of her and what she did.

More leisurely, Verity paged through the catalog. Unlike the previous volume of masculine possessions, these ones were—

She slammed her finger down in the middle of the page.

Ladies’ boots

Gowns

Day dresses

Bonnets

Aprons

Pearl brooches

Ruby tiaras

Sevres box

Ribbons

Slippers

Queen Ann wooden peg doll

Verity didn’t move. Her heart pulled, and then splintered. “These belonged to a young woman,” she murmured. She recalled the story of Lord Bolingbroke and his siblings. “Three of them.”

When he said nothing, she looked up.