Page 21 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

M eredith. Welsh. Great Ruler , he thought. The name suited her though it was primarily a man’s name. But Rathbourne had no heir, so perhaps that was his reasoning behind bestowing such a grand title on his only child. She was certainly adept at making exits.

He pressed his lips together. Rathbourne had no business going through Lucius’s paperwork in Lucius’s home, in his library, on his desk. Duke or not. Such behavior was unacceptable.

Slowly, he moved his legs to the side of the bed, then breathing hard and using the bedside table for stability, he pulled himself to his feet.

The chamber was growing dark with the dying fire but there was a candle near the window where Meredith had left the documents.

He had questions, though he doubted Rathbourne would supply any satisfactory answers.

The door opened and Graham entered carrying a tray with tea, brandy, and something that smelled warm and delectable.

“What the devil are you doing up?” Graham strode over and set the tray on the table.

He relighted the candle before turning and planting his hands on his slender hips. “You chased her out, didn’t you?”

Lucius turned a scowl on him. “You always think the worst of me.”

“I like her. You’ve changed since you’ve been here.”

Lucius snorted. “How would you know? You’ve been here less than a day.”

“And, already things have taken an interesting turn,” Graham retorted.

The pipes clanked alerting Lucius as to his wife’s current activities.

How tempting to steal through the adjourning door to the bathing chamber and…

“Bah. Never mind that.” Undecided where he was directing the actual statement, he asked, “Where has my wife placed her high and mighty, over-the-top, bombastic blackguard?”

“The Rose Chamber.”

“Where the devil is that?”

“In another wing. He has the servants running about like mice in a corn maze.”

Lucius shook his head and pulled the ledger in front of him. “Do mice run about in a corn maze?”

Graham didn’t bother answering, busying himself with pouring Lucius a cup of tea. “Brandy, my lord?”

“Not right now,” he said absently, studying the numbers he’d gone over earlier.

“See what I mean? You’ve already cut back on your imbibing. Astonishing.”

Lucius looked up at his valet. “What?”

“Nothing, my lord. If you have any care in the slightest for my peace of mind, please, eat something.”

He snagged a scone and bit into it and munched slowly, running an index finger down the columns of the April monthly expense report. He then pulled the March report. “I need paper,” he barked out. “Quickly.”

A few minutes crept by before Graham located what he needed.

With some impatience, Lucius snatched the paper from his hand.

In the next instance, an inkwell and pen were set before him.

He went back through the reports and listed the payment due to Perlsea, then listed the royalties for each month, The difference in the two by over ￡100 was disturbing and would require more in depth investigation.

Starting with Meredith’s favorite steward, Mr. Ashcroft.

That was a task for the next day. In the meantime, there were other questionable withdrawals for Thornfield’s “personal account.”

The more Lucius studied and compared the reports the angrier and more disgusted he became. He threw down his pen and came to his feet, ignoring a sharp twinge.

“Sir, your back,” Graham said.

“To the devil with my back. Go to bed, Graham. I’ll see you tomorrow. Early.”

“How early?” he asked narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t know. Eight.”

He gasped.

“Eight-fifteen then. Good night.”

Graham slipped out of the chamber, leaving Lucius wondering if he’d heard the man’s muttering correctly. Something to the tune of, “Just as I said, interesting.”

*

The next morning, Lucius crawled from his bed, donned his wrap, and decided to make use of Meredith’s favorite bathing chamber before she could protest. One glance out the windows showed another glum day, though the rain hadn’t yet descended.

He didn’t linger and by the time he returned to his chamber, Graham was already present, laying out his salve along with Lucius’s clothes for the day.

“Did you break your fast?” Lucius asked him.

“Yes.”

“Are the servants still in a tizzy?” Lucius found the thought gratifying.

“Yes.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Yes.”

“What do you know of Ashcroft’s schedule?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“He rises early. Certainly, earlier than your typical time.” He cleared his throat. “He departs for the church at eight. Typically with Lady Pender.”

“I thought you didn’t know his schedule.”

“My brain has ceased functioning. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s barely eight.”

“I didn’t sleep much.”

Graham grunted.

The pipes clanked. “I must hurry. I wish to speak with Ashcroft before Lady Pender makes an appearance.”

After that, Lucius was stuffed in his clothes fairly quickly and out the door. The bruising on his back would slow him down, but he wanted those reports.

By the time he made it down to the steward’s office, Ashcroft was seated at his desk, his brows furrowed, lifting papers and searching about.

Lucius started to lean against the doorframe but the quick stab in his back negated the nonchalant stance. He folded his arms over his chest. “Looking for something?”

Ashcroft’s hand stilled midair. He slowly met Lucius’s gaze. “I’ve misplaced a couple of papers,” he said with a wise bit of wariness.

“Oh?”

He leaned back in his chair and the legs creaked. “I take it you’ve been in my office?”

Lucius didn’t bother denying the accusation. It was true after all. “A list of names, perhaps. A map?”

Ashcroft’s hand hit the desk with a thunk . His expression turned hard. “Lady Pender hired me to look after her estate.”

“You mean my estate, don’t you?” Lucius growled.

He tipped his head. “Of course, Lord Pender.”

It took concerted effort for Lucius to ignore the temptation of defending his own title, but he persevered. “Who are the individuals on the list?”

Lips clamped shut, Ashcroft went about straightening other papers strewn about his desk.

“A couple of your predecessors, perhaps?”

Ashcroft stopped and glared at Lucius, then slammed both hands flat on the desk and stood. “They were all predecessors, my lord . All.”

The gut punch was visceral. “And the map?”

Ashcroft’s expression shifted to blank, but his eyes flickered with tension. “I’m merely conducting an inventory of the estate’s history. It’s nothing more than a precaution.”

Lucius scoffed. “Precaution for what?” He took a step closer. “It looks to me as if you’re preparing for something much more sinister.”

“Or making sure I don’t end up with a similar fate,” he shot back.

“Similar fate. The devil you say. You believe them dead?”

“Yes,” he bit out.

“You sent for Rathbourne, didn’t you?” Lucius accused him.

The shock on Ashcroft’s face rendered the man momentarily speechless. His face may have even paled. “The duke ? Is here?”

“He arrived last night. Neither Lady Pender nor I were expecting him.”

Again, his mouth compressed.

“You know him then?”

“Many years ago,” Ashcroft admitted. “The blackguard is rotten to the core.”

Lucius couldn’t agree more but he was not yet ready to take the steward at face value.

For one thing, the beard he wore disguised a good portion of his facial features.

Ashcroft moved to the door, took a greatcoat from a hook behind, and snatched his hat from a shelf above.

“I must get to Vestry Hall. I’ve a class to conduct. ”

“Not so fast, sir. I’ll have the Keep’s income and expense ledgers for last year.”

He jammed his hat on his head. “Help yourself, my lord . You seem to have a knack for finding what you need without my permission.” With that, he stalked from the office with an exit reminiscently, and irritatingly, similar to that of Meredith’s.

Scowling, Lucius found what he was searching for in a matter of minutes and wished for nothing more than to dash up the stairs to his chamber, and but for the limitations of the soreness in his lower back he would have.

Instead, he made his way to the dining hall as if he’d reached his dotage, stopping short of crossing the threshold.

“Ah, Pender,” Rathbourne boomed. “I thought you to be on your deathbed. But I see my daughter’s tendencies toward exaggerations have only increased with time.”

Annoyance simmered just under Lucius’s skin, but he managed to keep from rolling his eyes.

He’d seen the obnoxious cur less than a month ago at his father’s services when he had made the trek to Northumberland with the rest of the ton’s curiosity seekers when he’d delivered the shocking revelation—lie—that Meredith was with child.

Lucius sauntered into the chamber and ordered coffee.

“Your Grace.” Lucius inclined his head, then took his place at the head of the table. He set the ledger aside and placed his elbows on the hard surface and studied the duke with a critical eye.

While Rathbourne was only of medium build, he exuded a presence that commanded attention. His sharp, angular features were cold, and the calculating glint he could bestow at will granted him the air of authority. A quiet confidence conveyed his unmistakable power.

Despite the early hour, his clothing was impeccable, his perfectly tailored dark frockcoat, made from the finest wool indemnified elegance.

Beneath his coat, he wore a crisp white waistcoat with subtle brocade detailing.

It was a touch of refinement without being ostentatious.

His silk cravat of deep burgundy was tied in a precise, understated knot of course.

Admittedly, the look showcased his effect of controlled power and impeccable taste.

Meredith’s father was a man who knew how to wield his influence without a need to flash his wealth.