Chapter Nine #2
They ended their tour in the study where he had taken pen to paper yesterday, but now Grayson looked the room over more thoroughly.
Although he had no compunctions about opening drawers and checking contents, he could discover no letters from the infamous Jasper or correspondence of any kind.
What he did find, neatly tucked away, was the household account book.
Laying it open upon the desk, Grayson saw, with some surprise, that the most recent entry was payment for one pig, already butchered.
Livestock normally was a part of an estate this size, if not held by the property owner, then raised by the tenant farmers and easily traded for a portion of the rent owed.
Running a finger up the page, Grayson skimmed over meticulous records of small purchases, mostly of food, until he reached an entry for income. Then he stopped and swore under his breath.
Written in the same delicate hand was the sale of one black basaltware urn by Wedgwood for little more than pocket change.
Glancing quickly through the columns, Grayson cursed loudly at the loss of several busts, one by Bernini, and a portrait by Lely.
All had been let go for far less than their worth. And all to one man.
Squire Wortley.
“What is it, my lord?”
Grayson looked up to find Badcock studying him with some concern. “I have discovered where the missing items are, and it’s worse than I thought.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, some very valuable things were sold for absurdly low amounts to the local squire,” Grayson said.
“Perhaps he is their only source of funds, my lord. There cannot be many other residents of the area who could afford to buy the earl’s possessions.”
Yes, Grayson thought, unless the girls had a contact in London, where they could get higher prices for their goods, the squire probably was their only hope.
Still, he did not have to cheat them so baldly.
There was a difference between getting a bargain and fleecing innocent women, between transacting business and stealing from ladies who were above the lowly squire’s station.
As the embodiment of local authority, Wortley should have been watching out for Lucy and Kate, instead of… Suddenly, Grayson wondered if the man had put pressure on the Courtlands to obtain their treasures.
“My lord?”
Grayson glanced up, startled by the look on Badcock’s normally expressionless face.
“The, ah, accounts, my lord.”
Gazing downward, Grayson saw with surprise that he had crumpled a page of the book in his fist. Slowly, he released his grip and pressed the paper flat once more.
Wherever Kate was concerned, he reacted with gut instincts that had little to do with civilized behavior. It was becoming rather alarming.
Releasing a harsh breath, Grayson thumbed through the rest of the volume, but he could find no references to income, other than that acquired from Wortley.
As far as he could tell, the earl’s daughters were not receiving an allowance of any kind from their guardian. Nor were they collecting any rents from the vast estate’s tenant farmers. Indeed, they appeared to be paying for all their food, what precious little there was of it.
Grayson found himself growing angry again and made a deliberate effort to remain calm.
The thought of Kate struggling, not only with the drudgery of daily cooking and cleaning, but with the juggling of nearly nonexistent funds, as well, filled him with violent impulses.
Mentally, he added Squire Wortley to his list of matters to attend to, right after the unmasking of his imposter and his confrontation with Uncle Jasper.
It appeared that he would be busy with Courtland business for some time to come, Grayson thought, smiling grimly. But the notion invoked other images, of unfinished dealings with Kate that had nothing to do with money, relatives, or neighbors. Only the two of them. Alone. Naked.
His first pleasant musings of the day were interrupted by a loud knocking at the study door that heralded the return of Tom and Meg. The cook was positively beaming at the success of her covert mission, and even the coachman seemed in good spirits as Grayson urged them to sit.
Glancing around the room, he had to suppress his amusement at the sight of the odd group.
Never before had he engaged a coachman, a cook, and a valet for an investigation, but he had learned to be flexible when it came to resources.
And he knew he could trust all of them, with the possible exception of Tom.
Right now, the old fellow appeared honest enough, as he prepared to report what he had learned in Chisterton.
“Well, we’ve good news and bad, my lord,” he said.
“There’s been some activity everywhere this spring, at the manor, the vicarage, and the squire’s house.
People popping in and out as if they haven’t homes of their own, from the sounds of it. ”
Grayson was not surprised. “I’ll admit that seems discouraging, but if we discover the identities of the guests and the length of their visits, I’m sure we could narrow down our list of suspects,” he said.
The coachman looked skeptical, but nodded. “As for the vicar’s boys, one is too fat and one too fair. That leaves Ezra, the eldest, and only one other local who fits Lucy’s description, the squire’s nephew, Archibold Rutledge.”
Grayson put a finger to his lip and rubbed it absently.
“Very good. You have done well.” He paused, his gaze flicking to each of them, in turn.
“I do not need to tell you that we must keep our activities quiet for the time being. I do not wish Lucy to get her hopes up,” he explained, giving Tom a particularly sharp look of warning.
To Grayson’s surprise, the coachman nodded, without argument, and hurried after Meg to unload her supplies.
When the door shut behind them, Badcock shook his head. “The culprit could be anyone, long come and gone, my lord.”
“Perhaps,” Grayson said. “But I have found it best not to overlook the obvious.”
“What next, then?” Badcock asked.
“Next, we shall set a trap,” Grayson said, his lips curling in satisfaction. “And see what we catch.”
Kate swung the buckets beside her, glad of the freedom of her trousers as she followed the edge of the woods up to where the blackberries encroached upon the old pasture. The air seemed especially fresh and clean after the stifling hours spent with Mrs. Leeds.
All that poking and prodding had served to remind her of another existence, a lifetime ago, that no longer was within reach.
Oh, some of the materials had been as smooth and delicate as a butterfly’s wings, but what use would they have in her world?
There were no balls or social calls on her calendar, only work that needed to be done.
Lucy clung tenaciously to the past and had been ecstatic over the fittings, so Kate had gone along, unwilling to spoil her sister’s happiness.
And Meg’s daughter had been kind, carrying on over the sisters as though they were still heiresses, not impoverished spinsters.
But Kate knew the truth, and no amount of dressing up could change it.
They were hanging on, just barely, and needed another hog to butcher far more than fine gowns.
But she had not bothered to argue with the arrogant marquess, for if their clothing was too shabby or inappropriate for his taste, he could pay for different garments.
The Courtlands certainly could not. And since he claimed he had no interest in Lucy, she no longer worried about him exacting a toll from her sister.
The man was not the sort to lie to her face, whatever his shortcomings.
And he had a few. The qualities Kate found compelling had become less so as he seemed to take over the household she had struggled so hard to maintain. And the mastery she admired was all well and good, as long as it didn’t extend to mastery over her.
She flushed as she remembered his untoward behavior yesterday and her wanton reaction.
And she could only come to one conclusion: the marquess was no gentleman.
The night she had come across him in his bath had been bad enough.
But that had been an accident, and though he had taunted her about joining him, he made no move.
And when he was injured and ill... She discounted that entirely.
But yesterday he had acted deliberately, putting her in a compromising position where anyone could have seen them. He claimed to be proving his point concerning Lucy, but Kate did not appreciate the lesson.
And she refused to believe that such a handsome, powerful nobleman could be interested in a grubby girl dressed as a boy. She had melted in his embrace, so bereft of her good sense as to lie back shamelessly on the table like a serving of dessert, while he had appeared unaffected.
As if to prove it, Grayson had conversed with Badcock as though nothing unusual had occurred.
The thought made Kate swallow hard, for she realized that the experience that had been so momentous, if disastrous, for her had meant little to him.
She took the last few steps at a run in an effort to distance herself from the knowledge.
She tried to concentrate on her task, but her hand shook as she reached for the ripest fruit, Her life was difficult enough, without the added problems posed by her visitor. And what would happen when the man left—and took his cook, his food, and his mastery away with him?
Calm, capable Kate, who never dared complain or feel anything at all, was filled with embarrassment, anger, and something else she could not name.
The silence was broken by the sound of movement, and Kate turned, unsure who or what would seek her out in this secluded spot. Her anger flared at the sight that met her eyes, for climbing up the slope was Grayson, impeccably dressed from the tops of his shiny boots to his elegant coat.