Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
“Now then, My Lady,” Mrs. Beale said to Cassie, who stood eagerly in the corridor, “the first principle of household accounts is that one must know precisely what one has.”
Cassie nodded quickly. “Like a pirate captain counting his treasure,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Exactly.” Mrs. Beale’s mouth twitched at the corner, the closest thing to a smile Augusta had seen from her in their six weeks of acquaintance. “Though I should hope the accounts of Oakhart House require rather less in the way of pistols and eye patches.”
She opened the largest ledger with practiced ease.
“These are the annual expenditures by category. Foodstuffs, household staff, stables, maintenance of the grounds, and so forth.” Her finger traced down the column.
“You’ll note that His Grace prefers quality over quantity in all things.
The household budget reflects that preference. ”
Cassie leaned forward, her nose nearly touching the page. “Why are the numbers in different columns?”
“A very good question.” Mrs. Beale produced a slim volume from the desk drawer.
“This is a daybook. Every purchase made for the household is recorded here, along with the date and purpose. At the end of each month, these figures are transferred to the account ledger and summarized.” She opened the smaller book.
“See here? Twenty pounds and fifteen shillings for meat, fish, and poultry for the quarterly cost.”
“That’s…” Cassie’s eyes widened. “That’s a great deal of money.”
“It is,” Augusta agreed. “But consider how many people must be fed in a house this size. Cook prepares three meals a day for the family, plus breakfast and dinner for the upper servants, and dinner for the lower servants.”
“Not to mention,” Mrs. Beale added, “the cost of the ingredients themselves. Lamb from Norfolk, salmon from Scotland, oranges from Spain. None of these come cheaply.”
Cassie nodded slowly, her finger tracing the numbers on the page as though they might speak to her directly if properly coaxed. “And what about linens? Lady Harriet mentioned those as well.”
“Linens are accounted for separately.” Mrs. Beale reached for a third volume, this one bound in green leather. “Each item—from bed hangings to tablecloths to His Grace’s neckcloths—is listed here, along with its condition and the date of its last cleaning or repair.”
She opened the book to a page marked with a silk ribbon. “This is the summer inventory. We’ve been preparing it this past week in anticipation of the annual ball.”
Cassie’s head shot up. “Ball? Here?”
“Indeed. His Grace hosts a spring ball each year, though the date has not yet been fixed.” Mrs. Beale’s eyes flicked to Augusta. “The invitations have not been sent out, so I must ask you to treat this as confidential, My Lady.”
“I shall be as silent as a…” Cassie’s eyes darted to the window. “As a garden statue. The one with the broken nose.”
Augusta bit back a smile. “An excellent comparison.”
“How many guests will attend?” Cassie demanded. “How many courses will be served? Will there be ice sculptures? I’ve heard Miss Cecily’s mother had an ice sculpture of a swan at their Christmas ball, and it wept all over the sideboard.”
Mrs. Beale, who had clearly weathered similar interrogations from previous generations of Rivers children, answered with unruffled calm.
“Typically seventy to eighty guests. Eight courses, not including dessert. And yes, there is usually an ice sculpture, though I’ve managed to convince Cook that swans are terribly overdone. ”
Cassie turned to Augusta, her eyes bright with excitement. “Miss Norton, may I help? Please? I could count the spoons, or arrange the flowers, or—”
“What,” said a voice from the doorway, deep and slightly amused, “is my sister doing here at nine in the morning?”
All three women turned.
Hudson stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame, arms folded across his chest. His eyes moved from Cassie to Augusta, a question in them.
It was Mrs. Beale who answered. “We are conducting a lesson in household management, Your Grace.”
Hudson’s eyebrows rose. “Household management?” he repeated. “Cassie is eleven.”
“I’m almost twelve,” Cassie corrected. “And I’m learning to keep accounts. See?” She held up her notebook, where a careful column of numbers marched down the page. “These are the week’s butter expenditures.”
Hudson crossed to the desk in three strides and peered at the page. His mouth twitched. “That’s very… thorough,” he noted. “Though I suspect you’ll find butter figures change rather more frequently than, say, the foundations of English literature.”
“I already know about English literature,” Cassie said. “This is different. It’s practical.”
“Practical,” Hudson echoed. His eyes met Augusta’s over Cassie’s head. “Miss Norton, might I ask what prompted this sudden interest in…” He glanced at the ledgers. “Butter expenditures?”
“I asked to learn,” Cassie replied before Augusta could.
Hudson pursed his lips and turned his attention to Augusta. “Miss Norton,” he said, his voice low. “A word, if you please.”
He opened the door and strode down the corridor without another word, Augusta following a half-step behind. He waited until they had turned the corner and were well out of earshot before he stopped, turned, and fixed her with a look that had made hardened gaming hell employees step back in alarm.
“Would you care to explain,” he said, his voice deceptively even, “why my eleven-year-old sister is learning household accounts instead of French vocabulary or European history?”
Augusta met his gaze without flinching. “Because she asked to.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.” She stood with her back straight, her chin lifted, her hands folded at her waist. “She was distressed, Your Grace. The lesson seemed a reasonable response.”
“Distressed,” Hudson repeated. “About household accounts?”
“About being made to feel inadequate.” Her voice softened.
“Yesterday, she encountered Lady Harriet and two of her friends. They compared their studies, and Cassie’s lessons in geography and natural philosophy did not measure up, in their estimation, to their own instruction in household management. ”
Hudson’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “They said that to her face? Three girls—”
“Not directly,” Augusta cut in. “They were careful. It was all implication and suggestion. But the message was clear enough. Cassie understood it perfectly.”
“I’ll speak to Drummond,” he said, already turning toward the stairs. “And Lord Vane. This behavior—”
“Your Grace.” Her voice stopped him. “Wait.”
She closed the distance between them as he turned back, her hand extended as though to reach for him, before dropping to her side.
“Please,” she said. “Think carefully before you act.”
“There’s nothing to think about,” Hudson grunted. “My sister has been hurt—”
“Your intervention will only make matters worse.” She took another step forward.
“Those girls will be Cassie’s peers for the next decade.
They will attend the same balls, the same dinner parties, the same soirees.
If you confront their fathers now, you will only ensure that Cassie enters that world with three powerful enemies. ”
“They’re children,” Hudson scoffed. “Their opinions hardly matter.”
“Children become adults,” Augusta pointed out. “And adults have long memories for slights, real or imagined.” Her hand rose, then fell again. “Please, Your Grace. There must be another way.”
“She deserves better than to be subjected to cruelty disguised as education,” Hudson said.
“She deserves,” Augusta countered, “the tools to navigate that world on her own terms. Not to be sheltered from it until the moment she’s thrown into the deep water.
” She paused. “What Cassie felt yesterday wasn’t simply embarrassment about household accounts.
It was the fear of being different, of being herself in a world that rewards conformity.
What she needs now is confidence, not a confrontation. ”
She watched Hudson carefully. He seemed to be studying her, and she wondered whether he believed her. Whether he knew that she truly cared for his sister, that she had her best interests at heart.
“The world will not change its expectations for her sake,” he said. “Not even if I wish it.”
“No,” Augusta agreed. “But she can learn to meet those expectations while remaining herself. That’s a skill worth cultivating.”
A long moment passed. Somewhere in the house, a door closed. A clock chimed the half-hour.
Hudson exhaled slowly, feeling something tight in his chest begin to loosen.
“Very well,” he acquiesced. “No confrontations with Drummond or Vane.” He held up a hand when Augusta began to smile. “But I expect my sister to be treated with the respect due to her station. If I hear of one more incident—”
“I’ll inform you immediately,” Augusta promised. “And we’ll address it together.”
“I should return to my study,” he said, though his feet seemed unwilling to move. “I have correspondence to attend to.”
“Of course.” She nodded, a quick, graceful movement that sent a curl tumbling across her forehead. “And I should get back to Cassie. She’ll be wondering what’s become of us.”
Neither moved.
The moment stretched between them, taut as a wire. Only to be shattered by the sound of scrabbling claws on hardwood and an enthusiastic bark.
Pippin careened around the corner, ears flopping, tongue lolling, and skidded to a halt at Augusta’s feet. The dog looked up at them both, his head cocked as though trying to determine whether they required his immediate intervention.
Augusta laughed, then bent down to scratch behind Pippin’s ears, relieved that the tension eased. “Hello, you ridiculous creature,” she said softly. “Have you escaped from the kitchen again?”
She looked up to find Hudson’s eyes on her, a peculiar expression on his face. She straightened quickly.