Chapter 2
“You have three minutes to explain this to me. You have already wasted one.” Theodore’s deep voice filled the space between him and the man standing in front of him. “I do not suggest you waste another.”
Theodore gestured to the open ledger book behind him, the crumpled invoice and then to the man. He watched as the man’s eyes followed the motion of his hand, then darted to the door and back to Theodore.
He arched an eyebrow. “Run if you wish, Mr. Brown, I will not stop you.”
He saw Mr. Brown stiffen and lick his lips. “Your Grace?”
“If you run, I can only conclude that the discrepancies between the ledger and this bill of services are intentional.” Theodore kept his face neutral, his voice no more emotive than if he had been discussing the weather.
“In which case, I shall have the magistrate deal with you. An odious fellow by all accounts, but he does have his uses. And he is unlikely to show leniency to any man who sought to steal from a duke.”
“Please, Your Grace, that will not be necessary. It was a mistake, that is all.” Mr. Brown tugged at the collar of his shirt.
“A rather large mistake, Mr. Brown.” Theodore picked up the ledger again. “45 guineas instead of 15.”
“I know, Your Grace. And I should have been more thorough. I can only apologize, but please, you must know I would never do such a thing deliberately.” Mr. Brown clenched and unclenched his hands, shifting from foot to foot, his bottom lip quivering.
“I must?” Theodore’s voice was like a snake’s hiss. You do not give me orders.
The man recoiled. “I mean – I would not presume to suggest – I only – I simply… You are a discerning man, no one in their right mind would try and fool you.” Mr. Brown was shaking, sweat pouring from him as he stared downcast at the ground.
“I would not. It was a mistake. That is all. It will not happen again.”
“Of that much we can be certain.” Theodore shook his head as he stood up and walked towards the door.
“Then you believe me?” he heard the hope in Mr. Brown’s face.
“I do. Which is why I am giving you a second chance.” Theodore saw Mr. Brown’s mouth open and continued, his voice dispassionate but firm.
“I do not like carelessness. It breeds disorder which invites chaos and destruction. I was clear when I hired you that I have higher standards than most and until this incident, you had exceeded my expectations. One mistake, I can accept – a second and you will be dismissed. .”
The door opened just as the clock chimed nine and Theodore’s butler, Mr. Grimsby walked in. Theodore inclined his head to him. Perfectly on time, as expected.
“Mr. Grimbsy has agreed to provide supplementary training and to review your processes to ensure such things do not happen again. I suggest you attend to him closely.” Theodore flicked a speck of dust from his lapel.
“You will have a fortnight to present me with an audit of your accounts and a report outlining how you have improved efficiency and steps you have taken to ensure accuracy.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Mr. Brown’s eyes shone with unshed tears, sending a ripple of unease through Theodore. “I will not let you down again, I swear it. Thank you.”
“His Grace is a busy man, Mr. Brown. Come with me – you have potential and the Duke knows it.” Mr. Grimsby stepped between Theodore and Mr. Brown, finding the words that Theodore could not. “The best gift will be a job well done.”
“Indeed.” Theodore inclined his head as both men swept into deep bows. “Do not disappoint me again.”
Mr. Brown opened his mouth as though to offer his thanks once more, but Mr. Grimsby expertly swept him from the room and shut the door behind him. Theodore let out a long breath. Thank goodness for Mr. Grimsby.
He carefully arranged the stacks of papers on his desk, ensuring that each pile was at straight, neat and tidy. He pushed back in his chair, checking that the back of it was aligned perfectly with the window. The sunlight streamed through.
“Order and practicality.” He nodded to himself. “A warm chair to return to, and everything as it should be.”
He strode out of the room and locked the door. There was not a servant in sight and although his steps were muffled by the carpet in the hall, in the emptiness even that seemed magnified.
He cast an eye around the hall, cataloguing everything and noting even the slightest piece that was out of place. He straightened a painting, shifted a vase not even an eighth of an inch and then nodded to himself.
He filled the space as he walked through it, glancing at his pocket watch. “I will check Phoebe’s rooms, then the lessons.”
He made a point of checking in on his niece's rooms and the girl herself every day. He moved briskly, though he did not run. Urgency without consideration only ended in pain. In his mind, he heard the sound of coughing of cries of pain, and he pushed them viciously away.
Her room was as he expected. The bed perfectly made, clothes arranged carefully in her wardrobe and collection of toys organized and tidied.
He double-checked her fireplace, inspecting the flue and the mantle for anything that could pose a danger. He knew that the staff did this every day, but he would take no chances.
Theodore glanced around again, his fist clenching and unclenching, the muscles in his back growing more tense as he turned and made his way towards the lessons room. With each step he took, his jaw tightened.
She is just a child.
The reminder did nothing to ease the tightness of his body and as he peered through the open door, his heart sped up. Phoebe sat at her desk. Her dark blue eyes were distant and unfocused, her hair, black like his own, was tied neatly in two plaits.
She looked small, curled into herself as though shielding her body from a mighty wind. Theodore reminded himself that she was only nine, but he was sure he had not been so small at that age. Had Rose?
The smell of rot and unwashed flesh rose in his mind, mingling with the sickly-sweet smell of treacle, and he pushed it away roughly. Do not dwell on that.
“Lady Phoebe, you must practice your letters. Penmanship is important for someone of your station.” The governess, Mrs. Agnes Morton, an older woman with streaks of grey in her hair, pointed to the blackboard behind her.
Theodore watched Phoebe’s eyes flick towards the governess, saw her mouth tighten and for a moment, thought she would say something. He caught himself leaning forwards, and stopped, his heart beating faster. But Phoebe said nothing, instead she gestured at the paper in front of her.
At least she is not being disrespectful. The thought offered little comfort. He saw Mrs. Morton’s eyes widen imperceptibly and then her lips thin. Apparently, she shared my hope. One would think we would both know better by now.
“I know you are an accomplished artist, but you must learn to write just as well – if not better.” Mrs. Morton was clearly trying to keep her voice light, firm but not unkind. “You are not a simpleton, you can do this.”
Phoebe’s fingers tapped quickly against the desk, and she shook her head.
“You should listen to Mrs. Morton, Phoebe.” Theodore saw Phoebe flinch away, as though he had shouted, and he redoubled his efforts to keep his voice neutral, his tone flat and his volume level. How does one speak to children?
In the two years since she had come to live with him, he had asked himself a version of this question daily and was no closer to a satisfying answer.
Mrs. Morton swept into a curtsey, her mouth open but Theodore waved her greeting away, his eyes fixed on Phoebe. He saw a flash of something in her face, and at that moment, she was not his niece but his sister, staring at him.
No. He forced his mind to obey him, feeling his jaw clench as he did. Phoebe reached for a small drawing, holding it tight to her chest as if she feared it might be snatched away. She does this when she is scared.
“You must focus on your lessons.” His words came out distant, as though someone else was saying them. “If you are to be a proper lady, you must learn all the skills one needs. That is the only way you will succeed in life.”
It is the only thing that will keep you safe. He took a step into the room, and Phoebe clutched her drawing more tightly to her chest, leaning further back in her chair.
You do not need to fear me. I will not take your drawing from you, not when it is the only thing that gives you comfort.
The words stuck in his throat, and he glanced down at the sheets of paper on the desk.
How could a child who brought paper to life—in paint, in pencil, in whatever she could get her hands on—struggle so with her letters?
“Your B lacks definition, and you must take greater care when dipping your quill – ink blots will undermine even the most well-crafted message.”
He was about to reach for the quill to demonstrate but saw her lean even further away. He stopped himself. He turned to Mrs. Morton. “You will demonstrate the proper technique, Mrs. Morton.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs. Morton curtseyed and moved towards Phoebe’s desk.
He glanced at the blackboard then down at the paper. “You must understand the motion of the lines – some will run to the left, some to the right as the hands on a clock. Then you have vertical lines, which are the simplest and finally letters that combine these.”
Theodore studied Phoebe’s face, hoping she would meet his gaze. She stayed gazing at the paper, nodding slowly, clutching the drawing to her chest. He felt a cold hand snake its fingers around his heart as he watched his niece shrink even further into herself.
“Perhaps it would be best to take a rest – a short one. Would you like to spend some time in the garden, Phoebe?” Theodore nodded his head towards the light streaming through the window.
Your indulgence will ruin the girl. His father’s voice, dripping with disdain, echoed through Theodor’s head. Phoebe met his eyes with her own, it was no more than a heartbeat, but that was all it took to drown out the voice.
Theodore stepped back and gestured for Phoebe to follow. Mrs. Morton fell into step beside him with Phoebe trailing behind. Theodore felt Mrs. Morton’s gaze on his face.
“A problem, Mrs. Morton?” he kept his voice low so that Phoebe would not hear.
Mrs. Morton hesitated, chewing her bottom lip.
“I would not presume to question your judgement Your Grace. While it would not be my preference to disrupt Lady Phoebe’s schedule, I can see the logic.
She does have a deep love of nature. Perhaps I can spark her interest in writing with the promise of learning more about flowers. ”
“Botany is useful, though she will need other skills if she is to secure her future.” Theodore nodded and glanced over his shoulder as they walked into the garden. I will not let my sister down again.
He watched as Phoebe moved a little way away from them, making a beeline for the flowers as he knew she would. He turned to face Mrs. Morton, who clasped her hands together.
“I had hoped that relating more things to plants might help her take a greater interest in her lessons. And while she loves to draw flowers, when it comes to writing or anything else for that matter, it is a real struggle to get her to do it.” Mrs. Morton shook her head.
“She is clever, that much is clear, she can learn.”
“It is simply a question of will.” Theodore ran a hand through his hair.
Out of the corner of his eye, Theodore saw movement. Phoebe was standing near an ivy-covered tree, peering through it as though looking at something. He frowned, taking a step towards her.
He saw a flash of blue, and his heart sped up. Someone was on the grounds, and they were far too close to his niece for comfort. He moved silently, arching around so that he would approach the trespasser unseen.
As Theodore rounded the corner, he saw a woman wearing a pale blue dress, peering back at his niece. Her long brown hair peeked out from beneath a blue sunhat.
“I do not take kindly to trespassers.” His voice was cool and distant. “Explain why an unaccompanied woman is sneaking around my estate.”
The woman whipped round, her cheeks a delicate shade of scarlet.
Her eyes reminded him of the rich green of high summer.
He inhaled, the cool autumn breeze faded into a gentle summer rustle, the world growing brighter around him.
On his exhale, it vanished thought the brightness remained. He frowned.
“I… You… I did not mean to… I…” The woman swallowed. “I was invited… Well… more or less.”
“More or less?” Theodore arched an eyebrow at her. “One is either invited somewhere or one is not. As this is my estate, and I have no idea who you are, I doubt I extended any invitation to you.”
“You are Theodore, Duke of Irondale?” The woman’s face paled, her green eyes widening as a strand of hair fell across her face.
Theodore felt a mad urge to brush it from her face. Deliberately, he clasped his hands behind his back as he inclined his head towards her. “I am. And you are a trespasser.”
“I… I wanted to… I wanted to find the person who wrote this.” She held out a hand towards him, an all too familiar sketch clasped in it.
Theodore’s heart swooped as he saw the sketch in the woman’s hands and recognized one of the many, many notes he had left.
Before he could say anything, Phoebe rushed towards the stranger—rather, she rushed towards the sketch, her eyes ablaze, a smile on her face so broad that it made his chest ache.
He watched as his niece stopped just in front of the woman, her eyes going from her to the sketch. The woman smiled at Phoebe and to Theodore’s surprise, Phoebe’s smile did not vanish. It broadened.
“Do you like my art?” The woman asked, kneeling down beside Phoebe.
Theodore expected his niece to retreat, but she did not. “Yes.”
It was the first word he had heard her utter in days. The woman glanced towards him and then at Phoebe. “I do not think you are the one who wrote this note, but once I have found that person, you may have this.”
“You have found him.” Theodore fought to keep his excitement from building, schooling his face into cool neutrality. “And you are a year late.”