“I’ll travel to Graywood as soon as I can to inspect the estate, then I’ll visit the other sites.” He tapped the ledger Roker had given him with his forefinger. “This shows a few failings recently. The income from the farms is down, and rents are up. Is there any reason for that?”

Roker and Carlisle exchanged a glance, but John couldn’t tell from the quick glance what they meant. Collaboration? He and Pilkington had come to some conclusions in the last few days, and both agreed bringing the steward and the man of business together might prove interesting.

“Times were hard in the war years,” Carlisle said, “And a couple of poor harvests hit our earnings badly.”

“Did the mines flood?” At Carlisle’s stare of incomprehension, John added, “The coal mines. You do supervise those as part of the holdings, don’t you?”

“Yes.” After a pause Carlisle added, “Sir.”

John gave no indication he’d registered the insolent second’s silence. “I understand demand for coal is rising, not falling. So were the mines flooded? Some other disaster, perhaps?”

“We had a series of small incidents. And the mines are deep ones, taking more expense to excavate.”

John didn’t believe that, but when he glanced at Pilkington, his agent gave a slight shake of his head. One lie. Roker didn’t respond to the mendacious answer, but surely he should know it was a lie? “I thought prices were improving.”

“It’s an expensive mine,” Roker put in before Carlisle could answer. “Deep and dangerous to work. Keeping it safe costs a great deal.” John had more than one mine. He had a map with their locations plotted out, or had Carlisle forgotten those lessons twenty years ago? John had spent a week poring over the plans, then he’d been sent north to investigate them, an experience he’d never forgotten. He wondered if Carlisle had undertaken the same exhaustive investigation.

“We should have had this meeting some time ago, but matters conspired against us,” he said, deliberately avoiding Carlisle’s eyes.

He wanted the let the man know his displeasure. “I want you to take me through these figures and give me the state of affairs of the Graywood earldom.” He’d remember what they said, but just in case, he pulled out a notebook from the top drawer of his desk and opened it, prepared to take notes. Pilkington did the same.

“Last year’s profits appear remarkably low,” he said coolly,

“Although the ledger remains in the black.” Barely.

“That is when the expenses are removed,” Roker put in. “The town house is not cheap, and the late earl insisted every estate was kept in readiness in case he wished to stay there.”

And so it went on. For each issue he brought up, they had a ready excuse. The mines were too deep to yield a good profit, and a series of disasters had depleted them even more. The crops had a series of bad years, disease attacking the harvest. A ship had sunk with cargo on board, reducing the investment. Companies they’d invested in had failed.

Nobody could be that unlucky. And yet, the estate made just enough profit to run the houses. Enough to prevent anyone asking too many questions.

Just when John thought he might roar with rage, someone tapped at the door and John bade him enter. The footman crossed the room and gave him a card on a tray. After John informed him he wasn’t at home, the footman left.

Nobody had called. The card was John’s own, given to the footman to bring in as the pre-arranged signal that this meeting had served its purpose. John never expected to get much from either Roker or Carlisle, at least nothing that would help him resolve the current situation.

Much to his relief he got to his feet and the others followed suit.

He’d said everything he wanted to and mildly accepted their increasingly feeble excuses. It didn’t escape his notice that his steward’s expression lifted as he got to his feet and bowed. He claimed his illness had made him weak and he just wanted to return to bed when John made a solicitous enquiry after his health. Luckily not in this house. With Faith’s permission, he was staying at Red Lion Square.

Did she miss her previous life, with her quiet circle of friends and a social life that didn’t depend on making powerful connections? He’d taken her away from the life she’d made for herself and plunged her into something she’d not been ready for.

Now he bade fair to immerse her into the scandal of the season, one they couldn’t answer with simple denial. Like the hydra, as soon as one head was lopped off, another appeared to take its place.

He sighed.

Come to that, he didn’t particularly want this, either. The notion of living with Faith in the small but comfortable house in Red Lion Square struck him as paradise right now.

However, this life had its compensations. He was not about to cavil at living at one of the best addresses in London and his new ability to command respect, although not, sadly, by all people.

“I think we have gone as far as we can today, gentlemen.” He glanced at Pilkington. “Although, Thomas, I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss the vessel ‘ Good Fortune’ with you before you leave.”

No such ship existed, and Pilkington knew it. The ruse was merely an excuse for Pilkington to remain behind without unduly raising the suspicions of the two other men.

After the steward and Roker had left John rolled his shoulders, shucking off a responsibility he didn’t want in the first place. He crossed to the sideboard and unlocked the tantalus, before pouring them both a generous measure of brandy. “So what do you think?”

Thomas accepted a tumbler of amber liquid with a word of thanks. “They seemed equally guilty. If there is something nefarious going on, then they are complicit. They supported each other’s stories, and they had the lies straight. But don’t forget, they could have brought this sad state of affairs about by good old-fashioned incompetence.”

John resumed his seat and took a restorative draught of brandy.

“Something is definitely wrong with the earldom. Whether it is through incompetence or fraud remains for us to discover.” He took another sip, the liquid warming its way to his stomach. “A certain amount of incompetence is definitely involved. They didn’t research me, or you for that matter, and discover exactly who they were dealing with. That, to my mind, is crass stupidity. Who goes into a business meeting with less than all the information they can muster? But I believe wilful deception is involved also.”

“Call it what it is.” Thomas put his empty tumbler on the desk.

“Fraud. You could have them hanged for it.”

The thought left John strangely unmoved. “I may decide to ruin them instead, if that’s true. Much worse. I will uncover everything they did and call them to account. Soon. The rumour they’re spreading about the death of the brothers could be dangerous if allowed to continue for much longer.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “We need proof, otherwise our names will be mud. For myself I care little. Why should I care about a family that openly despised me and only put up with me because it was expected? I’m fortunate I didn’t need them. However, there are employees who will be put out of work and my wife—she doesn’t deserve this.” The thought choked him. He wanted nothing but pleasure to come Faith’s way from now on.

“It’s more than that,” Thomas remarked. “You have a decided partiality for Lady Graywood, my friend. Could it be you’re in love?”

John laughed and then paused, broke off his contemplation of the sharp cuts incised into his brandy tumbler. Could it? Could his old colleague be right?

He hadn’t thought about it before. Love? He’d never considered it. He respected her, of course, and he cared for her. However, he didn’t know what love was. He couldn’t see it, couldn’t define it. So how could he ever know for sure?

The knock at the door came as a relief, because he disliked thinking about matters beyond his ability to control or describe.

He’d believed his relationship with Faith a welcome one. She was a delightful bed companion, loyal and an asset socially. They made a good team, but love?

They could only see the footman who entered from the waist down. The huge pile of tomes he held rose above his head and obscured the rest of him. “My lord, there are more.”

He gave Thomas a half smile. “Bring them in,” he said to the footman. “All of them.”

Five minutes later they contemplated the stack of ledgers the footman had laid on the floor, the desk being too full and no other surface large enough. “Our strategy seems to have succeeded rather well.”

Relieved Roker kept the books at his office and not locked away somewhere, John studied the piles of heavy tomes with a frown.

“We must give Burrows a bonus.”

“I will. He’ll make partner one day.”

While Thomas and John had kept Roker and Carlisle busy here with their interminable questions, they’d sent Burrows to Roker’s offices with a note of authority. When Roker returned to his establishment, all hell would break loose there because John had every single ledger relating to the Graywood estate transferred here.

John heartily wished he could be there to see the fuss.

He would deny Roker and Carlisle access to the house unless he gave explicit permission for them to enter it. Work to do.

He removed his coat and tossed it carelessly over the back of the chair before he rolled up his sleeves and gave a happy sigh. At last, real work, something he understood. “I’ll tell them to inform callers I’m not at home, then get to it. Once we’ve established a pattern, we can pick it up in previous years, but I foresee a few days’ hard work until we do that.”