“Harvey. Sit.” Oscar gestured at the visitor’s chair, then sat behind his desk with an air of reluctant command.
The solicitor produced a ledger and a sheaf of crisp documents. “I have prepared the summaries you requested, Your Grace. All properties within a day’s ride of London, with full inventoriesand maps.” He set the stack between them. “I took the liberty of including the Westmoreland parcels, in case you require greater seclusion.”
Oscar leafed through the topmost folio, forcing himself to attend. The lists were comprehensive: square footage, tenant history, water quality, and even the provenance of each stand of trees. Every property was itemized as if he might be called upon to defend it in a court of law.
“Thank you, Harvey,” Oscar said. “You have outdone yourself. Again.”
“It is my pleasure,” Harvey replied, in a tone that suggested it was anything but.
Oscar scanned the summaries, cross-referenced in his mind with his own memories. The Cambridge estate was too remote; the Cornish property too bleak. Of the London houses, only the one on Hanover Square met his standards for security and privacy, but he doubted Nancy would consent to live within half a mile of Parliament.
He set the papers aside. “None of these will do,” he said.
Harvey’s left eyebrow crept up. “None, Your Grace?”
“They are sufficient for an ordinary wife and family,” Oscar said, “but not for Nancy. Or the twins.” He said the words as if tasting them for the first time. “If you recall, the arrangement is fortwo months’ cohabitation, after which the Duchess may take up residence elsewhere, provided the children are comfortable and safe.”
Harvey nodded. “I recall.”
Oscar steepled his hands. “If I am to relinquish the children to another household, it must be practical.”
Harvey considered. “You wish me to locate a suitable property, or build one to your specifications?”
“Both,” Oscar said. “Begin at once. Spare no expense.”
Harvey’s eyes glinted. “Of course, Your Grace.” He made a note in his ledger, then cleared his throat. “If I may?—”
Oscar waved him on.
“There are more immediate matters,” Harvey said. “The Duchess has requested additional funds for the running of Scarfield Manor. The nursery in particular. And the kitchen staff.”
Oscar frowned. “Is there a deficit?”
Harvey shrugged. “Only the usual sort. The cook’s gout, the stable master’s debts, the cost of feeding two children who, by all reports, possess the appetites of wolves.”
Oscar allowed himself a rare smile. “Authorize whatever the Duchess deems necessary. She is mistress here, not I.”
Harvey made another note. “It shall be done.” He waited, perhaps hoping for more instructions, but Oscar was already lost in thought.
The solicitor gathered his things, bowed, and departed with the efficiency of a man who had mastered the art of leaving.
Oscar slumped in his chair, the weight of the empty room pressing in. He supposed he should have felt lighter, having at least made some tangible progress toward securing the twins’ future. But instead, he was hollow, as if each act of prudence only served to deepen the void inside him.
He brooded for a while, then stood and circled the room again. He paused at the piano, running his hand over the keys without pressing a single one. He could almost hear Nancy’s laughter, could almost see the way her face lit up when she was in her element. He could also remember, with mortifying clarity, the moment her eyes shuttered and all warmth drained away.
He ran a hand through his hair, then strode to the bell pull and summoned the housekeeper. There was nothing for it but action. If he were to mend things with Nancy—and, by extension, the children—he would need to do more than brood and purchase real estate.
Mrs. Tullock appeared, brisk as ever, hands folded in front of her. “Your Grace.”
“I require your assistance,” Oscar said. “Something out of the ordinary.”
Her eyebrows barely moved, but he sensed her skepticism. “Of course, Your Grace.”
He leaned in, and outlined his instructions in a low voice. As he spoke, Mrs. Tullock’s eyes widened, then narrowed, then—at the end—gleamed.
“I will see to it at once,” she said, and departed.
If anyone had told Nancy that a duchess’s life consisted of forty percent staring at ledgers and sixty percent staring at the wall while mustering the will to tackle said ledgers, she would have believed them instantly.
