“Why?” At this rate, they’d be searching all the way back to conquering Guillaume for blasted clues.
“Because it feels significant, Giles. Anything out of character or vastly different from the norm is always significant—and your cold father falling in love is about as vastly different from his norm as it was possible to be. Besides, you put me in charge, and I say it is.”
“I really didn’t.” But he still leaned to retrieve the ledger she’d requested and passed it over. She frowned at the slim size of it.
“Is this part of a set?”
Giles checked and shook his head. “By the looks of things, going backward from ’94 they are all much smaller. They used a different stationer perhaps?”
Diana did a quick flick through it and huffed as she slammed it shut. “This is apparently just the Grosvenor Square accounts. There has to be another for everything else.” She glared at him as if he were a half-wit who had given her the wrong book, so he slid the whole pile over to her.
“This is everything going back to 1788 when the twenty-fifth duke died. I left all the older ledgers back in Grosvenor Square but I can assure you they all look like this.”
She went from book to book discarding each with growing impatience until she decided to have one of her eureka moments. “Your father lived predominantly in Shropshire before you were born! It’s all there! It has to be there!”
“Which is all well and good, but we are here.”
“Then you must race to Shropshire to dig there, Giles.”
“I don’t have your eye, Diana.” Would it be too much to ask her to accompany him? Presumptuous, certainly. Improper, definitely, so he forced a smile. “But if you give me some pointers, I shall try my best.” And if he failed—when he failed—at least he could say he tried.
“Giles, I…” She chewed her lip and he saw the guilt war with indecision. He shook his head.
“I know. You cannot come. It’s all right. Really it is.”
“Sorry to interrupt, Your Grace.” Dalton’s head poked around the door. “But Lord Fareham is here to see you.”
“Hugh is here?” His surprised gaze locked with Diana’s mortified one. “And you let him in?”
“He is your best friend. I could hardly leave him stood on the doorstep like Gervais, now, could I? But I had the good sense to put him in the drawing room out of harm’s way.”
“He cannot see me here!” Diana stood then started to twitch and flap. “They think I’m at the newspaper! They are sending the carriage to the newspaper!”
“He cannot possibly see you in here, so calm down. Hugh is miles away in the drawing room.” To call him a liar, Dalton winced from his lookout point at the door as Hugh’s boots clicked toward them.
Diana’s eyes widened as she snatched up her shawl and reticule, then dashed toward the French doors. But instead of escaping out of one of them like any sensible person would, she hid herself behind one of the curtains. Quite badly, in Giles’s humble opinion, because the toes of her turquoise slippers clashed as they poked beneath the heavy red velvet drapes.
“What the blazes are you doing in here?” Hugh wandered in and surveyed the organized chaos on the floor.
“Still trying to fathom the duke’s accounting system.” Realizing there was nothing to be done about Diana and her slippers, Giles circled the mess so his friend had to have his back to her to face him. “But I think I have finally cracked it. At least here I have. The shambles in Shropshire is another matter.”
His friend pointed to the two steaming cups of tea on the tray. “Have I called at a bad time? Were you expecting company? Or do you have company?” Hugh sniffed the air where Diana’s peachy fragrance still lingered and grinned. “Have I interrupted a romantic tête-à-tête with one of your game ladies?”
“Not at all, old chap.” His toes began to curl in his own bootsas the curtains fidgeted. “One of those teas is for drinking and the other is for dunking.” To prove that, he picked up a shortbread finger and plunged it into Diana’s cup. “That way, all the dunking sludge remains in this cup while the other is sludge-free. Don’t you just hate a chewy beverage? And speaking of beverages—Dalton, you slacker, go and make a fresh pot. Hugh and I will take it in the drawing room, where we are going to need more biscuits.”
“One for drinking and one for dunking, ay? In a strange sort of way that makes sense.” Hugh shrugged, picked up the spare cup, and took a sip, and because he had clearly decided to remain here in the ballroom for the duration rather than out the door where Giles was gesturing, plonked his behind on the tallest pile of thick ledgers. “I thought I’d stop by and say cheerio as we all leave for Hampshire in the morning. We could have postponed it if you had told us you were coming home for Christmas—but alas, you came too late and my mother had already made countless dreary plans. You still have an open invitation, of course, if you fancy a jaunt south.”
“Sadly, Shropshire calls and I’ll be leaving tomorrow myself.” Maybe. Maybe not. There was every chance he could be taking a one-way jaunt to Newgate instead if Gervais had beaten him to the truth. Shackled in chains and stripped of everything, hisDirty Secretand rattling skeletons daubed over every newspaper. Despite the acid that very real prospect churned, he smiled at his friend. “I suppose I shall see you for the christening?”
“Yes… Yes… All a bit daunting. I keep waking up in the night in a cold sweat at the thought of impending fatherhood. Who’d have thought it? Me? As a role model. I pray the child is born with Minerva’s good sense because if the poor thing is likeme…” Hugh blew out a slow breath. “But I suppose it’s the way of things. We all have to grow up and eventually settle down. I mean look at you. You’re a sensible duke now and…” It was his uncomfortable smile that set alarm bells ringing.
“What’s wrong?” Because something clearly was.
“I also wanted to talk to you about Diana.” The teacup clattered in its saucer and Hugh stood, cringing. “I was sent to talk to you about Diana. About your intentions toward her.”
“My intentions?” The turquoise toes shuffled awkwardly, and Giles forced himself to ignore them.
“We’re both men of the world. Have both sown more than our share of wild oats and… well.” Hugh groaned and he ran his hand over his face. “Normally I wouldn’t interfere in your affairs, but Diana is family and Minerva wants to be reassured that if you have any intentions toward her sister, they are noble. Especially after what apparently happened under the mistletoe the other day.”
