Page 74 of Counting on Love

Reginald peered at her curiously but didn’t press her further. He picked up the novel and said, “If you’ll give me a sheet or two of paper from that pile and lend me back my pen, I’ll write out that summary.”

She passed him the paper and pen.

“How is your father?”

“Sleeping. Some draught Dr. Haraldsen gave him to stop the cough and put him to sleep. I’d rather…” he paused. “I’d rather think about something else.”

She nodded. Quietly they both set to their tasks, Reginald scribbling away, Georgiana running her finger down long columns of numbers, tallying them in her head.

She hadn’t been mistaken about there being oddities. In three of the years that she’d now checked—these evenly spaced across the years of the Earl’s rule—there was not only a discrepancy of thirty pounds per quarter, but there was an additional sum missing in the second quarter of each year, averaging about five pounds. The disturbing thing about this was that Georgiana had also checked the first five years after the Earl had ascended to the title. For the first four years, the numbers added up correctly, but there was a regular item listed as L.C. gift in the second quarter of the first three years that was in the range of five pounds, and in the fourth year there was a C.B. gift. Beginning with the fifth year, no second quarter “gift” was listed. There was no entry, but the money nevertheless disappeared.

Correlating with this, the Earl and Lady Iversley were married when the Earl was thirty-four. The following year, the annual Christmas balls began. That required a regular large outflow of just under one hundred pounds per year. This was easy to segregate out because each year—so far as she had checked—there were several lines of expenses, grouped together, in a fine, feminine hand: musicians, extra servants, food and wine, winter bouquets. These were tallied separately in the same lady’s hand. Georgiana could only assume that Lady Iversley took control of the ball from planning to execution. Reginald had said that ladies kept accounts. Perhaps he had been thinking of this in particular.

Well, it meant nothing yet. Except that there were no discrepancies—the numbers all added up—until the year of the first Christmas ball.

Georgiana paused, staring at the page, trying to think what it could mean. Her right hand lay lightly on the opened ledger, marking her place; her left was beside the book. She knew, without turning her head, that Reginald, too, had stopped to ponder. He set down the pen, then rested his hand, slightly curled, on the table a hair’s breadth from her own. They both sat still, intentionally motionless, very aware of one another.

Then his little finger straightened and touched hers.

Her breath caught. Was it accidental or on purpose? They were not gloved and a current of warmth seemed to flow between them. She didn’t dare move, fearing to break the connection. Every thought in her head, every conjecture, every calculation dissolved into nothingness. There was only this moment. She didn’t want it ever to end.

Very gently, very slowly, his pinky caressed hers.

Georgiana felt a bolt of pure bliss.

What she was feeling, he must be feeling too.

He pulled his hand away and rose from his chair. She could tell nothing from his expression. He stepped away, to the smaller niche, and gazed out the window into the rain. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

“I didn’t give away the ending. In case you do wish to read it.”

Olivia picked up the summary he’d written. His handwriting was clear and bold. But it was peppered with heavy underlining and numerous, sometimes tripled, exclamation marks. After reading a few lines, she laughed. She feared her laughter was a little shaky, but she pretended it wasn’t.

“I can hear Olivia’s voice in my head.”

He turned and smiled, but the smile looked more sad than amused.

“She’ll do most of the talking. You only have to agree with whatever she says.”

“Safer than challenging her, I suppose.”

And then they were quiet. Awkwardly so. Until he said, “Have you any more questions? About my family, I mean?”

“Maybe.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you know anyone with the initials L.C. or C.B?”

His brow wrinkled. Then he rubbed his nose and said, “Not that spring to mind. Why?”

“Probably nothing. I’m going to have to keep digging.”

“I’m sorry to put you through this.” His head drooped and he turned back to the window, one hand brushing back the curtain as if for a better view. “I never should have asked. It seems now…I don’t know. Unimportant. Unless—”

“Unless?”

“Unless there are payments that should still be made. A creditor. Maybe, well, it’s possible I suppose that the Earl made a bad investment. Do you see?” He spoke to his own reflection in the glass. “And he’s been paying it off. But Bradwell became ill, and the payments stopped.”

“Surely then there would be notices of some sort.”

Georgiana heard Reginald sniff, and, from behind, saw him shrug.

“I don’t suppose you could be concerned about blackmail,” she said, mostly joking but about five percent concerned.

He turned slowly around to face her again. “Blackmail?” He looked faintly amused. “The Earl?”

“I don’t know!” She smiled ruefully. “I’m reaching. But I feel as though I might be close.”

He laughed. “Not if you’re thinking of blackmail!” She couldn’t tell if he was diverted or frustrated or annoyed.

“Give me a few more hours,” she urged. She really did feel she was close. “I’ll have a better theory. If you’re worried there are outstanding bills that are hidden, I’ll look more closely at the most recent five years. Maybe I’ll see something there.”

He chewed his lip, then shook out the folds of the curtain beside him. “Can I do anything to help?”

“No. I need to concen—” She halted. The word would be a confession of how distracting she found him. “Concentrate,” she finished quietly.

He flushed. Then they both looked away.

“Well,” he said, “then I suppose I will see you at tea.”