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She broke off. His expression of concern made her stomach lurch. She realized she was twisting her hair and locked her hands together, forcing them down onto her lap.

“His Grace told you he would intercede with Mabeldon?” Mr. Yardley’s concern was for her. Mortification turned her to stone. The coach bumped over broken pavement, but she sat scarcely breathing, immovable.

Mr. Yardley sighed. “Perhaps he meant it. But he won’t follow through. And even if he did, he’s a pup. Lord Mabeldon won’t heed his yapping.”

His confidence devastated. Tears pricked her eyes. But she held them back.

“The buildings were condemned without inspection. Lord Mabeldon must listen. Someone is lying.”

“If that’s so, the board will discover it. But I will be the one to talk to Mabeldon. His Grace doesn’t understand the first thing about government. There’s a procedure with these kinds of charges. A special committee must be formed to investigate.”

He crossed his legs again. His suit was well cut. He was the bulky sort of man who ran to fat in later years. If he visited a less capable tailor, he might look portly.

“My offer to rehouse you stands,” he said. “Should the committee’s findings support the eviction.”

“They won’t!”

He blinked at her vehemence, then nodded.

“Of course not,” he said smoothly. “So, that’s all settled. Now, you ask, how can you help me? It’s simple—by helping His Grace.”

She was riveted despite herself.

“His Grace does not control his fortune. I control it.” Mr. Yardley brushed the lapel of his jacket absently as he spoke, as though minimizing his importance.

Don’t mind me. I simply control one of the largest fortunes in England.

“Before he died, his father came to the painful conclusion that full inheritance would lead to disaster, for Anthony, for the family, the dukedom. This may sound extreme, Miss Coover, but it is not. We had to sell a small island in Scotland to settle the debts of the first son.”

This we rang strangely in her ear. How intertwined had they been, Weston’s father and Yardley?

“George’s death outweighed all the debts, of course. Weston the elder couldn’t survive the loss of one son and his only daughter. It was too much for him.”

“But Lady Euphemia is alive.”

Mr. Yardley raised a pale brow. “His Grace told you that? She may be, but she may not be. She is—was—a girl bent on self-destruction. Perhaps you know that their mother died by her own hand? Such things are terrible legacies.”

She averted her face, looking out the window at the traffic, horse and pedestrian, the low brick houses. She could hop out and walk.

“I make the financial decisions. I run the household in London. I run the estates. Relieved of these responsibilities, His Grace might be attending to his moral character and learning the parliamentary process, as his father intended. Unfortunately, he is not. He could, if he followed the rules imposed upon him by the will, inherit at thirty.”

Lucy turned back. Mr. Yardley raked a hand through his thick hair, gingery white. She smiled crookedly.

“But he won’t inherit,” she said, watching Mr. Yardley’s face. “Or has he followed the rules?”

“An interesting question.” He rapped again on the bench with his knuckles. “The short answer is no. But the solicitors need more to go on if we’re to avoid a legal contest. And that is where you may be of help.”

“Oh?” She leaned back into her seat. Perhaps she would hop out. The coach was slowing in heavy traffic.

“No alcohol, not a drop. His Grace’s father was clear on that point. I have reason to believe His Grace has flouted that rule on any number of occasions. If not daily.”

Her heart began to hammer. “What reason is that?”

“I know His Grace. I’ve known him since he was a boy.”

She couldn’t help herself. “Then you know drink was never a devil for him, before all of this.” She waved her hand vaguely. What was this? Family tragedy, the burden of unexpected responsibility. “He was in the army,” she continued. “He fought in the war. He had that discipline.”

Heaven help her. Next thing she knew she’d be talking about his bloody heroism. Thank God Kate couldn’t hear it.