Page 42 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
Spencer considered for a moment before nodding. “My finances are healthy, but I wish to keep such activity more discreet. Perhaps under a false name. Do you offer such services?”
Elias swallowed and nodded. “I do. All very quietly, of course.”
“Of course.” Spencer nodded, playing along. “I would hate to be caught losing a bet, you see. It would be horrid for my reputation.”
He pretended to pick his nails, nothing but a young duke wanting to avoid the humiliation of losing anything.
“You can choose an alias,” Elias assured him. “But first let me serve you some tea, Your Grace. While I prepare it, please feel free to think of a name you would like to use.”
He left quickly, not wanting to keep a duke waiting.
Spencer wasted no time at all, hurrying to the other side of the desk and sifting through papers.
Thomas had said that the transactions were recent. Surely Elias would still be sorting through those records. He scanned the entries, one ear strained for the heavy tread of the accountant’s footsteps. He skimmed over several names he recognized, but they were all clean accounts. Nothing but business.
He growled in frustration, not wanting to leave with a dead end behind him. Surely there had to be?—
Ah.
He stopped, marking a spot in the open ledger before him.
He—r—Lewis—llet.
It must have been a full name, but it had been partially scratched out. The name was matched to a transaction marked asmedical suppliescoming into London. The shipment was routed to a minor dockyard that Spencer knew was more secluded than most. Southgate Dockyard.
He committed it all to memory and was back in his chair by the time Elias came in with a cup of tea and set it before him.
“Did you think of a name, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” he said.
His mind briefly wandered to the library at Everdawn, where he had been surprised by a wild, brown-eyed woman who had risked so much to warn her friend. A woman who could not think fast enough on her feet.
Spencer felt a smile curve his mouth.
“Open an account in the name of Lord Oakwood.”
When the Duke still had not returned by the late afternoon, Eleanor looked for another way to keep herself busy. As she entered her room, she found Frances preparing her gown for dinner that evening.
“It does not look as though His Grace will return for dinner,” she noted, a hint of frustration in her voice. “Does he often disappear for so long without a word?”
“His Grace remains unpredictable and unquestioned, Your Grace,” Frances said cleverly.
They might not be able to question it, but Eleanor could—andwould.
“I wish to venture into Everdawn Village. The estate is beautiful, and the sun is not so harsh today. Will you accompany me?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Frances was on her feet in an instant.
Before long, Eleanor’s stomach was fluttering with nerves as she rode in the carriage toward the heart of Everdawn.
She did not know why she was so nervous. Perhaps she worried that the villagers would gossip about her like thetondid in London. They must have heard the rumors at some point, and she did not want to be judged by that.
When she ventured into the village, several heads turned to stare at her, but not in disgust or judgment. No, she was met with curious, interested looks. She met their eyes, receiving curtsies and bows once they realized who she was.
Everdawn Village looked like something out of an old fairytale. It had quaint buildings, and the shops crowded around a small fountain where children chased one another. A fiddler danced as he played, and older children laughed, following him, skipping in time with the tune.
The sun drew the villagers out, coaxing chatter and mirth. The scent of flowers and warm bread drifted to her nose, piquing her interest. Quickly, she scanned her surroundings, and her eyes landed on the bakery.
