Page 71 of His Wife, the Spy
“It must be a weight,” she said. “My father found one estate a chore.”
Jasper had two if he didn’t count the estate in Norfolk, which he didn’t because Uncle Augustus wasn’t dead yet. And even after he was, Cousin Amelia and Richard would be looking after it. He’d have three after Edgar died.
What am I going to do with more houses?
“Is that how you came to understand ledgers?” he asked.
“Numbers always made sense to me. Though we weren’t taught much more than how not to overspend what husbands would allow us, the principles for budgets are the same. The sums may be larger, but the mathematics involved don’t change.” She walked away from him to snip an errant sprout. “It’s easy to find truth in numbers.”
Jasper followed her. He’d learned long ago that he discovered more when he was quiet. People said things without saying them, or when they were saying something else. The way they held their bodies or spoke their word choices were telling. Annabel’s choice oftruthspoke volumes.
“You’re the one who discovered your father’s debts?”
She nodded. “It took time, tracking down things he’d sold at bargains, and invoices that were paid late. There were improvements he’d listed but never made, and investments he’d purchased from fraudsters and thieves.” She pulled a weed with such vehemence that she beheaded it.
Perhaps shewouldhave made a good spy. “What did you do?”
“I confronted him with the differences between his ledger and the one I’d translated using his records. He’d become so wrapped up in his schemes, he didn’t even know how broke we were.” She dropped to her knees to dig out the remainder of the intruder. “Why would he do that? It never made sense that he would lie to himself.”
“Lenders review our accounts before they loan money,” Jasper said. “It’s usually a formality, especially if you have a title and an estate. No one would investigate past the last few pages.”
No one but a daughter who was determined to learn the truth. Jasper lifted her to her feet and took her trowel. She had done enough work today.
“He said reading through ledgers and doing sums wasn’t asuitablepastime for a lady.”
Jasper’s ears twitched. “You don’t like that word, do you? Suitable.”
Annabel’s steps slowed. “Almost as much as you likeyour lordship.”
He understoodhisaversion. He wanted to understand hers. “Why?”
“It means I’ve met a mark but not exceeded it. I’m goodenough, smartenough,prettyenough.” Her tone sharpened. “You buy a cart horse becauseshe’ll do. You buy a racehorse because she captivates you, and you consider her valuable.”
I need a suitable wife.He’d meant it as a compliment. She’d heardcart horse. And now he had her managing his household and handling his correspondence. And cuddling against him in the middle of the night.
Does she consider everything I ask of her a job?
A houseboy appeared at the gap to the hedges. He whipped off his hat and gave a bow that reminded Jasper of a broken toy. “Visitors, your lordship.”
Assassins likely wouldn’t show themselves in the middle of the day. Still, Jasper kept Annabel close as they walked toward the house. Frederick walked at a safe but respectful distance, his rifle at the ready.
This was their current truth, and none of them had to say a word about it. However, the longer the silence stretched, the more Jasper’s skin crawled with the impression someone other than Frederick was watching his back. If he felt that way, Annabel certainly must.
Stapleton met them at the door. “Lady Lambourn and Mr. Yarwood are in the library, Lord Ramsbury.”
Mother would never leave the girls unattended at a house party unless something had happened, and Kit would have never let her travel alone. This was bad news. “Thank you, Stapleton.”
It was only a few steps to the library, but Annabel took his hand before they reached the door. Her fingers warmed his icy ones, but the warmth crept deeper still. At every other critical point in his life, he’d been alone. Even when there were other people in the room, they were not the ones to bear the responsibilities that followed.
He wasn’t alone any longer.
They entered the library together. Mother, in black, had taken the chair farthest from the windows. She held a crumpled handkerchief to the corner of one red-rimmed eye. Kit, on theother end of the room, paced from wall to wall, head down and deep in thought.
Jasper went to his mother first and curved his free hand around her shoulder. “The girls are fine, yes?” The words almost choked him. Having Annabel in the path of assassins had brought home how dangerous his foes could be to those around him. A house party wouldn’t have a rifleman on the roof.
“They’re fine.” She patted his hand. “Having a wonderful time. Mrs. Linden was kind enough to step in so I could leave.” Her tears began anew. “Edgar has died.”
Jasper hadn’t spent much time with his uncle as an adult, not after his exile to the countryside and his stubborn refusal to repent and reform. What he remembered most was a man with a laugh that was too large for his body, his mother’s favorite sibling in a family she loved to a fault. “I’m sorry, Mum.”
