Her brows drew down, and fine dark brows they were too. Nicely arched, a little heavier than was fashionable. As she rustled closer, he considered that she wasn’t so much annoyed with him as she was flustered.

“Does nobody hold your chair, Mrs. Hatfield? Mr. Hatfield has much to answer for.”

She sat as regally as a cat settling onto a velvet cushion, tidied the blank paper into a stack, and took up the pencil. “Mr. Hatfield is none of your concern, Your Grace. Tell me about your situation and spare no details. My discretion is absolute, and I gather the situation is becoming urgent.”

The situation, in Rex’s opinion, had passed urgent some time ago. If his instincts were to be trusted, and they generally were, the situation now qualified as dire.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Rex began a recitation of the family’s history, which as far as titleholders were concerned, went back for three dreary centuries. The previous Elsmore peers had had a knack for coming down on the right side of political dramas, which had started them off with an earldom, and then seen them elevated to ducal honors. By then, the family had founded the Dorset and Becker Savings and Trust, though the Dukes of Elsmore had known better than to keep exclusive control of the institution in their own hands.

Other venerable families had shares in the bank, allowing Rex’s ancestors to retreat to the gentility of directorships and quarterly meetings. Younger sons and cousins involved themselves in the business as employees. Thus the institution remained a family venture, and solved the conundrum of what to do with spares and relations unsuited for the church or the military.

“This arrangement has served us well,” Rex said, “and also served the bank well.”

Mrs. Hatfield scratched away with her pencil for a moment. “If your books aren’t balancing, then some aspect of the dukedom is not in good repair. Somewhere in your ledgers, a cross-tally isn’t done, a series of entries is not verified. Bookkeeping is both an art and a science, and yours has fallen into disrepair.”

She spoke gently, as if diagnosing him with a serious illness.

“The problem is doubtless minor,” Rex replied, “but over time, small amounts can add up. The Dukes of Elsmore have always had a sterling reputation, as has any financial institution we take an interest in. I am determined to uphold that tradition.”

An auditor ought not to have such pretty eyes. Mrs. Hatfield peered over her spectacles, looking like a solemn little owl, except that an owl’s eyes didn’t slant like a cat’s, or shade toward a velvety chocolate. Nor did an owl have a capacity to appear concerned over a few missing quid.

“How did you first notice something amiss, Your Grace?”