“Perhaps Your Grace would like to join me for a bite to eat,” Ballentyre said, stumping along beside Rex. “We’re always pleased to see our directors on the premises, of course, and Your Grace especially, but one does grow peckish.”

When had Ballentyre become so rotund and so lame?

“Elsmore.” Cousin Howell stood in the doorway to an office, a ledger book clutched to his middle as if it protected his modesty. “Good day.”

“Howell, good day.”

Ballentyre was eating too well, while Howell looked skinny and anxious. Rex noticed these attributes and saw them as reasons for suspicion, which was more of Eleanora’s influence. Howell’s wages were generous. Why shouldn’t he be eating well and dressing a bit more fashionably? Ballentyre’s means weren’t that lavish. Why would he be in a position to indulge gluttony?

“Was there something you wanted, Elsmore?” Howell asked, setting his ledger aside. “I’m not aware of any directors’ meetings today.” He fluffed his cravat and shot his cuffs, neither of which sported any lace.

“I want to see how my bank is doing, Howell.” I want to get off my ducal backside and notice what’s right in front of my face, lest Eleanora be ashamed of me.

Ballentyre stared at the worn carpet.

Howell looked past Elsmore’s shoulder. “Well, you do have an office here. Don’t let me stop you from occupying it.”

James happened by, also attired for the elements. Did a bank manager really need a silver-handled walking stick?

“Are we having a meeting?” he asked. “Elsmore, will you join Ballie and me for lunch? Howell, you should come along as well, and I’ll see if Eddie is free.”

I did not come here to socialize or be press-ganged into another family gathering. “I must decline, but please enjoy your meal.”

“Ballie?” James gestured with his walking stick. “Shall we?”

“’Deed we shall, sir. ’Deed we shall. Your Grace, good day.” He toddled off, James at his side.

“Do they take lunch together frequently?” Rex asked Howell. Not a pairing he would have anticipated.

“Mostly on Saturdays. Eddie sometimes goes with them.”

“And where is dear Edward?”

Howell sidled back into his office. “Why all the questions, Elsmore?”

Rex followed him, because a man’s professional space could say a lot about him. Eleanora would have read Howell’s office like a theater program—who mattered to him, what mattered, his aspirations and frustrations…

Howell took the seat behind the desk. Correspondence was neatly stacked on the blotter, the ink was capped, the pens trimmed and laid tidily in their tray.

“Rachel and Samantha have attracted the notice of potential suitors,” Rex said.

“My cousins are lovely women,” Howell replied. “Of course they have devoted followers. What has that to do with you lurking in corridors and interrogating me about Eddie?”

“Where is he?”