Howell twisted a signet ring on his smallest finger. “I’m not sure. The tailor’s, the bootmaker’s. On sale days he sometimes wanders by Tatts. He frequently lunches at one of his clubs.”

Look for patterns, Eleanora had said, and Eddie was creating a pattern of inattention to his work. “He already has a matched pair of chestnuts and a riding horse. Why attend the sales at Tatts?”

Howell took off the ring and slipped it into his pocket. “You’ll have to ask him that. I am not my brother’s governess.”

The same unease Rex had felt when he’d poked his nose into the ducal accounts crept down his spine.

“I did not mean to imply that you were anybody’s governess.” Rex closed the door and took the chair opposite Howell’s desk. “Have you had occasion to stop by Wentworth and Penrose’s establishment lately?”

“I have not. Gentlemen don’t spy on other gentlemen.”

“I don’t propose that you spy, Howell. I propose that you remain alert to your surroundings, that you watch and you see, you listen and you hear…I’ve given the ducal estate books a good going over, because as soon as my sisters bring some hopeful swain up to scratch, the solicitors will descend like starlings on a crust of bread. I was not pleased at what I found.”

Howell took out his penknife—plain, no engraving on the handle—and put a finer point on a goose quill that hadn’t needed trimming. “What did you find?”

“I found a duke who is never too busy to stand up with one of the aunties’ regiment of goddaughters but who hasn’t a clue about the price of coal. That same duke squires his sisters about wherever they please to go but hadn’t realized the steward in Northumberland has all but gone blind. I have become complacent, Howell. I’m a titled footman ordered here and there by my family while I neglect the financial duties I have been charged to execute since my birth.”

Howell, rather than provide Rex with excuses and remonstrations, looked thoughtful. “You are somewhat under petticoat government, true enough.”

“And I love the ladies dearly, but if the family is to thrive, I also need to attend to my ledgers.”

Howell swept the trimmings into his palm and dumped them in the dustbin. “That is a bloody lot of ledgers, Elsmore.”

“The sooner I begin, the sooner I’ll know where we stand. Any recommendations for where I should start?”

“With mine,” Howell said, going to a cabinet beside the window. “I don’t mind telling you that Ballentyre has grown a bit lax, and I’m as prone to mistakes as any man.” He took out a pair of volumes bound in green leather. “I suspect we’d get better results from old Ballie if the review happened prior to his daily pilgrimage to the pub rather than after.”