“Please have a seat,” she said, lest he resurrect that battle when they had work to do.

He took a chair from the conference table and set it before the desk. “About our problem.”

“Send the books with a footman,” Ellie said. “I will keep a list of questions, and you can either send me written answers or drop by when your schedule allows. Daily would be best, or even twice a day.”

The tea was piping hot and strong without being bitter. Elsmore had added the perfect portion of sugar and milk, too, or perhaps the novelty of being served by a duke made the brew especially satisfying.

“You take yours plain?” Ellie asked.

“Sometimes plain is best. I cannot entrust my books to a footman.”

“Why not?”

He crossed his legs, making the chair creak. “Because I never have. If I’m to conduct this audit discreetly, then the last thing I should do is draw notice by violating my personal routines. I bring a wage book with me to my club on occasion, or a quarter’s worth of the housekeeper’s accounts out to Ambledown if I’m biding there for a few days. You have asked for every single household ledger I possess, going back at least a year.”

He closed his eyes and took a sip of tea. This morning, he was without flirtation, charm, or humor, and that should have been a relief. Auditing ducal books was not a lark. And yet that other version of Elsmore, full of small talk and smiles, had been easier to spend time with.

Ellie could be annoyed with a charming duke. A weary, beleaguered duke was an unsettling companion.

“You’d rather not deliver your account books to this location?” Ellie asked.

“The largest problem is the location. Wentworth and Penrose is a rival institution, and if I’m seen bringing my books to a lengthy appointment here day after day, talk will ensue. Neither your bank nor mine wants talk, and gossip would be a fine recompense to your employers for their generous assistance.”

My generous assistance. Ellie pushed the plate of shortbread toward his side of the desk. “And the rest of the problem?” Something bothered him, possibly something beyond his havey-cavey, harum-scarum account books.

“My complete, utter, and unrelenting lack of privacy.”

“I don’t understand. You are a duke. You wave a manicured, be-ringed hand and the realm orders itself accordingly. Everything from the King’s spending money to the poor laws to the courts organizes itself at your whim and pleasure.”

He pushed the shortbread back to her side of the desk, using a hand that bore not a single ring. “Is that what Walden would have you believe?”

Ellie took a piece. Breakfast had been bread and butter several hours ago. “His Grace is not a typical exponent of his rank.”