Mrs. Hatfield’s gaze bore into him with the thou-art-doomed implacability of a cat beholding a caged canary. “Then have a look at their wardrobes, Your Grace. Trouble yourself to wander into their dressing closets at the odd hour, and seek out the last three dresses for which you have paid. If that is beneath your consequence, have a word with the lady’s maids. They are typically given cast-off clothing to sell, and they know their mistress’s wardrobes quite well.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The notion that I’m to skulk about, spying on my sisters, attributing nefarious schemes to them and to my dear mother is insupportable.”

Mrs. Hatfield folded her arms. “The notion that you’d rather be stolen from than attempt a discreet inventory of a single wardrobe suggests the problem is your pride rather than family honor.”

The throbbing at Rex’s temples became an anvil chorus, some of which involved self-recrimination for that pride. “Do you never give quarter? Never show mercy?”

She smiled. Not a grudging quirk of her lips that masked impatience, but an impish, self-satisfied smirk that lit her eyes with mischief.

“I am showing mercy, you daft man. I’m starting with the harmless, predictable adjustments women make to maintain some control over their funds. When you can take that medicine without complaint, we’ll move on to more troubling symptoms.”

Clearly, she wasn’t troubled by sororal pilfering. “This is harmless and predictable? Misrepresenting what funds are used for? Pocketing coin in secret?”

“The only person from whom the scheme has been kept secret is likely yourself. The modiste can resell the dresses, and the clients returning the merchandise give the same shop their considerable legitimate custom. Think of this as a banking system for the ladies, and nothing you fellows need concern yourselves about.”

“What use have my sisters for ready coin?”

The humor faded from her gaze. “The coin is only part of it, for most women. The possession of independent funds, the exercise of ingenuity necessary to amass those funds, the use of relative invisibility not as an insult but as an asset, that’s the heart of the transaction.”

I cannot recall what my sisters wore to breakfast…

“Let’s assume the scheme is ongoing,” Rex said. “The sums involved must be modest, and if I arrive to a family meal blind to my own siblings, then they deserve to dip an occasional hand into my pocket in compensation.”

Mrs. Hatfield rose and went to the sideboard, rummaging in its cupboards. “What or who has given you yet another headache?”

My family. “How can you tell?”

“Your eyes. They aren’t…Usually, you look out on the world with a benevolent tolerance. You are annoyed today.” She set out a mug and crushed some dried herb or other into a strainer, then swung the kettle from the fireplace and poured steaming water into the mug.

She passed him the brew.