She brought him his greatcoat and held it up for him. “I do. Even I know that the mind needs periods of repose. Enjoy the theater.”

She passed him his scarf, then his gloves.

“Do you ever go—to the theater?”

“I do not,” she replied, picking up the cat. “I sometimes think about attending an opera, but the seats are dear, and it’s not a venue a woman can frequent on her own.”

“The opera, Mrs. Hatfield?” Rex took satisfaction from knowing this about her, from knowing that even she had an unfulfilled wish or two.

“Don’t take a two-hundred-pound rig too much to heart, Your Grace. If that’s the worst setback the bank experiences, your institution will thrive for generations. The tellers should be instructed to chat up every customer and get to know their situations. Keep the fires going in the public areas so nobody has an excuse to remain swaddled in a disguise.”

She carried all of this wisdom around in her head, as easily as Rex carried the ducal succession in his. Her knowledge was useful while his…

“This whole business will get worse, won’t it?” he asked, hand on the door latch. “You will soon make me face far more than a few returned dresses and some loose pin money.”

Mrs. Hatfield cradled the cat against her middle. “Your entire problem might be a matter of loose pin money going awry in three dozen directions, or it might involve that plus more sophisticated schemes. We’ll have a better sense of that by this time next week.”

So yes, the reality of his books would soon grow considerably worse. “Do you know how much I value your honesty?”

“As much as I value your coin?”

More. Far more. He didn’t dare say that to her when the admission was something of a shock even to him. “Until tomorrow afternoon, Mrs. Hatfield.”

She touched his sleeve. “An audit is a difficult tonic, Your Grace, but the sooner you take it, the greater the likelihood your sons and grandsons will be spared the same problems. We’ll get your dukedom sorted out.”

She went up on her toes and kissed his cheek, then held the door for him, and waved him on his way.

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

“Pamela, tell me the truth,” Ellie said in her sternest Your-Sister-Knows-All tones. “Did Jack play the Old Man on a fellow named Purcell Butterfield?”

“Now, Eleanora, you mustn’t be wroth.” Pamela plucked the infant from Ellie’s arms, and Ellie let the child go. “The baby will be upset by your harsh words, and then I’ll get no peace.”

“My words are not harsh. I’m merely asking a question.”