The Duke of Walden dealt with the introductions, and all the while, Mrs. Hatfield studied Rex as if deciding where to take the first bite of him.

“Elsmore at your service, madam. A pleasure to meet you.”

She aimed a glower down that not-exactly-dainty nose. “Likewise, Your Grace.”

“We’ll leave you two some privacy,” Penrose said. “Would not do for Wentworth and Penrose to be privy to the concerns of a rival institution’s director. Your Grace, madam, good day.”

He trundled off to the door, a tutor much relieved to turn his charge back over to the nursery maids. Walden followed him but paused before leaving.

“I’m down the corridor if I’m needed.” He sent Rex an unreadable look, then left, closing the door.

“Which of us do you suppose would be calling upon Walden for aid?” Rex asked. “I don’t quite count His Grace a friend, but I have asked this favor of him, haven’t I?” Rex wasn’t sure anybody considered Walden a friend, and Walden appeared to prefer it that way.

Mrs. Hatfield opened a drawer at the head of the table and withdrew several sheets of paper and a pencil.

“The favor you seek is from me, Your Grace. Applying to my employers was mere courtesy. Shall we begin? I need to know exactly what evidence you have of errors in your bookkeeping, and the sooner we embark on that discussion the sooner you can get back to”—her gaze flicked over him—“whatever it is you do.”

“I’m sure your time is valuable,” Rex said, pulling out a chair for her. “I appreciate that you’re willing to take on this project.”

He more than appreciated it. If his personal books were problematic, whether due to errors, bad accounting procedures, or something else, his own solicitors hadn’t noticed. Rex would explain the situation to them only after he grasped how the inaccuracies had arisen and what to do about them.

Mrs. Hatfield looked at the chair, then at him, her air of annoyance fading into puzzlement. “You need not act the dandy with me, sir. I am entirely capable of managing both my skirts and a chair. One can, if one dresses sensibly.”

Eleanora Hatfield did everything sensibly. Rex knew this from the tiny dash of lace at her collar, from the small, plain watch pinned to her left sleeve—an odd but practical location—and from the ink stain on her right thumb.

She was painfully sensible, while he was…painfully worried about his wretched, blasted, bedamned family finances.

“Holding a chair for a lady is not acting the dandy, madam, but rather, being a gentleman. If the fellows at this institution have inured you to discourtesy, shame upon them, for I am unwilling to commit the same transgression.” This skirmish over a chair mattered. Rex needed her help, but he would not be treated like a pestilence when he’d committed no wrong.