“And the bank would never breathe a word of it, beyond the grumblings among the directors. It could work.”

Doubling one’s money was a lovely prospect, particularly when accompanied by the words at no risk. “Whoever attempted this plan would have to choose his bank carefully. He would need an institution with a spotless reputation.”

“Purer than the driven snow and determined to remain that way.”

James was choosing his mark, in other words, and he wasn’t about to share the details with Eddie, which was for the best. Handling a few private loans outside of business hours was one thing; defrauding another institution ventured beyond the risks Eddie was willing to take.

The conversation drifted to James’s recent trip to Peebleshire—why Elsmore hung on to a drafty Scottish castle was a mystery—and Cousin Rachel’s possible interest in Lord Jeremy Bledsoe.

“You don’t suppose Bledsoe will come up to scratch, do you?” Eddie asked as they finished the bottle.

“Her followers never do,” James said. “A pity, that.” Bland, smiling James was looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“James, what aren’t you telling me?” Eddie trusted James, more or less, but he also did not take James entirely into his confidence.

“Would I keep secrets from my favorite cousin?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly,” James replied, “and I don’t inquire too closely into your affairs either. Best for all concerned that way, don’t you agree?” He helped himself to more wine that Eddie would pay for, lifted his glass a few inches, and smiled. “To the Dorset family fortunes, long may they thrive.”

Eddie joined the toast, because in all sincerity, thriving family fortunes were good for business, and good for Eddie the Elegant too.

*  *  *

A peer of the realm should not feel that a temporary remove ten miles into the countryside was a narrow escape from hostile forces, but Rex certainly did. He’d commandeered the traveling coach that morning because the heavier vehicle was preferable for navigating London streets muddy with melting snow.

The choice was fortuitous, given that Mrs. Hatfield—he must not think of her as Eleanora—had agreed to spend a few days at Ambledown. Her acquiescence to an arguably improper excursion was either a testament to her common sense—nobody could do accurate work amid pounding hammers—or proof that she wanted to finish Rex’s audit as quickly as possible.

“Your coach is even more splendid than His Grace of Walden’s,” Mrs. Hatfield said. “I am tempted to open a ledger and get back to work.”

Rex did not tell her that a lap desk folded down on her side of the forward-facing seat.

“You can surround yourself with ledgers when we reach Ambledown. For now, explain to me that business about the larcenous rounding.”

“Compound rounding, which is only productive when accounts are handled in quantity. I rarely see compound rounding schemes in domestic books, but it’s a common ploy with commercial ventures.”