“The Dowager Duchess of Embry assured me that you were aware of the situation.” He shuffled some papers in the pile and shoved one of the ledgers toward Rhystan, cracking it open to the last page. Rhystan was good with numbers, but even he had a hard time calculating the staggering losses accounted in one of the columns. He thumbed through the book, eyes scanning pages upon pages of meticulously itemized costs and sums in the negative.

His frown deepened as he reached for another ledger and flicked through the accounting. “How did this happen?”

“Lord Roland was in debt up to his ears, Your Grace. He and Lord Richard had several bad railroad investments go wrong when the railway company up and disappeared with their money. It was a secret that only came out after his death when his many creditors came calling. The dowager duchess ordered me to leverage the earnings of the ducal holdings and to increase tenant taxes. Many of the farmers have left, and the country staff has been culled significantly.” His face flamed with obvious embarrassment. “I, too, am owed several months of wages.”

Rhystan blinked in dumbfounded surprise—he’d known none of this. The duchess could have reached him at any time, but for whatever reason, she’d chosen to keep the state of their finances from him. Roland, the favored son, had thoroughly decimated the family coffers.

Why hadn’t he asked for help?

Pride, Rhystan supposed. Pride and stubbornness. No one wanted to ask the purported prodigal son of the family for a farthing, even if said son had enough fortune to share. The former duke, if he’d been aware of the misfortune, would have forbidden it for sure. His mother hadn’t let anything slip of the decline, and if it wasn’t for Longacre, Rhystan would never have been the wiser.

Was this behind her ploy of illness?

He released a breath. “Don’t worry, Mr. Longacre. I have more than enough funds to cover the debts and pay any outstanding wages.” With another longer glance to the totals in the columns, he wrote out a check to his bank, Barclay & Co., in London for a significant amount of funds to be paid to the bearer. “There, that should cover it. If you need more, do not hesitate to return.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“And, Mr. Longacre,” he said as the man gathered his belongings. “Thank you for your discretion and long-standing constancy. In the future, please direct any and all financial or fiduciary concerns to me.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Coloring at the unexpected praise, the solicitor paused at the door. “Do you intend to stay in London, then?”

Rhystan pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and nodded. “For now.”

At least until the state of the dukedom was sorted out.

And God knew how long that was going to take.

* * *