“Most of the income goes directly into the Devere bank account in London,” she pointed out. “Why would some receipts come here?”
“Only the local agricultural revenues come here to pay for small daily household expenses.”
She would ask the butler one last time about what alarmed her. “If both of the young Deveres had not returned, then who would be in charge?”
“The earl returned, Miss, so there is no reason to—”
“To worry. Yes, I know. You’ve said that.” This was getting her nowhere. “Very well, Mr. Binkley. I suppose it would be helpful if the earl could actually leave his room and tour his estates as he used to.”
“In time, yes,” was his grudging answer.
“In time, and not too long from now either, the earl’s coffers will be empty since the revenues are, in fact, dwindling.”
Mr. Binkley nodded. “Yes, I am aware of that. Hence, my hiring you.”
“There is little else I can do here,” Jenny admitted. “I cannot make the money reappear, but I can tell you—I can show you if you care to look—precisely when things started to go awry. I can even pinpoint which holdings are not giving the earl his due. Are you the one to whom I should show these figures?”
Now the admiral looked out of his element, his face quite grim.
“If you can summarize your latest findings, that will do. For now, anyway. I have other duties to which I must attend at present.”
He hurried out of the room as if afraid of looking at the numbers. That didn’t surprise her. Many people felt that way when faced with detailed accounting.
Should she go see the earl? In his current state, could he handle information about his financial affairs? She recalled that Mr. Binkley said Lord Lindsey had no head for numbers. Unfortunately, at present, he didn’t seem to have a head for much of anything. Could she help him? She was determined to try.
If his strength was interacting with the people in his employ and in the village and at other estate holdings, then that was what he should be doing. At the very least.
*
Blotting the last page of her notes, Jenny stood. There was no excuse to go roaming the manor, not to see Maggie, who had probably left already, nor to see the children, whom she’d met only once. She didn’t need any refreshments as she’d already had enough tea to float the royal barge.
In fact, she really ought to be heading home. Instead, she was soon passing from one wing to the next and walking along the corridor toward Simon Devere’s chamber, with no viable reason she could give anyone if she were caught. She would have to admit that she was going to see Lord Lindsey even though this time, he had not invited her.
To her amazement, the earl’s door was ajar. Still, she tapped on it. Instantly, she heard his voice.
“Enter.”
Why did the timber of this man’s voice cause something inside her to stir?
Pushing the door open, Jenny was surprised to see him standing and looking as if he were in mid-pace. One of the drapes was drawn partially open and enough light was streaming in that she could see him easily. Clean-shaven, hair brushed back, and wearing more formal attire than she’d previously seen. He had on a natty waistcoat over a starched white shirt. The collar was pinned in place, too.
“Good day, Guinevere,” he said. “Have you been standing in the middle of any streets lately?”
Caught off guard by his humor, she laughed.
“No, my lord. Nor have any horses tried to run me over.” That brought to mind Thunder. Hadn’t Binkley told her that the earl was quite skilled with equines and their ways?
“My lord, I have a horse problem.”
“Indeed? Tell me all about it.”
His tone indicated that he was taking her quite seriously.
“If you were walking, my lord, may I suggest we continue to do so, since I have been sitting in your library for quite some time today.”
“Certainly.” Simon glanced out the window. “The weather is fine, it appears.”
Would he go outside with her? Was he indicating such a thing?
“It is, my lord.”
However, he only sighed deeply, causing her heart to ache on his behalf.
“If we open both those doors,” he pointed to the doors on either side of his bed that led to the next chamber, “we can make a circuitous path of the two rooms.”
“Let’s do that,” she agreed, wondering if and when he would leave his suite for the broader world outside. Or even for rooms beyond his chamber.
They walked from one room to the next in silence at first. She took in the space she had not seen before. A dressing room as well as a private office. It looked unused. Not a stitch of clothing showing from the wardrobe, nor a piece of paper on the expansive desk. Still, it was a beautiful area, with a thick rug under foot and lovely wallpaper.
“I prefer my bedchamber,” he said, watching her.
“That seems odd, my lord, for a man who doesn’t wish to sleep.”
He nodded. “True enough. However, it is the scent.”
Jenny couldn’t help herself, she sniffed and sniffed again. The faint smell of wood polish was the only aroma she could detect. The earl stood to the side and let her pass through the doorway first, back into his bedroom. She sniffed again. In this room, there was no detectable scent at all.
She looked at him questioningly.
“I believe it is the beeswax. The aroma assaults me in the antechamber.”
“Shall we not make the circuit, my lord?”
“It is fine, as long as I am walking through. I just don’t like remaining in there.”
She brushed aside any unkind thoughts about his strangeness and continued to walk with him.
“First, tell me about your horse troubles, and then, if you will, I would like to hear about the estate ledgers.”
She had a momentary flash of guilt. Was she betraying Mr. Binkley? Then she realized the nonsense of such a feeling, for ultimately, every sum she added or subtracted was done on this man’s behalf.
“When my family was moving up from London, one of our horses was injured. The leg seems to have healed, but Thunder is now skittish and ill-tempered as he never was before.”
The earl frowned. “Have you had a vet look at the leg?”
“I’m afraid it seemed too costly an expense when it first happened.”
“And now?”
“Now, I believe I have the funds, but, as I said, the leg seems to have mended nicely, according to our stable boy.”
“Your stable boy?”
“Yes, George. His mother is our cook. We brought them both from London with us.”
“And what are his qualifications to tend horses?”
Jenny considered. “He doesn’t mind shoveling their excrement, my lord.”
He barked out a quick laugh at her remark, a sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it did her.
Then with a slight smile, he told her, “Horses deserve a knowledgeable caregiver. They are complicated, intelligent beings.”
“Like people, my lord?”
“I will not go as far as to say they are like people, but horses do develop damaged psyches, and then they need help. I’ve seen it happen before. What’s more, they can be helped to return to their normal condition, be it ill-tempered or sweet.”
“And thus, exactly like people.”
He stared at her. “God, I hope so, Guinevere.”
And just like that, Jenny knew they were speaking of him now, and his devastated mental state. She nearly touched his arm to express her sympathy but restrained herself from making such a forward gesture.
Instead, she focused on his twice-made error. “Why do you call me Guinevere?”
“Because it is your name.”
She smiled, recalling their conversation from a previous day. “No, it is not.”
“I understand you prefer ‘Jenny.’ What with your fear of being run over and all that.”
She quite liked his se
nse of humor. “Whether I’m in the center of a street or not, my lord, still, Guinevere is not my name.”
He stopped walking and frowned down at her. “You said it was.”
“No, you said better it should be Guinevere than Jenny. Something about ballrooms, I think. As if no gentleman would write his name on my dance card if I were Jenny, or was it Betsy? I’ll have you know that no less than a viscount not only danced with me last season, he proposed.”
The earl’s eyebrows shot up.
“Why do you look surprised?” she asked.
Suddenly, she felt her cheeks grow warm. Perhaps the earl did not like her looks after all, which she’d been told were quite regular and symmetrical, and hence considered attractive. Certainly no one had ever called her a phantom beauty before, but still, she’d hoped—
“I am not surprised that you received a proposal, only that your viscount allows you to be alone with another bachelor, namely me. Not to mention the broadness of mind to let you practice the profession of bookkeeping.”
A breeze of relief seemed to blow over her. Lord Lindsey didn’t think it beyond the pale that she had received a proposal. He merely questioned her actions were she an engaged woman.
Still, she had to correct him. “I do not answer to anyone regarding my actions. And Lord Alder is no longer my viscount.”
“You turned him down, then. Quite the correct thing for you to do. An intelligent, lovely girl like yourself should hold out for a duke, if not a prince.”
Now it was her turn to laugh wholeheartedly, and she did.
“Oh, my lord. Perhaps we need to fully open the curtain. I do not believe I am a catch for a duke or a prince. Indeed, I was grateful for the interest of Lord Alder. Even a courtesy baron or a baronet would do.”
“Nonsense!” he muttered. “A baronet indeed!”
And she found herself the object of his scrutiny once more.
“Thick shiny hair, the color of a dark chestnut mane. No balding patches?”
“No, my lord.” She nearly choked at the idea as she lifted a hand to her head.
“Eyes that can hold a man in their sparkling depths. I assume they don’t cross regularly?
Jenny began to smile. “No, my lord.”
“A sweet mouth with straight teeth and soft-looking lips of a healthy pinkish hue. Do you spit often, drool, or lisp?”
“No, my lord.”
“A slim, fair-skinned neck. Prone to warts?”
“No, my lord, no warts.” The very idea!
His gaze dropped lower, and her breath caught in her throat. As previously, he regarded her figure frankly, and she felt the heat creep into her cheeks.
“A pleasing physique with the right amount of curvature. Any unsightly bulges of fat hidden beneath your gown?”
She coughed, and when she answered, her voice was a whisper. “No, my lord.”
“Thick ankles then?”
She shook her head, not speaking, but simply waiting for his inspection to end.
“Are your feet the size of tree branches? Go ahead, show me the ankles and the feet.”
Without hesitation, she lifted her skirts a few inches.
Simon Devere examined her boots and her slender ankles. His brown hair fell forward as he did. The utter impropriety of her standing in the earl’s chamber while holding her gown and undergarments up struck her all at once, and she released them.
His gaze caught hers for a moment, and then he started to walk again.
“Well then, as I said, you were too good for the viscount. With or without more light, I believe I see your assets quite well. You are lacking in none of them.”
Goodness! Jenny hurried to catch up with him and continue their promenade.
How unbelievably awkward. What’s more, she felt as if she should reciprocate and tell him what a fine figure of a man he was, but that was entirely out of the question. All she could do was thank him for his outrageous listing of her attributes since he had ended with a compliment.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said into the silence.
“No need to thank me. Apparently, you don’t own a mirror,” he told her with mirth in his voice.
After another turn about the rooms, he asked, “Then what is your name?”
“Do you promise not to laugh?” She glanced at him, and he looked back at her with a gleam in his eyes.
“I do not promise. If I find something to laugh at, I assure you, I will do so.”
“Very well.” She paused. “My name is Genevieve.”
“That does not make me laugh.” He blinked at her. “Why would it?”
She sighed. “It is pretentious and long and foreign. What’s more, no one can ever spell it.”
“Hence ‘Jenny.’” His gaze roamed over her face, and she wondered what it was he thought he saw. Turning from him, she continued their stroll.
The aroma of polish seemed to permeate the air now that she was aware of it. Beeswax, strong and fusty. They didn’t speak again until they were back in his bedchamber.
“Jenny suits your no-nonsense, mathematical mind, I suppose.” He stopped. “I’m done walking around in here like a nag on a mill wheel.”
They stopped in the middle of his bedchamber, and Jenny considered again how shocking this situation truly was. The eyes of every member of the bon ton would be bulging, their eyebrows raised, their tongues waggling with the impropriety, certain of her ruin. She smiled, and Simon tilted his head.
“You are thinking something amusing, demon?”
“If I had not already lost the viscount over the downturn in my family’s financial condition, my being here … with you … would certainly have caused its swift expiry.”
Surprising her, the earl suddenly lifted his hand and stroked her cheek, then held her chin with his fingertips.
“Perhaps there’s another side of you that Genevieve suits perfectly. I, for one, like the way it rolls off my tongue.”
Chapter Eight
“Genevieve.”
As he repeated her name, Jenny found herself staring at his mouth, which now fascinated her beyond anything else.
“Perhaps,” she murmured, unsure of what she was saying as her breath had suddenly caught.
For a moment, they stood frozen, his fingers upon her upturned chin, her heart pounding painfully.
She licked her lips and thought she saw something interesting flare behind his gray-blue eyes. If there was a demon in the room, it might be lurking within the earl.
Within her, however, she couldn’t deny there was definitely an answering spirit.
Was he leaning closer?
At last, she shook her head, dislodging his hand at the same time as she took a step back.
“I’ve had my last Season,” she insisted as if her real name belonged to the woman who graced the ballrooms of London. “I’m resigned to being Jenny.”
Walking to the window, she turned her face toward the warm sun. She needed to calm her emotions and regain her senses. Not usually prone to flights of fancy, being alone with a man—this man, who had a wildness about him at times, who didn’t seem to recall the boundaries of polite society—she was letting her imagination run amuck.
Certainly, he had not intended to kiss her.
“In fact, I’m proud of plain Jenny if it represents, as you say, my practical nature. I am slowly paying off my father’s debt and keeping my family from losing any more than we have already lost.”
“Admirable.” The earl sounded as though he meant it. “If you are doing well, then what troubles you?”
Startled by his words, Jenny turned to stare at him. “How do you know anything is troubling me, my lord?”
“I could hear it in your voice. And now I can see it in your eyes. I’m sure it has to do with more than an irritable horse. Is it your broken engagement? Did you have a written contract? I could have the bounder brought to heel, made to honor his proposal.”
“Oh.” Her mouth went dry. How peculiar he made her feel.
Off balance from moment to moment. What’s more, inexplicably, she believed she could tell him anything and he would understand.
“No, my lord. It is not on account of Lord Alder. Besides, he broke only a verbal agreement, and I care not a jot about it. In truth, it is my sisters. I worry for their futures. We cannot have three spinster Blackwood sisters.”
To her amazement, Simon Devere laughed, sparking a flame of outrage inside her.
“I see nothing funny. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but my father was quite irresponsible in how he left his affairs.”
“Let me tell you then,” the earl said, sobering. “Your worries are for naught. I’ve seen one of your sisters, all those complicated-looking curls and dressed in a fetching trim waistcoat. Why, she sways her bustle even for old Binkley, and I believe he notices, too.”
Jenny couldn’t help but smile slightly at his description.
“That would be Margaret. When did you see my sister?”
Simon shrugged. “From this window, I’ve watched her arrive many times, though I don’t know why she was here. I’ve seen you, too, for that matter.”
She shivered, imagining his gaze upon her when she had no knowledge of him.
“What’s more, I’ve seen your sister stroll down this hallway, with Binkley sending her on her way.”
“I see.” Jenny was about to tell him that her sister came to tutor French when suddenly she had a brazen idea and spoke before thinking.
“Would you wish to offer for Margaret? That would remove at least one of my concerns, finding her a suitable husband. She speaks French like a native, plays the harpsichord, and would make any man, even an earl, a wonderful wife.”
As long as Simon didn’t mind a sometimes critically sharp tongue and a tendency to selfishness.
Simon’s face became expressionless, and she feared she had overstepped the boundaries of propriety with her half-serious jest. Moreover, she may have insulted him. After all, he was an earl, and Maggie, a mere baron’s daughter.
“No,” he said firmly, though with no hint of annoyance. “I would not suit as your sister’s husband. Or anyone’s.”
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