Page 24 of The Duke’s Hidden Duchess

“That distinction is not often made for women.” Selina looked down at the list beneath her hand. “You handled the matter fairly.”

“I hope so.”

“And you told me rather than allowing me to hear of it from the servants.”

“We agreed upon no concealments.”

“Yes,” she said. “We did.”

Nathaniel noticed that her fingers remained tight upon the edge of the paper. He did not ask why. After a moment, he inclined his head and returned to his study.

Within the hour, Bassett brought Selina the household books and a ring of master keys.

The weight of the ring surprised her, and she steadied it briefly with her other hand while Bassett identified the keys in turn: the plate room, the cellar, the linen presses and the door leading to the roof, which had not been opened since the late duke’s time and whose key had turned orange with rust.

Selina fastened the ring at her waist. It pulled the left side of her gown slightly out of line and struck her thigh whenever she walked. She did not remove it for the rest of the day. Twice, she found reasons to pass through rooms which did not require her attention merely to hear the keys move with her.

A note from Lady Marwood arrived at noon upon paper thick enough to stand upright, written in a hand which had spent sixty years forming imperious sentences and had grown accomplished at it.

It did not request. It announced.

Lady Marwood would call upon the new Duchess of Wexford at three o’clock the day after next and trusted that she would be received. It was the phrasing of a woman who had never been denied admittance and did not propose to establish a precedent.

Nathaniel carried the note to Selina himself. He found her seated at the small desk in the morning room, the linen accounts open before her and a pencil tucked behind one ear. Bassett remained near the doorway, wearing the relieved expression of a man whose long responsibility for the household books had finally ended.

“Lady Marwood intends to call the day after next.” Nathaniel placed the note beside the accounts. “She is elderly, formidable and capable of moving half the ton with an eyebrow. She knows your history because she knows everyone’s history. Collecting it is very nearly her occupation.” He glanced towards the window before looking back at Selina. “We could refuse to receive her, if you wish it.”

“What would she make of a refusal?”

“That you were afraid to meet her. She would then form her judgement without giving you an opportunity to affect it.”

“Then refusing would accomplish nothing.”

“Very little.”

Selina read the note and set it beside the ledger. “She may come. If she already knows my history, we shall at least be spared the performance of her discovering it.”

“You need not receive her alone.”

Her eyes lifted to his. “Will Lady Helena’s observation extend to visiting hours?”

“Almost certainly. But I meant that I would remain.”

“You are not obliged to defend me from every formidable woman in London.”

“No. Only from the ones invited into my house.”

The corner of Selina’s mouth moved faintly. She returned the pencil to its place behind her ear.

“Very well. Let Lady Marwood come. Between the two of us, your aunt and the linen accounts, I shall have no shortage of fortifications.”

Nathaniel looked down at the open ledger. “I begin to pity Lady Marwood.”

“That would be premature, Your Grace. I have not yet found the missing Holland cloth.”

Nathaniel left her to the search.

Selina worked until the daylight began to fade. The linen accounts were not merely disordered; their disorder possessed a method which took several hours to uncover. Some sheets had been entered twice, while others appeared under different descriptions. Payments to a laundress had been recorded quarterly in one hand and weekly in another. A charge for Holland cloth purchased in 1812 had been carried forward ever since by a housekeeper who had plainly failed to understand the original entry and been too frightened to enquire.