Page 41 of Courting the Duchess
Her gilded lashes fluttered open when he stepped back.
“Pleasant dreams, Alaina,” he murmured as he retreated to his own door. He knew without looking back that she was as confused and frustrated as he, but he was honor-bound to hold true to his promise to her. He reminded himself to maintain his hope that she would come to him in her own time.
He just had to be patient…even if it killed him.
Chapter Fourteen
“As you cansee from this report, Your Grace, the textile manufacturing in the North has continued to exceed expectations, even with the conclusion of the wars.”
“And the working conditions?” Sterling asked his solicitor as he perused the sheets of figures laid out before him. Thoughts of Peele’s deplorable opinions of those who worked for him came rushing back to Sterling. He hadn’t been simply paying him lip service when he’d claimed he intended to ensure those who worked his mines and factories would be paid fair wages for their efforts. It was vitally important to Sterling that he follow through with his father’s example and teachings and do whatever was in his power to improve the lives of others, starting with those whom he could impact most directly.
“Your Grace?”
Sterling’s eyes flicked up to look at the diminutive, graying, bespectacled man sitting across his desk, Mr. Bernard Bartholomew Bates of Bates, Bates & Bates (yes, Sterling had always enjoyed the excessive alliteration). The firm of Bates, et al, had been loyal to the St. John family for decades—since well before Sterling had inherited the title—and Bates had done an admirable job of maintaining and managing the stewards handling Morton estates and holdings in his absence. He’d religiously supplied Sterling with updates while he was away on the Continent and Sterling trusted his input in matters of business. When it came to the human aspect of business, however, Sterling doubted the man saw past the numbers in front of his nose.
“The workers,” Sterling elaborated flatly. “In the textile mill.” He located a stack of parchment they’d already discussed. “And the tannery and the coal mines, for that matter. How are the working conditions?”
“I—I assume they’re as expected, Your Grace. The production remains—”
“Secondary to the health and wellbeing of those under my care,” Sterling said, cutting off his solicitor. One of the downfalls of using Bates as his intermediary was the man hardly looked past his nose. He was satisfied if the numbers added up. “What good is production if it becomes sloppy from overworked or ill workers?” This seemed to baffle the other man. Sterling narrowly resisted an annoyed sigh. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked this question of his solicitor and stewards, but it was the first time Sterling was in England to do anything about it and ensure his wishes were being met. “I wish to make plans to view the mills and the mines to see for myself that the workers are being treated well and their wages are fair for their efforts.”
“Why, yes, of course.” Despite his befuddlement, Bates used his quill to scribble furiously on a slip of parchment perched atop the portable desk laid across his lap. He would notify the stewards of Sterling’s plans.
“And I wish to schedule a trip to see the sheep farms in Wales; the lands in Staffordshire, Surrey, North Yorkshire, Devon…” Sterling added thoughtfully, wondering if he might be able to convince Alaina to accompany him on this tour of sorts. He knew she’d traveled little prior to their marriage and he didn’t believe she’d done much of it since; perhaps this might be a sort of much delayed honeymoon for them. A man could dream, couldn’t he?
They proceeded to discuss the rest of the Morton holdings and estates; spent hours going over production, staffing, maintenance, repairs, and updates; and planned the sale of one of the lesser properties in Cornwall that Sterling had only visited once in his life and had no desire to spend the money on upkeep when there was already another interested party.
“And now, if I may, the household expenses,” Bates added, flipping through the papers and pulling out the ones he was looking for before handing them to Sterling. Tidy rows of numbers and accounts filled the pages in a looping, floral script so unlike the other pages they’d reviewed thus far.
“Has Her Grace been keeping these accounts on her own?” Sterling asked, skimming page after page of the document.
“She has, indeed. But not without supervision, of course.” The last was added as if he believed Sterling might find fault with his own wife managing the household accounts.
“Should I have cause to be concerned about Her Grace managing this?” Sterling cocked a brow, fixing his steward with a penetrating stare.
“N—No! Of course not! Every penny is always accounted for.”
“Then I believe Her Grace has proven her abilities many times over by this point. I trust her calculations; you needn’t monitor her every move.”
The older man’s mouth twitched, but he nodded in acquiescence. Satisfied, Sterling turned his eyes back to the documents in his hands. All seemed in order until his gaze snagged on a line indicating a sizable expense simply markedMrs. Worthywith itemizations below it for books, fabric, a physician… He stared, trying to decipher what it could mean. It was in the same area of the ledger as the monthly donations to the foundling hospital and other charitable contributions, but he knew no one named Mrs. Worthy. It needled him, this unfamiliar charge on the account, and he couldn’t fathom why Alaina would be sending that amount of money to her for these items. It wasn’t one of the usual foundations the Morton Dukedom normally supported, but—he flipped back through the pages—it seemed to go back more months than he could count with Bates staring at him expectantly. Sterling tapped his fingers on the desk in thought.
What was Alaina hiding in plain sight? What was she coordinating?
His life was made of secrets—he lived and, potentially, died by them—but there had been something comforting for him to know Alaina was exactly who she presented. She was blunt, straightforward, and unafraid to show her teeth…but what if there was much more to her than he knew? This seemingly innocuous entry in the household account was disconcerting when compared to row after row of easily explainable expenses. The secrecy of it was like a pebble in his boot. It seemed innocent at first, relatively easy to ignore, but it would wear a hole if left to its own devices. It would lay in wait for him until the most inconvenient time to remind him of its uncomfortable presence. His nature would not allow him to leave the puzzle unsolved.
Sterling made a mental note to look into the item on the ledger. While the rest of the books demonstrated Alaina’s aptitude for efficiency, he told himself he just wanted to be sure she wasn’t being swindled or that something untoward was not taking place. He didn’t doubt her intelligence in the slightest, but Alaina had demonstrated a bit of a bleeding heart in her adoption of Society’s misfits and their championing of unpopular causes. Besides, he’d already vowed to do a better job of protecting her; this seemed as good a place as any to start.
It took Sterling a moment to realize Bates had resumed speaking to him. He pasted on a blandly interested expression and did his best to pay attention as they continued their meeting.
*
Later that afternoon,Sterling followed the sound of his wife’s voice and strode into the drawing room. There, he found Viscount Sommerfeld and his fiery-haired wife sitting across from Alaina. Between them, the table was filled with a full tea service, sandwiches, biscuits, and other treats.
“Sommerfeld,” he greeted the blond man with a smile.
“Morton,” the viscount said in return and set down his plate. Sterling saved him from having to stand by striding over and clasping his hand in greeting. “My wife, Meredith Stratford, Lady Sommerfeld,” he added, gesturing to the lovely woman beside him.
Sterling took the pale hand of the willowy woman dressed in a bright blue gown. Her dark blue eyes were striking and intelligent as he bent over her hand in greeting.
