Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

E dwin glanced up at Martin, who was animatedly detailing a concern regarding one of their ventures’ financial reports.

Though he was genuinely fond of Martin, Edwin couldn’t deny feeling a twinge of irritation at his friend’s sudden appearance. It was true—Martin and Edwin shared a bond so deep that they considered each other family rather than friends. Martin alone had the privilege of entering Edwin’s home without the usual formality, forgoing the customary announcement by the butler that everyone else was subjected to.

Normally, this did not bother Edwin in the slightest. In fact, he had always appreciated having at least one person who could bypass the strict rules of Society and treat his home as their own. But tonight was different. Tonight, Edwin found himself feeling rather out of sorts. He had hoped to hear from Hanna, to understand why she seemed so apprehensive about him, to perhaps have a chance to dispel the rumors that clouded his reputation. Yet, just as that moment had seemed within his grasp, Martin had made his entrance.

“I’ve reviewed the books multiple times, and I cannot locate the missing sum,” Martin was saying, his brow furrowed in consternation. “It’s a significant amount—about two hundred pounds, give or take. It’s not an inconsiderable sum, and I am at a loss as to where it might have gone.”

“Are you quite certain you went through the records thoroughly?” Edwin inquired, though he knew the question was unnecessary. Martin was nothing if not diligent.

“Who do you take me for?” Martin huffed with a raised eyebrow. “Of course, I have. I have scrutinized every shipment, every expense. Everything appears accounted for, and yet, somehow, the sum is missing. It simply does not add up.”

“I see,” Edwin replied thoughtfully. “You’ve brought the ledger, I presume?”

“I have,” Martin confirmed, nodding. “Perhaps we might examine it together after dinner.”

Edwin agreed with a curt nod. They had just concluded the main course—a pigeon pie. It was not something he would typically indulge in, but he noted with a sense of satisfaction that Hanna seemed to have enjoyed it. She had finished her entire plate! Now, the final course was being served, and he noticed Martin giving him a sly glance.

“Well, Your Grace, it seems you have regained your appetite,” Martin remarked with a knowing grin.

Hanna looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly, and Edwin felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Why did Martin always have to be so familiar, so free with his words? He certainly didn’t want Hanna to know that he had shared his concerns about her eating habits with his friend.

Not that Martin was a gossip, but even the most innocent of comments could be misconstrued.

“Yes,” Hanna replied, her tone clipped but polite.

Martin inclined his head. “I am acquainted with your brother-in-law, the Duke of Sheffield, and from the tales he tells, your family’s lifestyle was quite different. However, I believe you will find your new home here most comfortable, even if you must bear with this one,” he added, gesturing toward Edwin with a teasing smile.

It was a harmless jest, to be sure, but Edwin saw the flicker in Hanna’s eyes, the slight tightening around her mouth as she tried to discern whether there was something more to the comment.

Was it truly just friendly banter, or something more insidious?

Not wanting to linger on the matter, Edwin deftly steered the conversation back to their business concerns, discussing their various investments and estate holdings until the final course was cleared.

As the servants began to clear the plates, Martin rubbed his hands together with obvious anticipation. “Well, this has been delightful,” he declared. “Shall we retire to your study and examine the ledger?”

Edwin glanced at him, then turned to Hanna. “I thought perhaps it might be more convenient to review the ledger here,” he said. “We have ample space, and the light is better. I hope you do not mind, Hanna.”

Hanna blinked, a faint look of surprise crossing her features. “I have hoped to enjoy some wine and cheese,” she confessed. “But I would rather have it in the drawing room.”

Delighted that she had apparently decided not to starve herself anymore, Edwin immediately nodded. “Of course, of course, whatever you prefer.”

With that, Hanna rose gracefully from the table and made her way to the adjoining drawing room, leaving the men to their business.

“You know,” Martin remarked, watching her retreating figure, “she does not seem half as troubled as you described.”

“She has somewhat improved,” Edwin replied thoughtfully. “I spoke with her rather firmly this morning—perhaps a bit too firmly, as Mrs. Maple saw fit to remind me afterward.”

Martin chuckled. “It can be a delicate matter, I know. But whatever you said appears to have done the trick. She is eating, and she has not fled back to her chambers at the first opportunity.”

They had spoken in low voices, ensuring their conversation did not reach Hanna’s ears. However, when Edwin spoke again, his voice was even quieter, tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

“I only wish I had had the chance to speak with her more tonight. To reassure her that she has nothing to fear from me.”

“That opportunity will come,” Martin assured him. “You must not overwhelm her. Give her time.”

His eyes darted around the room then, searching for something. Finally, he lifted the edge of the tablecloth and peered under it.

“But where is that hound of yours? It’s not like Ruby to leave you alone.”

“She’s upstairs, in my chambers,” Edwin replied with a sigh. “Hanna is afraid of her, you see. I did not want her to be confronted by Ruby at every turn. I’ve had a gate installed in the hall outside my chambers, so Ruby has been confined there for now. I shall take him out for a walk later. I would not have him shut away for too long.”

“Very well,” Martin said, seemingly satisfied. “I shall fetch the ledger. I left it with Mr. Baxter for safekeeping.”

With that, he exited the dining room, leaving Edwin alone for a brief moment.

Edwin turned around, his gaze drifting toward the drawing room, where Hanna had made herself comfortable. She sat with her feet tucked beneath her, a small tray of fruits and cheeses at her side, and in her hands was a book. He squinted, trying to make out the title, and a smile tugged at his lips when he realized it was one of his mother’s crochet pattern books. It seemed Hanna had found something to occupy herself, after all.

He was just about to speak, to perhaps offer a word of encouragement, when Martin returned, a heavy ledger clutched in his hands.

With a dramatic flourish, Martin dropped it on the table. Alongside it, he set a smaller case containing receipts, though these should have already been properly transcribed into the ledger.

“Well,” he declared with a sigh, “we might be in for a long night. I trust you have some whiskey to see us through?”

“Of course,” Edwin replied, though he raised an eyebrow. “But I do not think it wise for us to be in our cups while attempting to unravel this mystery.”

“Ah, a nightcap, then,” Martin said with a grin. “A reward for a job well done when all is said and sorted.”

“That,” Edwin agreed with a slight smile, “I can certainly manage.”

Hanna sat in the drawing room, idly nibbling on a piece of cheese, though her appetite had long since vanished. In truth, every bite felt like a chore, but she was determined to remain close to the dining room, straining her ears to catch every word exchanged between Edwin and his friend Martin.

She hoped, if she lingered long enough, she might gain some insight into her husband’s character—something that would tell her if he truly was the evil man the scandal sheets made him out to be or if there was something more to him.

Her ears perked up as their conversation shifted from pleasantries to business matters. Martin sounded exasperated, while Edwin’s voice, though calm, held an undertone of concern. It appeared that the matter of missing funds was indeed serious.

“As I said, two hundred pounds,” Martin said, his tone clipped. “That’s a significant sum. I’ve gone over the accounts thrice now, and there’s no mistaking it.”

“Are you certain it’s not an error in the receipts?” Edwin asked.

“It’s not the receipts,” Martin replied firmly. “I’ve checked them against the orders, and they tally correctly. The goods were shipped, the quantities are exact, and yet, somehow, we’re short this amount in the ledger.”

Hanna's fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, her pulse quickening. Two-hundred pounds. That was a considerable sum, enough to bankrupt a smaller venture if left unresolved.

As they continued to speak, she focused intently, sifting through every detail they provided. They were discussing an import and export concern—fine wines from Spain, woolen fabrics from Scotland, and other goods that traveled by ship to various ports. Hanna had always had a knack for numbers, a gift her father dismissed as unnecessary for a lady, but now it served her well. The conversation flowed around her, and as it did, an idea began to form in her mind.

She strained her ears as Martin recounted the various shipments, and something clicked. She remembered something her father had once ranted about—a matter of import tariffs and duties that could easily be overlooked if one wasn’t meticulous. Her breath caught as it dawned on her—the issue wasn’t with the goods themselves but rather the way they were recorded in the ledgers.

It appeared the missing funds were tied up in a common but easily overlooked discrepancy. When goods were shipped from one port to another, they incurred certain tariffs and fees that had to be paid upon entry, especially when dealing with international goods. These fees could vary depending on whether the goods were considered raw materials or finished products, and if the paperwork wasn’t handled correctly, the discrepancy could lead to a perceived loss in funds, when, in fact, it was an accounting oversight.

In this case, it sounded as though the shipments had been entered twice—once as they left the point of origin and again when they arrived, thus doubling the fees in the records without deducting the amount already paid at the first checkpoint. This simple oversight could easily account for the missing sum, a mistake that even the most experienced of merchants could make if they weren’t diligent.

“Perhaps it’s Crawford,” Martin was saying now, his voice edged with suspicion. “You know he’s always been a bit lax with his payments. I wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to pocket the difference.”

“But this much?” Edwin questioned.

“Not all at once, but over time. And he was helping us with the ledgers back when Mr. Thompson passed away,” Martin pointed out.

Hanna’s heart skipped a beat. She knew the name well—Crawford was a respected merchant who had been in business for years. Her father had mentioned him once or twice, and though he was a shrewd businessman, he was not dishonest.

She hesitated, chewing on her lip. She was only a few feet away, and yet it felt as though there was an insurmountable distance between herself and the two men discussing the matter. Should she speak up? Should she dare to interrupt their conversation and offer her insight?

Her father’s harsh words echoed in her mind, reminding her of all the times he had dismissed her thoughts as foolish. It would be easy to stay silent, to slip away and let them handle it.

After all, what business was it of hers?

But as Martin’s voice grew more insistent, suggesting that they confront Crawford, Hanna knew she couldn’t allow an innocent man to be accused. This wasn’t just a matter of business—it was a matter of right and wrong.

Taking a deep breath, she rose from her chair, her heart pounding in her chest as she crossed the threshold into the dining room.