When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,58
footmen, and not a one of them could be bothered to light this hearth. That’s not respect.”
That’s economy, you dolt. “To light a pair of hearths nearly sixty feet apart in a room I intend to use for less than an hour is ridiculous, Trostle. Our interview is at an end.”
You are sacked. Duncan said the words in his head, but as Trostle paused before the empty hearth, no words were spoken. That decision could not be unmade, no replacement for Trostle was on hand, and he was at least the devil the staff knew.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, sir, but honesty is the best policy.”
Turn the lying cheat off without a character. The voice in Duncan’s head sounded very much like Quinn—a Yorkshire growl with more than a hint of menace.
“Here is how we shall proceed,” Duncan said. “You will deliver to my butler all of the ledgers and books you’ve kept since becoming steward at Brightwell. Wage books, receipts, tithes, everything. I shall review those records and acquaint myself with Brightwell’s financial history.”
Trostle braced a hand on the mantel and studied the empty hearth. “That’s a lot of history, sir.”
A lot of theft? “I hope to see Brightwell set to rights for a good long while. That means developing a thorough grasp of every error made in the recent past. With winter setting in, such a task appeals.”
“Very well, sir. I wasn’t aware you’d hired a butler.”
“I’ve promoted Manners.” Duncan would promote Manners, as soon as Trostle had gone stealing and lying on his way. For present purposes, Duncan was advancing a knight whom Trostle had probably mistaken for a pawn. “He’s hardworking, loves this house, and can be relied upon to put its welfare before his own.”
Even in the face of that salvo, Trostle didn’t flinch. “Commendable loyalty in a man so young, I suppose. I hope he proves worthy of your trust.”
“As do I.” Let him go. Get rid of him. Turn him off. Stephen’s voice had joined Quinn’s in Duncan’s head.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mr. Trostle said, “my missus will want a recounting of this interview. She sets great store by the goings-on here and shares my high hopes for Brightwell’s future.”
Trostle had a wife. Of course he had a wife. Most men his age had wives. “Have you children?”
“A pair of darling little girls, sir, and the missus and I spoil them shamelessly. They get their beauty from their mama, and my job is to buy the hair ribbons and keep the pony fed. My mother-in-law lives with us as well, and has made very pointed comments about my duty to provide her a grandson or two.”
Even a scheming bounder could be a doting father, even a philandering rake could deliver a stirring sermon on the topic of self-denial.
“You may tell your missus that your duties will require you to travel in the immediate future,” Duncan said. “I’m sending you to Bristol, where I want you to take a look at the circular saws used in the naval yards. We have a surfeit of lumber here, and I’m told those saws can cut wood at more than ten times the rate experienced sawyers can manage. Bring me an estimate of what it would take to set up a circular saw and sawpit here at Brightwell.”
Trostle paused by the door. “You’re sending me out to Bristol now, sir? In this weather?”
“The roads are passable, Yuletide is some weeks away, and the task requires a knowledgeable eye. If my request is beyond your abilities, then please say so. I’m sure the under-steward will cheerfully undertake the journey.”
“Under-steward?”
Duncan rose. Even if Matilda joined the mental chorus clamoring for Trostle’s dismissal, Duncan would not sack the man today, not until he knew the Trostle family’s circumstances in greater detail.
“Brightwell is in trouble, Trostle. Despite your best efforts, the estate is not solvent, and more effort is needed to make it so. His Grace has broken the entail, and the property can thus be sold if I can’t set it to rights. I’d rather not see Brightwell broken up or pass from the Wentworth family’s ownership. Clearly, more resources are needed to address the situation here, and I have taken steps to hire an under-steward. Shall you make the journey to Bristol, or shall I send someone else?”
“I can do a bit of shopping for the missus in Bristol,” Trostle said. “When would you like me to leave?”