“Of course I can.” Christiana sat back in her chair, positioned behind the desk. Hugh had his study, and although she preferred to do her reading in the library, she found it preferable to do other work and discuss matters with the staff in a private parlor she had commandeered for the very purpose. “I am your mistress, and you have not only stolen from His Grace but insulted me. And even if you hadn’t, the fact remains I can dismiss you if I so choose.”
Penwick stood silent beside Mrs. Partridge, his hands behind his back. Although his face resembled stone, a muscle in his cheek twitched. “And I suppose you have His Grace’s permission?” he asked in that grave, almost-ponderous tone he had.
“I do,” Christiana said. “But even if I had not, I would still be within my right to do this. In fact”—she planted her hands on the desk and rose to her feet—“I ought to have done so when I first noticed the discrepancy in the accounts. Howisthe new house, by the by? Is it everything you had hoped it would be?”
Mrs. Partridge’s face turned white, and Penwick inhaled sharply. “Your Grace—”
“I have no objection to matchmaking within the household, so long as it does not interfere with your duties,” Christiana said. “But I object to you misrepresenting the accounts in a manner that allows you to pocket the excess. And I knowpreciselyhow much excess it has been over the past seven years. Mr. Arnold,no doubt, has glanced over the accounts to see they’re present and correct, but he has not made the calculations.” And no wonder—it had taken her hours upon hours to check through the seven years’ worth of records since the fire. Oddly, the total sum embezzled almost exactly matched the cost of the cottage Penwick had purchased.
Mrs. Partridge’s upper lip quivered. Gone were the bluster and resentment; in their place was a woman who realized the axe had finally come to fall. “Please, ma’am,” she said.
The audacity of the pair finally settled on Christiana. “How dare you? Howdareyou see a family’s misfortune and scheme how best to take advantage of it? Don’t you think they suffered enough? Is loyalty too much to expect?”
They stood silent before her, offering her nothing.
She could never have forgiven them, but especially not now.
“You are to be dismissed immediately, without a reference or character. If you go now, and go quietly, then we will not pursue legal action at this time. But if you dare speak a word of this to anyone—if you have the audacity to pretend as thoughyouhave been wronged—then we will bring the full force of the law on you. I’m sure the magistrate would beveryinterested to learn you have been stealing.”
Penwick straightened to his full height, which was unimpressive. “You have no proof.”
“I have circumstantial evidence. And, let us not forget, the word of a duke. Are you one to deny him? Whose word do you think the magistrate will weigh more heavily?” She held his gaze for a long moment, waiting for the moment the truth set in.
They both knew the way of the world. Christiana had seen it with her own eyes, and she had heard terrible stories. So often, the arm of the law did not extend into the homes of the aristocracy, no matter their crimes. But it did come down hard on those less fortunate.
Hugh would have let the offense against himself slide, perhaps out of a belief that he did not deserve his position or fortune. And so Christiana would take up arms in his defense because however much sympathy she had for ordinary people, they had capitalized on someone else’s suffering, and that she could not abide. Years of being treated as lesser built in her chest.
“You will take your things and leave the premises immediately,” she said. “There is still enough light for you to make it to the village; from there, you may do as you choose, so long as you do not cast aspersions on the duke. Am I understood?”
Mrs. Partridge stared at Christiana for a long moment, as though debating whether to fight against this insistence. But in the end, she seemed to conclude there was nothing she could do; she inclined her head stiffly and stalked from the room.
Penwick—Mr. Penwick—hesitated by the door. “A word of advice, Your Grace,” he said, though the disdain in his tone made it plain the advice was a thinly veiled insult. “His Grace has given you plenty of rope. Be sure you do not hang yourself with it.”
Chapter Thirty
“Well,” Christiana saidby way of greeting as she joined Hugh in his study. “I’ve done it.”
He glanced up, torn between amusement and dread. “Done what?”
“Dismissed Penwick and Partridge.”
“Ah.” Dread won out. He let his fingers play across the leather arms of his chair. “How was it?”
“What can you expect? They are angry at having been found out and resentful at being given no character or reference—though what else they could have expected, I don’t know. They’re lucky I didn’t call the magistrate and have them arrested.” She rose and paced impatiently. “Elkins is more than happy to take over as butler—I believe the term he used was ‘honored.’ There was more than a little downstairs politics, I believe, and Mr. Penwick was not precisely popular with some other members of the household. Rogers, for instance.”
“What about Rogers?” Hugh’s valet had served him well and patiently since the fire; Hugh had an amount of fondness for the man.
“According to Baxter, he and Mr. Penwick didnotget along. Mr. Penwick, of course, had the final say as butler, but Ibelieve things will be less fractious with the two of them gone.” Christiana paced restlessly to the window, looked out across the lawn, then moved to his bookshelf. “Oh, and I put an ad for a new housekeeper in the newspaper yesterday, so I will have responses within the next day or two, I expect. Until then, we can manage without a housekeeper. I’m perfectly accustomed to doing so.”
For once, the prospect of hiring new staff did not bring the same dread as before. She had asked him to trust her, and he would do just that.
He reached out a hand. “I’m sorry it was unpleasant.”
She came to him at once. “Oh, dismissing servants is never pleasant, but I suppose it was the nature of their crime. I simply can’t fathom being so cruel as to take advantage of another’s misfortune. Even less when it’s you as the victim.” With a sigh, she leaned down to kiss his forehead, and the remainder of his tension left his body.
The few times he had imagined marriage, he had pictured a good little wife doing her duty—not a lady with glasses reading weighty tomes at the breakfast table, or turning over grain and milk prices and debating with him how best to run the estate. Recalculating and correcting his numbers, then bending invitingly over his desk so he could take her from behind.
This kind of union had never been in his mind as a possibility—and he would not have changed a thing.