My dear boy,

Trust I am keeping an eye on that imp of a brother of yours. I will not allow him to indulge in too much folly in the choice before him. Still, one wishes you could be two places at once, because your ability to discreetly manage our Nick would come in handy. Instead, you have been set to checking up on my property, for which I am grateful. Nicholas has hinted all might not be in order with Three Springs, but I have assured him you have my power of attorney and will soon address whatever minor neglect has occurred.

You will please ensure the enclosed are delivered to their respective addressees in person, because there has been a peculiar quality to my correspondence with my staff. While the Misses Hunt are most amiable and competent ladies, I’ve found their attendance to epistolary matters oddly unreliable. They write only sporadically, seldom answer the direct questions I put to them, and often remark on matters of random interest. I’d be concerned, except Mr. North’s quarterly reports arrive timely into the hands of my secretary, who assures me they are current and complete.

When you are done rusticating, you must come up to Town that I may sport about on your arm and be the envy of my friends—and their granddaughters.

Your loving Grandmother

Della, Lady Warne

The letter explained at least one thing: Lady Warne was not reviewing North’s reports herself. She left them in the hands of her secretary, a cheerful, practical little man who’d looked exactly the same since Beck had first been introduced to him fifteen years ago. Three Springs, alas, was falling through the cracks, with the secretary certain the earl was managing it, and the earl comfortable to leave it to his shifty solicitors.

And as for managing Nicholas, Beck attributed that to harmless flattery or willful misdirection on Nicholas’s part.

The other part of the letter, the almost querulous description of communication from her house staff at Three Springs, that bothered Beck, and put him in mind of Sara’s comments regarding Lady Warne’s own letters and notes.

“Whiling the morning away as I work myself to a nubbin.” North grunted as he slid into the snug beside Beck. “Any news?”

“My father lives so you will not yet be rid of me, my brother is not yet married, and Mistress Innkeeper has cashiered the twins into Portsmouth because they were foolish enough to disclose they’d lost their livelihoods.”

North caught the eye of a serving maid. “All in all, a good report. I’ve bought out the shops for the ladies and heard there was a young lord buying up hay at the livery. Big devil, but spoke like a toff.”

“Village life makes up in charm what it lacks in privacy,” Beck said. He slit open the final, flimsy missive and then set it down. “This is not for me.” He flipped it over and eyed the address more closely. The ink was slightly smeared, on both sending and receiving addresses, but it was clearly sent to Three Springs.

“Perhaps”—he slid it over to North—“it’s for you, my lord.”

North eyed the single sheet of paper with distaste. “Bugger all.”

Beck took another sip of his ale and waited in silence. The letter had begun with a florid, obsequious greeting to his lordship, Gabriel, Marquess of… And Beck had folded it back up, lest he read more that he didn’t want to know.

North scanned the letter, scowling mightily, then folded it into an inside pocket as a serving maid approached.

“Your pint, Mr. North.” She set it down and curtsied, her gaze running over North with veiled appreciation.

“My thanks, Lolly. How’re the boys?”

Lolly’s tired countenance lit up. “Growing out of everything they own. Can’t wait until I can turn them loose in the garden and get their noise and rumpus out of the cottage. They’re still learning their letters this winter, and it’s hard for ’em, but Gran and I insist. It’s all their pa asked of me, and I intend to see it done.”

“They won’t regret it,” North assured her. “And neither will you.”

She left the table, a little more bounce in her step, and Beck tilted his head to consider his lordship.

“Tell me this much, North. Is there anybody who will be coming around, out for your blood and uncaring of the welfare of those around you?”

“No.” North was emphatic. “You have a right to be concerned, because the appearances are troubling, but no. I have no enemies who’ve tracked me to Three Springs, and the ladies have nothing to fear.”

“Jolly good for them. You, however, will have a considerable enemy in me if I find whatever game you’re playing threatens harm to them or Lady Warne’s assets. Are we clear?”

“Oh, cut line, Haddonfield.” North’s tone was weary. “I ended up at Three Springs intending to stay only a season or so—that was my initial arrangement with Lady Warne—but the place needed somebody, and I couldn’t leave it to the twins, could I?”

“So you’ll leave it now that I’m underfoot? North, any day, any instant, I may be called away.”

North was quiet, and Beck realized he was deciding the answer in the moment.

“I won’t jump ship until fall, at least. I won’t plan to. We’ll get your Russian wheat in, and that’s as much as I can commit to. If I can’t manage that much, I’ll try to warn you of my departure.”

Beck stared at the murky liquid in his mug, knowing what it was to be far from home without friends or family. “North, is there something to be done here? My family has influence in various spheres, and if it’s a matter of finances, my own assets are not inconsiderable.”

North’s smile was sweet, making his harsh features astoundingly handsome, charming even. “Haddonfield, you are a dear, and I can see why this miserable job was put on your very honorable shoulders, but no. I am not hounded by creditors. There are no angry papas gunning for me. I am not listed on some warrant for murder most foul. It’s a family matter.”

“And those,” Beck said, “are sometimes the most difficult.” His thoughts roamed back to when Nick had hauled him bodily from Paris, and for the first time, he considered what Nick went through, having to scout every brothel and hell in a very sinful city, at a time when an unmistakably large, blond Englishman was risking his life just to be seen on the streets.

“You are kind, Haddonfield,” North said as they walked back toward the livery. “One forgets the aristocracy can produce men like you.” On that cryptic comment, he went ahead of Beck and inspected the hay piled high on the wagon.

By the time they departed, Beck was eyeing the sky, hoping the huge quantity of fodder they hauled wouldn’t get wet.

“You’re quiet,” North said as they gained the last mile.

“I think I’ve puzzled something out.” Beck steered the horses through a badly banked turn. “Who picked up and delivered the mail for Three Springs, North?”

A beat of silence, and then, “The bloody, bedamned, sodding twins, of course.” North shot a disgusted look at Beck. “I’ll bet if we checked, we’d find much of the correspondence from Lady Warne that conveyed household funds never made it into Sara’s hands.”

“And Sara’s letters detailing the extent of the needs here probably got cast aside as well, with only the more social correspondence being allowed to make it through. Your reports, by the way, are falling into the indifferent hands of Lady Warne’s secretary, who is not a man of business. But what of your correspondence?” He steered the wagon onto the Three Springs lane. “Do you get the sense it has been tampered with?”

“That is a possibility,” North said. He took the letter out of his pocket and scanned it again. “It is a distinct possibility.”

He kept his silence all the way to the stable yard, then got down and swung open the barn doors so Beck could drive the team right into the barn aisle. The men spent a hot, dusty hour pitching most of the hay up into the loft, leaving the last of it below for immediate consumption.