She Was Sold to an Old Duke — But His Wedding Night Gift Changed Everything
Chapter 8
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Reginald's face flushed a dull, ugly red. He looked at Thomas in outrage. "Uncle! What is she talking about? You let her read the private ledgers?""I am his wife," Josephine answered before Thomas could speak. "I manage the household, and I have decided that £2,000 is an exorbitant waste of estate capital. Effective immediately, your allowance is reduced to £500.""You cannot do that!" Reginald snapped, dropping the charming facade entirely. He took a threatening step toward her. "You are a penniless little tart he bought to warm his bed! You have no authority over me!""I have every authority," Josephine said, not moving an inch. "I have his proxy on all estate matters, signed, witnessed, and filed with his solicitors in London yesterday morning. If you raise your voice to me again in this house, the allowance will be reduced to zero. Do you understand me, Reginald?"Reginald stared at her, his mouth slightly open, fury warring with genuine shock. He looked past her to the armchair. "Uncle, are you going to allow this?"Thomas slowly lowered his teacup. His pale eyes were bright with a dark, vicious amusement. "She is the Duchess, Reginald. Her word is absolute. I suggest you learn to live on £500, or learn a trade."Reginald stood frozen for a long moment, his fists clenched at his sides. He looked at Josephine, seeing her not as a victim, but as a heavily fortified wall standing between him and his inheritance. Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him.The silence settled back over the drawing room, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the rain against the glass. Josephine let out a long, slow breath; her hands were shaking slightly. She hid them in the folds of her skirt."Well," Thomas said softly into the quiet. "That was ruthlessly efficient."Josephine turned to look at him. "He will hate me forever.""Yes," Thomas agreed, leaning his head back against the chair. "He will. They all will. The vultures will circle you now instead of me." He looked at her, the hard lines of his face softening just a fraction. "Are you frightened, Josie?"She thought of her brother; she thought of the men who had come to break his legs; she thought of the cold iron key in her pocket and the £40,000 in her name."No," she said. "I am not frightened. I am just getting started."Winter did not merely arrive in Yorkshire; it laid siege to the land. The moors turned iron gray, and the wind howled around the massive stone corners of the Clydesdale estate like a pack of starving dogs.Inside, the house was a fortress, and Josephine was its undisputed commander.She spent her mornings in the estate office, a cold, drafty room filled with floor-to-ceiling oak filing cabinets. She learned the exact price of coal by the ton; she learned the cost of maintaining the pit ponies, the wages of the miners, and the exorbitant fees charged by the London solicitors. She stripped the fat from the household budget with a butcher's precision: firewood was rationed in the unused guest wings; expensive imported wines were canceled in favor of local spirits.