He looked down at the burlap sack containing the ledgers, but the proof of Croft's embezzlement was absolute. The man had been stealing thousands of pounds, starving the estate to line his own pockets, and falsifying the records sent to London. Gabriel had everything he needed to destroy Croft. But as he packed the books away, the victory tasted like ash. cruel by omission. Her words echoed in his skull.
He didn't just need to fire a steward. He needed to burn this entire hierarchy to the dirt and start over. And he was going to start tomorrow morning. The house was in a state of absolute frantic hysteria. By 8:00 the next morning, an express rider had arrived at dawn carrying a sealed letter with the ducal crest.
The Duke of Alsbury's man of business had written to inform Mr. Croft that his grace was currently en route from London and would be arriving by carriage that very evening. Foxwood Hall exploded into motion. Servants sprinted down the corridors. The kitchen staff began slaughtering chickens and pulling the finest wines from the deep cellars. Upstairs, the aristocratic guests were in a frenzy of self-preservation and ambition.
Aunt Mildred was barking orders at a terrified maid, demanding that Louisa's best sapphire silk gown be pressed three times over. Norah sat by the window in her small room, watching the chaos below. She felt utterly detached from it. The Duke was coming. The great invisible god of Foxwood Hall was finally descending from Mount Olympus.
Let them panic. Down on the lawn, the panic had taken a much darker turn. Croft was unhinged. The artificial lake trench was not finished. It was a gaping muddy scar in the center of the Duke's pristine view.
If the Duke arrived and saw the mess, Croft's competence would be questioned. Norah watched from the third-story window as Croft rode his horse back and forth the edge of the trench, screaming at the men. He had doubled the workforce, pulling stable boys and scullery maids out to haul dirt. The sun was already brutal, a white-hot glare that promised to be worse than the day before. Norah frowned.
She leaned closer to the glass. She could see the dark-haired man down in the dirt. He was working, but his movements were different today. He wasn't rushing. He was watching.
Every time Croft screamed, the man's head would turn, tracking the steward with a cold, predatory focus.
By noon, the heat was suffocating. Norah couldn't stay in her room. She walked downstairs, avoiding the main halls and stepped out the side door near the kitchens. She didn't bring water this time. She just stood in the shade of a large oak tree, watching the trench.