"Proof that Mercer used legitimate tenant transactions as covers for false payments. If we match these reference numbers against Henshaw's original delivery books, we can show where the missing money went."
"'We'?" His eyes searched hers.
"Do not mistake evidence for forgiveness."
"I won't."
The answer came without defense. That made it harder.
Samuel cleared his throat. "Henshaw's original books are kept at their warehouse in Colchester."
Eleanor nodded. "Then someone must go."
Nathaniel's expression sharpened. "I will."
"Mercer will know the moment the Duke of Blackmir requests four-year-old records."
"And you think he will not notice you?"
"He already believes I have been discredited." She unfolded another paper. "Which gives me an advantage."
Nathaniel looked at it: the solicitor's offer. "You could leave."
"Yes."
"Start elsewhere."
"Yes."
The fire cracked behind him. "And yet you came back."
Eleanor's gaze moved past him toward the long corridor, the house that had once refused even to read her letters. "Because the truth does not become less true simply because walking away would be easier."
Nathaniel inhaled slowly. "Then I am coming with you."
"No. Eleanor, if you trust me, prove it by letting me do the thing I am best positioned to do."
His hands flexed at his sides. She watched the old instinct rise in him: the command, the protection, the certainty that power should act. Then, deliberately, he let it go.
"What do you need?" he asked.
Eleanor's throat tightened. "A carriage without the Blackmir crest. Samuel's authority to inspect purchasing records. And no one must know where I have gone."
"Done."
She turned toward the door.
"Eleanor."
She stopped. Nathaniel did not come closer.
"Come back safely."
Her eyes met his. "That sounds dangerously like an order."
"It is a request."
A faint, unwilling smile touched her mouth. "You are learning."
The next morning, before Eleanor's carriage had traveled ten miles toward Colchester, Samuel burst into Nathaniel's study carrying a torn envelope.
"Your Grace, Mercer is gone."
Nathaniel stood.
Samuel's face had gone white. "And someone has taken the Henshaw correspondence."
"How long?" Nathaniel asked.