Evelyn's fingers became still on the paper. "People overlook many things when they have already decided what matters."
Something in her voice made him stop. He did not ask whom she meant; that restraint touched her more than sympathy would have.
William turned another page. "Then help me decide what matters here."
Evelyn bent toward the ledger. At the bottom of every altered entry was the same small notation she had assumed belonged to the relief committee. Now, under stronger lamplight, she saw it was not merely a rejection mark: it contained two letters written tightly together.
"William."
He looked down at once.
She pointed. "That is not a committee symbol."
"What is it?"
Evelyn drew the lamp closer. The initials became clear. "It is an authorization mark."
William's expression hardened. "Whose?"
Before she could answer, the study door opened behind them, and a man's voice said, "Mine."
Evelyn turned. The man in the doorway was perhaps fifty, lean and carefully dressed, with iron-gray hair and the composed expression of someone accustomed to entering rooms without apology.
William rose. "Mr. Bellamy. I was told you were in the village."
"I was, Your Grace." Bellamy closed the door behind him. His gaze rested briefly on Evelyn before moving to the ledger. "I returned as soon as I heard there was confusion over Mrs. Foster's application."
Evelyn kept one finger beside the mark. "You said these initials are yours."
"They are." Bellamy approached the desk. "They authorize adjustments to relief payments when circumstances change."
"What changed?" William asked.
"Eligibility, household income, tenancy status. There are several possibilities."
"Mrs. Foster's circumstances did not change."
Bellamy's pause was almost invisible. "Then a clerk may have made an error."
Evelyn looked down at the ledger. "Seven times?"
Bellamy's eyes sharpened. "I beg your pardon?"
"We found seven approved applications subsequently marked incomplete. In each case, the accounts record the money as paid."
The fire cracked sharply. Bellamy folded his hands behind his back. "Estate accounting is complicated, Miss Parker."
"That must be why the missing money is so simple."
William turned his head, hiding what might have been a smile. Bellamy did not.
"With respect, Your Grace, confidential estate records should not be examined by a guest unfamiliar with our procedures."
William's amusement vanished. "Miss Parker is examining them at my request."
"Of course." Bellamy inclined his head. "Then I suggest she also examine the quarterly reconciliation before reaching conclusions."
"Excellent suggestion," Evelyn said. "May we see it?"
For the first time, Bellamy hesitated long enough for the silence to become noticeable. "Tomorrow."
"Why not tonight?" William asked.
"The relevant books are kept in the estate office."
"Then have them brought here."
Bellamy's jaw shifted. "The office is locked."
William stared at him. "It is my office."
"Naturally, Your Grace. I meant only that the clerk who holds the secondary key has gone home."
Evelyn lowered her eyes to conceal her reaction. William did not bother concealing his.
"You will bring me every relief ledger, quarterly reconciliation, and payment voucher at nine tomorrow morning."
"Yes, Your Grace." Bellamy bowed and left.
The latch clicked. Neither Evelyn nor William spoke until his footsteps faded.
"You dislike him," William said.
"I distrust conclusions reached before evidence," she reminded him.
"That was not an answer."
"I am learning from you."
He sat again, closer this time. "What did you notice?"
Evelyn touched Bellamy's initials. "He explained why payments might be adjusted. He never explained where the withdrawn money went."
William's gaze dropped to her hand. "So, tomorrow we ask."
"No. Tomorrow we verify before he knows exactly what we suspect." She turned several pages back. "If someone wanted the estate to appear financially stronger, withholding small relief payments would be an absurdly cruel but effective method."
"The relief fund is separate from estate income."
"On paper." Evelyn found the annual summary. "But look here: unclaimed charitable allocations are returned to the general estate account at quarter's end."
William leaned over her shoulder. His breath warmed the air near her temple before he seemed to realize how close he had come. He shifted back half an inch; neither mentioned it.
"That provision was intended for unused funds," he said. "Not approved funds withheld from tenants."
"Exactly." Evelyn traced the total. "Someone rejects an application after approval, keeps the applicant from receiving the money, then records the unused balance as returned."
William's face became very still. "Making my estate appear healthier."
"How healthy does it need to appear?"
His silence answered before he did. He rose and crossed to the fire. "There is an audit in six weeks."
Evelyn watched his shoulders. "Why?"
"A trust established by my grandfather releases capital for improvements if Westbridge meets certain financial conditions."
"How much?"
"Enough to repair tenant roofs, drainage, and two failing bridges."
"And if the estate fails?"
"The capital remains tied up for another three years."
Evelyn looked at the altered entries. Now Bellamy had a possible motive, but motive was not proof. "Who benefits from making the accounts look stronger?"
"Everyone on the estate, theoretically." William turned. "Which makes this uglier, not cleaner."
The clock struck eleven. Evelyn rubbed her tired eyes. Without comment, William moved the lamp closer to her side of the desk. It was such a small kindness that she suddenly found it difficult to look at him.
"You should sleep," he said.
"So should you."
"I am the Duke. We are famously unreasonable."
"That explains a great deal."
His smile came quietly.