Mrs. Fenwick was waiting beside a cold fireplace.
She had silver hair, a severe black bonnet, and the air of a person who disliked wasted time.
Mr. Ashcombe stood when Emily entered.
He did not mention Daniel until the introductions were complete.
“His Grace asked that you receive advice entirely separate from his interests,” he said.
Mrs. Fenwick examined the deed in silence.
Then she requested the account book and turned each page with practiced attention.
“This settlement appears genuine,” she said at last.
“Your father may have administered the income while you were a minor, but that did not make it his property.”
Emily pressed her hands together beneath the table.
“Can he sell the cottages?”
“Not if the deed is valid and the trustees have not lawfully authorized a sale.”
“Can he take the money already paid?”
“He appears to have done precisely that.”
Mrs. Fenwick looked up.
“The question is whether he can account for it.”
Emily thought of the silk Arthur wanted for Clara.
She thought of the creditors waiting outside the butcher’s shop.
“He cannot,” she said.
Mrs. Fenwick did not smile.
“Then we shall ask him to explain himself in writing.”
Mr. Ashcombe shifted in his chair.
“There is another matter,” he said.
“The duke wishes Miss Harrington to know why he was traveling through the district.”
Mrs. Fenwick’s expression sharpened.
“Only if it concerns her legal position.”
“It may concern the eastern boundary.”
Emily lifted her eyes.
Ashcombe explained that a railway company had been quietly purchasing land between Westmere and the coast.
A proposed branch line would cross the Harrington estate and pass near the meadow held in Emily’s trust.
Arthur had negotiated privately with an intermediary and offered to convey more land than he owned outright.
Daniel’s family company had been asked to finance the construction.
When Daniel reviewed the papers, he noticed that the boundary description conflicted with an older map.
He had come to investigate before approving the financing.
The highwaymen had interrupted his journey, but the investigation had begun long before the storm.
Emily stared at the deed.
“My father intended to sell my land.”
“He may have intended to obtain your signature without explaining what you were signing,” Ashcombe replied.
She remembered the luncheon invitation and felt a cold anger settle beneath her ribs.
Arthur was not merely hoping to impress a duke.
He was hoping to make the man who controlled the railway investment overlook a fraudulent conveyance.
Mrs. Fenwick closed the account book.
