Until now.
It had taken every ounce of his persuasive charm to convince his tenants to talk to him honestly. I don’t have a complaint, your lordship. Your grandfather was a fine man, your lordship. We’ve been doing well, your lordship. Your rents will be on time, your lordship.
Annabel had done better with their wives. Apparently, they needed little encouragement to be brutally honest.
Jasper left the library and found Stapleton standing sentry at the door. “Where is Frederick?”
“With her ladyship in the garden,” the older man said. “I thought it best, since his eyes are sharper.”
“And she likely had her gardening tools.” Jasper chuckled. The staff had learned quickly that gardening with Annabel was neither a short nor passive task. “I’ll go relieve him.”
“She mentioned something about the maze, sir.”
He nodded his thanks as he opened the door. Once outside, it was easier to breathe. The air held scents he’d known since childhood. Roses at the front of the house, lavender nearer the laundry sheds, newly turned earth by the kitchen door. Yesterday, when they rode to visit the tenants, the world had consisted of hay, recent rains, and mud. Barnyards and sheep pastures had added a solid reminder on how he made his living and who depended on his care.
The sunshine warmed his hair, banishing his brewing headache as he entered the maze in search of his wife.
The towering hedges had terrified him into stillness as a child. He’d hidden, fighting tears, until Bottoms, grandfather’s gardener, taught him to use a string to retrace his steps to the exit. Now, newly trimmed growth littered the path at every turn, pulling him forward but reassuring him of the path out again.
Voices drifted to meet him. Annabel’s measured tones mixed with another, more excited one. Familiar, but not, and definitely not Frederick. Jasper lengthened his stride and took the corners shorter, snagging his shirt on sharp-ended branches.
He stopped at the edge of the circle. Annabel was in an apron and a hat with a brim large enough to keep two of her shaded. Hands on her hips, her gloves clenched in one fist, she nodded along as the man beside her waved his hands as though conducting a green orchestra.
“Camellias will do better against the hedges, on trellises,” the man said. “We could find other shrubs for the centerpiece.
“Peonies.” Jasper walked forward, his grin widening as he stretched out his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Bottoms.”
“It is, your lordship.” Bottoms returned the greeting, his smile just as wide. “Word spread that old Jones was no longer in charge of the purse, and I thought I’d come see if we could put the garden in proper shape. Her ladyship happened to be out here working on her own.” He cast a glare at Frederick.
“It’s good to have you back, Bottoms. Start an accounting for what you will need.” Jasper put his hand at his wife’s waist. “I need to borrow Lady Ramsbury for a moment.”
They walked away from the gardener and their rifleman guard to the statues that stood as the centerpiece. The muses gleamed white from head to foot, making the larger cracks easier to see.
“We’ll need a plasterer to repair these,” Jasper said. “Otherwise, we’ll lose them altogether.” He bent to her ear. “Thank you for hiring Bottoms. I had no idea he’d left because of Jones’s greed.”
“Your grandfather’s earlier ledgers showed a larger expenditure on the gardens than in later years. Was that down to your grandmother?”
Jasper nodded. “She spent as much time outdoors as she did in ballrooms. She and Bottoms were thick as thieves.”
The old gardener walked the circle, tilting his head to stare at the shrubbery and empty beds much as an artist stared at a canvas.
“This place will be in good hands.” Jasper twined his fingers through Annabel’s. “And yours will be saved from all this weeding.”
“A little gardening now and then helps me think.” She thumped his shoulder with her thick work gloves. “Which is what you’ve asked me to do.”
“You’ll likely have plenty of things to think about at Lambourn. Father disliked bookkeeping and put his faith in Jones much earlier than Grandfather.” The old man had managed his own accounts until he could no longer see to write straight. “But Mother has likely rid it of weeds already.”
“I seem to remember your telling me your mother was ill, and you were looking for a companion for your sisters. Almost in this very spot.” Annabel’s eyes danced.
Being caught in a lie had never been this much fun. “It was thirty paces north.” He kissed her nose. “But yes, I lied to keep you talking.”
Unspoken questions lay heavy on his tongue. Further ones flitted across her eyes. She blinked, and they vanished.
“I can write ahead to Lambourn and let them know to open the house for next week,” Annabel said. “If you’d like.”
She was bolder in many areas, and she spoke her mind more freely—mostly when they were alone. However, answering his correspondence had concerned her. It wasn’t her decisions that gave her pause, it was her handwriting. She didn’t want it to look like a woman was writing his letters. She needn’t have worried. Her penmanship was as straightforward as she was.
How had Spencer ever considered her a suitable spy?
“We’ll have to visit Warwick Manor first. Uncle Edgar’s invitation mentioned something he’s left too long.” He sighed. “The house is likely a pile.”
“It must be a weight,” she said. “My father found one estate a chore.”
Jasper had two if he didn’t count the estate in Norfolk, which he didn’t because Uncle Augustus wasn’t dead yet. And even after he was, Cousin Amelia and Richard would be looking after it. He’d have three after Edgar died.
What am I going to do with more houses?
“Is that how you came to understand ledgers?” he asked.
“Numbers always made sense to me. Though we weren’t taught much more than how not to overspend what husbands would allow us, the principles for budgets are the same. The sums may be larger, but the mathematics involved don’t change.” She walked away from him to snip an errant sprout. “It’s easy to find truth in numbers.”
Jasper followed her. He’d learned long ago that he discovered more when he was quiet. People said things without saying them, or when they were saying something else. The way they held their bodies or spoke their word choices were telling. Annabel’s choice of truth spoke volumes.
“You’re the one who discovered your father’s debts?”
She nodded. “It took time, tracking down things he’d sold at bargains, and invoices that were paid late. There were improvements he’d listed but never made, and investments he’d purchased from fraudsters and thieves.” She pulled a weed with such vehemence that she beheaded it.
Perhaps she would have made a good spy. “What did you do?”
