Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5)(68)

West rolled his eyes. “Phoebe, I’m not that strong.” But as she gave him a reproachful glance, he sighed and relented. “I promise.”

Although Phoebe made an obvious effort to remain composed while she explained her difficulties with Edward Larson, tension strung through her quiet tone. “He won’t talk to me about the estate’s business. I’ve tried many times, but he doesn’t want to discuss information, or plans, or ideas for improvement. He says it’s too difficult for me to understand, and he doesn’t want me to be burdened with the responsibility, and that everything is perfectly fine. But the more he tells me not to worry, the more worried and frustrated I am. I’ve started to wake up every night with a nagging feeling and a pounding heart.”

West took one of her hands, warming her cool fingers in his. He wanted to kill Edward Larson for causing her even one minute of needless anxiety.

“It’s hard for me to trust him now,” Phoebe continued. “Especially after what he did with the account ledgers.”

West glanced at her sharply. “What did he do with them?”

As Phoebe proceeded to explain how Larson had removed the account books from the estate without permission and had let three months go by without returning them, she became visibly agitated. “. . . but Edward kept forgetting to bring them back,” she said without pausing for breath, “because he was very much occupied with work, and then he said they were too heavy, and finally after he left yesterday morning, I went to the offices in town to fetch them myself, and I know he won’t like it at all when he finds out, even though I had every right to do so.”

West stroked the back of her hand slowly, letting his fingertips delve into the valleys of her slim fingers. “When your instincts are trying to tell you something, don’t ignore them.”

“But my instincts must be wrong. Edward would never act against my interests. I’ve known him forever. Henry introduced us in childhood—”

“Phoebe. Let’s not tiptoe around this. Larson’s delay in bringing back the account books wasn’t because he was too busy, or unable to lift them, or trying somehow to ease your burden. The fact is, he doesn’t want you to see them. There’s a reason for that, and it’s probably not a pleasant one.”

“Perhaps the estate farms aren’t doing as well as he claimed.”

“Perhaps. But it could be something more. Every man has his secret sins.”

Phoebe looked skeptical. “You expect to find secret sins listed in a farm account ledger?”

“I expect to find discrepancies in the numbers. Sin is never free: there’s either an up-front cost or an invoice to pay later. He may have reached into the wrong pot to settle a debt.”

“But he’s not that kind of man.”

“I wouldn’t make judgments about what kind of man he is until you find out the truth. If we uncover a problem, you can ask him about it. Sometimes people do the wrong thing for the right reasons. He deserves the chance to explain himself.”

Phoebe glanced at him with a touch of surprise. “That’s very fair-minded of you.”

West’s mouth twisted. “I know what his friendship means to you,” he muttered. “And he’s Henry’s cousin. I would never try to poison you against him.”

He went still with surprise as he felt Phoebe lean against him, her beautiful head coming to rest on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered.

The trusting and natural gesture felt better than anything he’d ever known. Gradually he turned his face until his lips touched the molten red gleam of her hair. All his life, he’d secretly yearned for this moment. For someone to turn to him for comfort.

“How long will you stay?” he heard her ask.

“How long do you want me?”

Phoebe made a sound of amusement. “At least until I’m out of trouble.”

You’re not the one in trouble, West thought, and closed his eyes in despair.



“What does a cow say?” West asked Stephen that evening, as they sat on the parlor rug surrounded by carved wooden animals.

“Moo,” the toddler replied matter-of-factly, taking the little cow from him and inspecting it.

West held up another animal. “What does a sheep say?”

Stephen reached for it. “Baa.”

Phoebe smiled as she watched them from her chair by the hearth, a small embroidery hoop in her lap. After dinner, West had given Stephen a toy barn with a removable roof and a collection of carved and painted animals. There was even a miniature wooden two-wheeled cart for the horse to pull. Nearby, Justin played with his present from West. It was a Tivoli board, a game in which marbles were inserted at the top and clattered their way down through arrangements of pegs and chutes before dropping into numbered slots below.

Much earlier in the day, Phoebe had shown West to the guest cottage, a simple red brick dwelling with sash windows and a white pediment over the door. He had changed from his traveling clothes and returned to the main house to have his first look at the account ledgers. “I see some of the difficulty,” he’d said, scrutinizing the pages in front of him. “They’re using a double-entry bookkeeping system.”

“Is that bad?” Phoebe had asked apprehensively.

“No, it’s superior to the single-entry system we use at Eversby Priory. However, being simpleminded in this area, I’ll need a day or two to become familiar with it. Basically, each entry to an account requires an opposite entry to a corresponding account, and then one can check for errors with an equation.” West had looked self-mocking. “To think of the courses I took in Greek history and German philosophy, when what I needed was an introduction to bookkeeping.”