She nodded. “I would suggest learning the market cost of the goods that your tenants bring to this household and docking that from the rents and taxes they owe. For those who do not have a smallholding or farmland, I would suggest a smaller monthly tax instead of this quarterly business. That way, it is easier for your tenants to manage. Either way, your father was robbing them, and if you want to win their favor and have them bring you their best meats and crops instead of the worst, this is how you do it.”
Albion frowned up at his wife. “How do you know so much?”
“I used to help my father with the running of the estate,” she replied, pointing to an obscene sum in one of the ledger columns. “Your mother’s pin money should be considerably diminished, and I am not saying that out of spite. That is a ridiculous waste. The key to longevity and security is not frittering money away on unimportant things.”
His frown transformed into a smile. “Anything else?”
“Move a little, and I shall tell you.” She nudged him with her hip, and he shuffled to one side on the chair, allowing her to sit down beside him. She licked her thumb and set to work, flicking pensively through the ledger.
“The issue here is extravagance,” she said, a few minutes later. “Your mother and father were accustomed to a certain way of living, and while I can see that your brother madesomeefforts to rein it in, he obviously was not given the chance to do everything he might have wanted to. I am sorry, once again, for that.”
Albion grasped his wife around the waist and pulled her onto his lap. “That wasn’t comfortable,” he said, by way of explanation.
She blinked, and her cheeks flushed, but she proceeded as if she was not sitting in his lap. “You do not need three carriages. Sell one, at least. I have the name of someone in London who would be happy to offer you a good price,” she said. “And the horses belonging to said carriages should be sold—and, no, that is not because horses do not like me.
“In addition, this appears to be a fund for balls and parties. Divert that to a repairs fund and do not touch it until something needs repairing. Manors are costly, and maintaining them is costlier.”
Albion wrapped both arms around his wife, listening intently as she continued to rattle off words of advice about rents, income, taxes, selling this and that, and what exactly she deemed to be “unnecessary expenses.” All sage, all wise, and though some were things he had already considered, he liked the confidence with which she made her suggestions. This was clearly a realm she understood better than him; he was not ashamed to admit it.
“Are you listening?” she chided, a short while later.
“To every word,” he replied, pulling her closer still.
She narrowed her eyes. “I think you are distracted.”
“Why would you think that?”
She shifted in his lap. “Because you are… staring at me.”
“I can’t do both?”
“Icannot, but perhaps we are different in that regard.” She gingerly draped her arm around his shoulders, making herself comfortable. “Moreover, you have not said anything in at least ten minutes. I must be boring you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t disagree with anything you’ve said. Why would I speak if I don’t need to?”
She laughed at that. “If I had a shilling for every time someone had lashed that question at me, I would be a reasonably wealthy woman.”
“You are averywealthy woman,” he reminded her, chinning at the ledgers. Of course, there were many improvements to be made in order to make his fortune last, but his income was nothing to be sniffed at.
Her lips pursed. “No, I am the wife of a wealthy man. It is not the same.” She fidgeted with the collar of his shirt. “Still, it is comforting to discover that you would be hopeless without me. You would have to wastemoremoney employing the services of a steward or a financial advisor.”
“Your father truly taught you all of this?”
The previous night, he had revealed some of the sorrows that had formed him, and now, he wished to hear of hers, to find out what had made her into the unusual, astonishing woman that he held in his arms.
She absently brushed a scar on his neck. “He thought it was important. It was just me and him for so long, and he had hoped that I would inherit, so it was even more vital that I understood how to run an estate.” She shrugged. “He taught me so many things. There was nothing he would not allow me to discuss, nothing he would not allow me to study, for he saw no reason why I should be limited, simply because I was born female.”
“He sounds like quite a gentleman,” Albion said encouragingly.
“He was,” she murmured.
Albion tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “What happened to him? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No… I would like to speak of him,” she insisted though she did not say anything more for several minutes, her gaze fixed on a bumblebee that gathered pollen from stalks of purple lavender.
“My father… died of a long and cruel illness,” she said, at last. “It robbed him of the thing he treasured most—his mind. I watched it take away pieces of him until there was nothing left.” Her breath caught. “He was not like ordinary men, nor like ordinary fathers. He allowed me freedom, he treated me as an equal, encouraging my interests and fascinations. He spoiled me in that regard, I suppose. And… I miss him. It is as painful and simple as that.”
Matilda cleared her throat. “He wanted me to inherit, as I mentioned, but it was all too late by the time he died. Not enough had been put into motion, and I suspect the Royal Court laughed when my petition finally came through.” Her eyes hardened. “But that manor—the house where I grew up, so loved and cherished and nurtured by him—was something I had to protect, even if it could never be mine again.”
