His gaze flicked between the two women, though Verity ducked her head and followed her aunt into the parlor.
Once he was seated, the Duke recounted his tale while Verity took her leave to fetch tea, since her small staff would be preoccupied. Fortunately, she learned quickly and returned before long.
Stepping back into the parlor, she found the Duke pointing to several documents laid out on the table.
“We know where and whom you speak of. I believe it’s the northwest corner,” her aunt was saying. “We have a record of this parcel being purchased back in 1507, but there is nothing further after 1734. There was a fire here at the time, you know. Perhaps this is the one you mentioned. It might have been sold off. The estate bore witness to hard times—the buying and selling never halted.”
Verity stiffened, realizing what they were talking about now. The knot in her gut she’d nearly forgotten about tightened.
“Could it still be yours?”
Eugenia pursed her lips. “Good heavens, no. My wealth is independent. If it’s not entailed, it either belongs to the absent Marquess or my niece here.”
“Do you speak of the Holcome family?” Verity eyed the map warily.
“Holcome or Smith or Red,” the Duke corrected her in what she was quickly learning was his normal tone—almost cautious, mostly bored, and altogether snobbish. “The names have not been maintained well in these records, and these files are very odd.”
“If anyone wrote to you, Your Grace, it would have been the current tenants on that plot, and that is the Holcome family. Our records are maintained well enough, for my father did not mismanage his estate,” Verity asserted.
The Duke stiffened. “I did not mean to insinuate any such insult.”
“Good.” She lifted her chin, though she didn’t believe a word from his lips. “Simply because they appear disorganized, does not mean that it is.”
“Then you understand how your father’s records are organized?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if he was testing her. Mocking her. The way he sat before her, so rigid and stern, left her uncomfortable and tense. There was no way for her to beentirely certain of what he was thinking. She didn’t like that. She didn’t like strangers.
And I don’t like him.
No one said anything until Eugenia cleared her throat with a pointed look in her direction.
“I manage the more recent records,” Verity eventually admitted. “I haven’t needed to look into the old deeds and rentals. Few tenants read, after all, and so I manage mostly through handshakes.”
“You handshake?”
She shifted to the edge of her seat. “It is respectable.”
Plenty of landowners and tenants work in this manner. Or does he disdain such a notion because I’m merely a woman?
“If you insist.”
“I do,” she retorted as the two of them stared each other down.
Eugenia cleared her throat noisily again until Verity forced herself to look away. Her chest constricted, making her breathing uneven. One could almost sense the air thickening, what with the tension between her and this obstinate gentleman.Every inch of her body felt so hot and damp. It made her neck itch.
“Your Grace,” she added.
Eugenia attempted to maintain diplomacy. “I expect we shall be able to find a solution. If the documents aren’t here, then perhaps they are in another file somewhere in the house.”
Verity couldn’t help but toss in, “Certainly. We cannot be expected to have everything readily available for just anyone who stops by.”
“Certainly. I should have prepared you for my arrival. An estate like this surely has countless shelves holding the past,” the Duke said slowly, as if he had to force out each word. “Perhaps I can return tomorrow so that you and your staff have enough time to find such records.”
“That would be best,” Verity said, wondering if she could pretend they were not at home on the morrow.
Rising, Eugenia let out a dry chuckle. “Yes, tomorrow is always ideal. For sunshine, perhaps. For men who think they know everything because of money and titles. And for fresh biscuits.”
The Duke turned to study at her with a creased brow.
