“It was a wild guess, and Xavier knew it. Across the paper-cluttered mahogany desk in his private study, his secretary steepled his fingers before his mild-featured face. Xavier pressed his lips into an impatient line. “What is it, Hoskinson?” Hoskinson was a young man with thinning fair hair, thick spectacles, and a soothing manner. He replied in a careful voice, as though calming a fractious dog. “What did Mr. Chatterton say the second column represented, my lord?” Xavier laid down his quizzin...g glass, then rubbed a hand over his eyes. “A gibbet. I’m going to hang him. I don’t need a steward anymore.” In all fairness, it wasn’t Chatterton’s fault Xavier was having a difficult time. This morning he had looked at the estate accounts for the first time since . . . well, ever. When one had a capable steward like Chatterton, who kept everything running smoothly for year upon year, decade upon decade, there was no need to look over the books. Xavier’s own time was much better spent elsewhere.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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