Until this man stepped through the door.
Of course, the Wicked Widows’ League would send someone too handsome, too beautiful for words, someone who was obviously paid well, which caused her to wonder if she could afford the man.
She dismissed herself, calling for tea and directing Mr. Newhouse to make Mr. Cade comfortable in the family drawing room. Freddie quickly went to freshen up. And honestly, she needed time to breathe.
A quarter hour later, she joined Mr. Cade. But before entering the drawing room, she smoothed her skirts and nodded for the footman to open the doors. Her pulse raced ahead of her, and it took everything not to stare at the man standing next to the oak tea table as if he wouldn’t take a seat until she arrived.
“Mr. Cade,” she addressed him as she strolled into the room. She reminded herself that she’d come to speak of terms, not ogle the man.
“Before we dive headlong into my finances, I wondered if the League had discussed payment with you. I’m not sure I can afford you at all, since they apparently went ahead and hired you.” She fought her hands from wringing, but her fingers managed to tangle of their own accord.
“The League has already forwarded my payment. And unless the required work takes more than a week, you’ll owe me nothing.”
“Oh, that’s too kind.” She pressed a hand to her chest. She had not expected they would pay for any of it. “The women there are mind readers, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yes. They are.” He licked his lips. For such a sturdy man, he did seem a mite nervous. Or, perhaps, just restless. He cleared his throat.
“Yes, well, have a seat.” She patted the back of the settee upholstered in steel-blue chintz while she took the adjacent matching parlor chair. His broad shoulders made the settee look more like a chair than a sofa. The foggy-blue fabric was no match for his striking eyes. They were a hard, stormy gray but shined like polished silver. And she suspected more than a few women had been lost in them, caught under their spell. She cursed her virginity because it wasn’t unheard of for widows to take lovers, and he was precisely the type of man the League would have sent for just such a thing.
“May I?” His hand hovered near the teapot, and she nodded that he should serve. “Which of the women at the firm did you speak with?”
“I spoke with Mrs. Warfield. How many women does the League employ?”
He nearly overfilled his cup. The claws of the teapot clattered against the silver tray, and Mr. Cade snatched up a napkin. He wrapped it around the porcelain cup while carefully bringing it to his mouth and took a scalding sip to prevent the steeping hot tea from spilling over the brim. He hissed, coughed, and whispered something under his breath that Freddie suspected was a curse of some kind.
“I should have served. I apologize.”
“No, no. It was all me.” His heart-fluttering, gravelly voice had turned into a painful, whistling squeak. He cleared his throat again. “Now. The League, you ask? Well, I’m not certain how many women are involved in the charitable firm, but they are generous to a fault. I should like to make my first order of business to send them a thank you, posted from you, if I may.”
“Yes, that would be most appropriate.” She smoothed her skirts. “How much do you know about my case?”
“Not much, really. The League thought it best if you explained it. Who better to know than the one in need?”
“Indeed. Well, it’s a little complicated, and I don’t have to say that I’ll need your complete confidence in order to cut a path through the nonsense that has become my life.”
He nodded, absently smoothing his waistcoat, checking for errant drops of tea. “Should I take notes?”
“Only if you’d like. I’ll give you an overview, and tomorrow we’ll convene in the study where you can see for yourself, and I can answer your questions more thoroughly.”
“That would be perfect, Lady Danderly.”
“Do you truly think we can fix this in a week?”
“I’ve little doubt it will even take that long. Unless there’s something I’m missing. I’m good with figures, and I can work into the night to put the books back in order.”
“You must be a miracle worker.” She spoke over the rim of her cup.
“Hardly.”
“And you’ve worked how long for the ladies?”
He coughed, inhaling the crumbs from a biscuit that looked too dainty for his hands. She grimaced, patting her chest in some kind of uncomfortable sympathy for the man. He was quite put together and then not at all. His gaze rested on her bosom, and she stopped her sympathetic rubbing. Then she wondered, belatedly, if he thought her current state of dress inappropriate, all things considered.
“I should address my clothing.”
He rubbed his eye, then took another drink of tea. She had the feeling he’d have preferred something more substantial like brandy.
“Henry, my husband, didn’t wish me to dress in the conventional widow’s attire. I did while in London because the glances I got just for being there were enough, and I didn’t wish to bring censure upon myself for disavowing some godforsaken rule about mourning. Shouldn’t people be allowed to mourn naturally? Don’t you think so, Mr. Cade? Or am I too simple? My in-laws think so, anyway.” The explanation seemed to get away from her.
“Society has enough rules, Lady Danderly, without forcing itself on every principle of life. You should do as you please.”
“That’s exactly what Mrs. Warfield said.”
He looked puzzled.
“Josephine? Jo? From the League.”
“Yes. I’ve not been there long. Barely a week.” He rubbed his eye again. She refrained from asking if he’d hurt himself somehow.
She feared he may have expected to fix something more primitive than just her books. Like her current state of virginity. Which only needed fixing because if her sister and brother-in-law found out, they’d have her renounced from the will immediately. Oh, she wished she were pregnant. The impossible possibility was the only thing that kept her in the house for a year. An heir would have fixed everything. Currently, Henry’s brother was set to inherit the entailed part of Henry’s estate. But she’d inherit everything else. And that was the crux of it.
She inhaled a cleansing breath, the kind that one does before spewing a long dreadful story. Ridding herself of the teacup, she placed her hands in her lap and gazed up at Mr. Cade. “The short of it is, my brother and sister-in-law are hoping to have my marriage legally annulled so they might take everything Henry decidedly left for me in his will.”
“The property is entailed, I understand.”
“Yes, but not the entire piece. Just several thousand acres along with the house. The rest of the land had been purchased over the years, and of course, my husband’s liquid funds were his to disperse as he saw fit.”
“And he saw fit that you should have them?”
She nodded. “All of them, actually.”
“I understand. I can’t see his family hoping to have a year-long marriage annulled after the fact. Would you like me to take a look at the will?”
“Absolutely. That’s why you’re here, after all. And to fix the books.” And me. The thought came into her head without invitation. Henry’s sister, Suzanna, had vulgarly suggested that she’d have a surgeon check Freddie for proof that the marriage had been consummated if it came to that. Not that non-consummation was a tried-and-true standard for annulment, but in her case, it would make a solid argument against her. She shuddered from her shoulders to her toes. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her.