Izzy felt a powerful twinge of guilt, thinking of Lady Emily’s letter. “She was so young. Probably just impressionable and frightened.”
“No, no. I think it’s the other way round. She was more perceptive than I gave her credit for.” He turned back toward the pile of correspondence. “When I lose all control of my fortune, she will be able to celebrate her narrow escape.”
If you lose all control of your fortune, what becomes of me?
Izzy chided herself for thinking it, but the fear was creeping in fast. It would seem the castle was legally hers, after all. But she’d never be able to keep the place—or find another home—without the wages he’d promised her.
“My goodness.” Abigail and Duncan entered the room, surveying the drifts of paper. “What’s happened here?”
Ransom rose to his feet. “Treachery. That’s what’s happened here.”
“Was there another body in the walls?”
“No.” Izzy lifted the letter that had come express. “We’re expecting important visitors next week. Apparently, His Grace is to be the subject of a mental-competence hearing.”
“A lunacy hearing? But that’s absurd. The duke’s not mad.” She turned and whispered to Izzy, “He isn’t mad, is he?”
Oh, Abigail. Izzy lifted her eyebrows and shook her head no.
The vicar’s daughter continued in a not-quite-confidential murmur, “I mean, he did behave rather strangely last night.”
Ransom cleared his throat. “Miss Pelham, I am standing right here. I am not deaf. And as it will be plain for the lawyers and doctors to discern, I am not mad.”
But he was blind.
That was the true unspoken source of concern, and everyone was thinking it. Blind people were often put in asylums even if they were otherwise of sound mind. Considering the neglected state of his business affairs and his prolonged, dramatic absence from society, Ransom wasn’t going to have an easy time of this. If his solicitors wanted him gone, the truth would be a heavy stroke against him.
“Christ.” He pushed both hands through his hair. “I could lose everything.”
“No, you won’t,” Izzy said. “We won’t let it happen. Because if you lose everything, so do I. For that matter, so do Duncan and Abigail.”
If Ransom wasn’t the duke any longer, Duncan wouldn’t have a post. If Izzy had to abandon the castle for lack of funds, Abigail would lose the support for the local parish.
They were all in this together now.
“Forget everything I said about honesty. If these solicitors have been lying to you, you can lie right back to them. They never have to know the extent of your injuries. When I arrived at this castle, it took me hours to realize you were blind.”
“You were unconscious for most of them,” he pointed out.
“Just the same. You know what I mean. You know this castle in the dark, and you can focus well enough that your eyes don’t wander. All you have to do is bluff your way through this one interview. Once they’re gone, you can sack Blaylock and Riggett and hire new solicitors.”
“But the castle, Miss Goodnight.” Duncan looked around. “It doesn’t look like a ducal residence.”
“Then we’ll make it one.” She squared her shoulders. “We have a week. The castle—the public parts of it, anyhow—need to be immaculate. But we mustn’t change the arrangement of the rooms by even one inch. The duke will need a wardrobe. For that matter, I could use a new gown or two.” Izzy twisted her fingers. “And we’ll need servants. A great many servants. To clean, garden, serve at table . . .”
“Refreshing the duke’s wardrobe will be a distinct pleasure,” Duncan said.