“You are needed upstairs.” He cleared his throat at the alarmed expression on Quincy’s face. “I believe his lordship merely wants to give you instructions.”
She pushed aside the stack of mail and went upstairs. Yes, she answered Sinclair, she’d bring the account books up to date, and answer his correspondence. The urge to roll her eyes was stronger than the desire to hold his hand, but she resisted both.
She returned to the library, set to work, and just sanded the first letter when Sinclair sent for her again. After the third such request, with the message passed from Jack the upstairs footman, to Celia the tweeny, to Grimshaw the downstairs footman, Quincy tossed her pen in the air and sighed. She wiped up the ink blots, then enlisted Grimshaw’s aid in carrying the account books, corre
