Chapter One
June 1805
London
Fiennes
DamianFiennestwirledthering on his finger. Morgan Fields stood before his desk, his countenance a picture of desperation. Fiennes delighted in it. They were all the same, coming to him for money when no one else would lend it, then pleading for release when the debt grew beyond their means. He was well within his rights to take everything they owned, and he did so with regularity.
“I only need a few more months, Fiennes!” Fields’s plea burst forth, his voice frayed with panic. “Netherfield Park’s harvest will be in then, and I can pay you in full.”
“You said that last year.” Fiennes turned the ring slowly, his face a mask but for his subtle smirk. “I graciously gave you anotheryearto pay—with interest, of course.”
Fields swallowed hard. “I know, and I am grateful for your forbearance. My daughters are well settled now, and I can focus more fully on—”
“What you do in the future is no concern of mine once our business is concluded. Perhaps your sons-in-law might offer a loan?”
“I have asked them,” Fields admitted. “They cannot. Their estates are entailed, and no funds can be drawn from them.”
Fiennes knew he had Fields precisely where he wanted him. “How do you propose to settle the debt? I am within my legal rights to see you thrown into the Marshalsea.”
Fields’s face drained of colour. “I beg you, no! My poor wife—she is ailing, as you well know. She needs me!”
Fiennes ceased his idle movement with the ring. He sat back slowly and folded his hands atop the desk. “I could consider clearing your debt if…” He let the words hang, savouring the flicker of hope that crossed his adversary’s face. This was his favourite moment—raising hope only to crush it, and with it, any future they imagined they might have.
When he did not continue, Fields shifted anxiously. Such was Fiennes’s intent. Waiting with bated breath never suited a desperate man; pressed too far, they would say things they ought not.
“Speak, man! I shall do anything in my power to relieve this debt!”
Ah, there it is.Fiennes straightened. “I have a solution. Netherfield Park in exchange for your debts being wiped clean.”
Fields gaped at him. “But—that is my livelihood! You know very well I have nothing in reserve. How shall I manage to live?”
“That is hardly my concern, sir.” Fiennes rose and came around the desk. “You have long complained that the management of the estate kept you from enjoying life. I shall relieve you of the burden.”
“But what shall I do for income?”
“Once again, not my concern.” Fiennes returned to his desk. The papers were already prepared—naturally. He conducted his affairs with precision, leaving nothing to chance. “I have the agreement here.” Gathering the pages, he laid them before Fields.
“You planned this.” Fields stared at him, aghast. “I thought you a friend!”
“I am, of course. Someone less friendly might have thrown you into debtor’s prison long ago.” He gestured towards the papers spread across his desk. “Shall we sign?”
“No! I shall find another way!” Fields backed away, shaking his head in dismay. “This will ruin me!”
“You are ruined whether you pay or not. Debtor’s prison or relief from your debts—which shall it be? I am certain your wife will find a home with your daughters if you choose the former.”
Damian Fiennes had made a living out of reading men’s faces, knowing them better than they knew themselves. Morgan Fields was no different from the others. He was an inherently selfish man; debtor’s prison would offer him none of his accustomed comforts. Despite the uncertainty of the future, he would sooner surrender his estate than rot behind the Marshalsea’s walls.
“You know my wife does not get on well with our daughters,” Fields muttered. “I am certain she would be miserable living with either of them.”
Whatever tale you must tell yourself, sir,Fiennes thought with a fine curl of his lip. “Then we have an accord?” Fields nodded slowly, the regret and desperation writ plain on his face.
Fiennes watched as Fields drew the quill towards him and skimmed the document.They always glossed over the details that mattered most.The agreement stipulated that everything was to remain with the estate, leaving Fields unable to conceal any valuables. Once signed, Fields would never again set foot on Netherfield’s grounds; his wife would share the same fate. Both were presently in town visiting relations.
Fiennes could scarcely contain his excitement as Fields signed away his life. “Thank you.” He took up the quill, charged it with ink, and affixedhis signature to the agreement. Then he held out his hand, palm up. “The keys, if you please.”
“Keys?”
