“Of course, sir. Just a moment.” The secretary wore a brown coat over serviceable trousers. He was dressed well, but not expensively. He returned shortly, followed by a man with a studious expression and straight nose. Harry Plumstead wore similar serviceable clothing, his brown coat appearing more used than Dennison’s saddles.
“I am glad you could come to see me so speedily. Harry Plumstead, sir,” he said, reaching to shake their hands. He wore his dark hair in a Caesar cut and had well-trimmed side whiskers.
“Tristan Shepherd. This is my friend, James Whitby.”
“Please, come into my office.” Harry led the way and gestured for them to be seated. He selected a book from his shelf and brought it to his desk.
“My good friend, Rowan Ashworth, speaks very highly of you,” Tristan said.
“I am gratified to hear that. I’ve done my best to locate certain items for him, but the hunt is never ending.”
“With his adoration of old books, I am certain you will be in work for a long time.”
“Glad I am for it, too.” Harry rested his hands on the desk. “Please, tell me a little about what you are looking to accomplish here.”
Tristan exchanged a glance with James. They were in a similar situation, had similar goals. He drew in a deep breath and did his best to explain what they were hoping for and why they needed it. Without betraying too much information about the Whitbys’ losses, he gave Harry a decent idea of where they came from.
“The trouble is,” Tristan said, straightening in his seat again, “if we are to move forward with this cotton mill, it will take everything we have—both of us. Alone, I don’t have the funds you need, but together we can about manage it.”
Harry frowned. “I will need to ask the owner if he is amenable to an arrangement like that. He originally requested one investor to keep things tidy, but if the sum is the same, perhaps I can bring him around.”
Tristan swallowed his disappointment. “When shall you hear?”
“Relatively soon, I would assume. He is eager to begin.”
“As are we,” James said. “Though I will not pretend I feel easy about sinking all my blunt into one mill. That very action caused my father to lose my sister’s dowry.”
“He lost it in a mill?” Harry asked.
“Merchant ships.”
Harry nodded slowly, as though this made sense. “The investment we are proposing has far less risk than ventures on the sea, but there is still a risk. You will never escape that, I’m afraid. Crops can die, machinery can falter, men can fail. It is part of business, and you must decide if it is worth the risk for you or not.”
James pressed his lips flat. “I shall need to give it some thought.”
“Very well. But not too much thought, or someone else might take the opportunity.”
“You are skilled at igniting a sense of urgency in a man, aren’t you?” Tristan asked.
Harry smiled. “It is the nature of my occupation, sir.”
“Of course.” James rose, looking at Tristan, who followed his lead.
“Thank you for coming in,” Harry told them. “I hope to hear from you soon.”
Tristan shook his hand. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Plumstead.”
When they reached the street, the rain had abated and the stone buildings glistened in the weak sunlight. Unfortunately, Tristan felt no closer to having an answer about how he could support a wife and family.
“Am I no different from my father if I spend my money recklessly on a scheme such as this?” James asked. “He had been trying to grow our income, but one awful venture after another failed until everything was gone.”
The confession surprised Tristan, and he didn’t have an answer. “Harry seemed to think the risk was much lower in our endeavor.”
“Yes, but there is still risk.”
“There is. You will have to decide if you are comfortable with that.”
James scrubbed a hand over his face. It was clear he was troubled by not having enough to sustain himself prior to proposing. But his wife, should Kitty accept him—or the widow Mrs. Rupper, for that matter—would have more than enough for the both of them. If he was to lose everything in the mill, their household would hardly notice it.
