Mr. Stewart accepted his and then stepped back again to recline against the short stone wall. “If this sale doesn’t cure your finances, you’ll require more than a few drams of scotch to raise your spirits.” The contractor lifted his cup in salute.
“My father died, but, unfortunately, his debts live on.” This was all Hunt could say on the matter. He could only trust those closest to him with the nature of those liabilities. “Not very accommodating of him.” He flicked his gaze to the castle meaningfully.
“Not accommodating at all.” Rosewood shook his head. “I’ve been lucky in my investments. Have you considered dabbling in imports? You might want a backup plan in case the Meadowbrook girl holds firm in her refusal.”
Of course, Lady Rosewood would have shared such information with her husband.
“I have a few irons in the fire,” Hunt said. “But I’m mostly interested in the inevitable changes and opportunities coming with the advancements in machinery.”
“Agricultural?” Mr. Stewart asked.
“That, but also mining, gun-making…” Hunt struggled to contain his enthusiasm. But all of that was on hold until he could settle the mess left behind by his father. “Interchangeable parts.”
“Such as?”
“Connectors mostly. Standardizing them decreases the expertise and time required to produce… everything.” After reading a few articles about the American, Eli Whitney, Hunt had begun working with an inventor who was also a member of The King’s Society for the Advancement of Ingenuity—the club Hunt had dedicated most of his time to before his father’s death. “Standardization will impact the economy like nothing we’ve seen in our lifetime.”
“Has Meadowbrook taken steps to move his company in this direction?” Mr. Stewart might not be a legitimate member of the aristocracy, but he had been well-educated.
“No. But—”
“As the man’s son-in-law, you stand to have a say,” Stewart suggested.
“Exactly.” Hunt ran a hand through his hair. Meadowbrook was looking to retire. And, as a man with but one daughter, he would eventually require a successor.
“So it’s not just about the money?” Rosewood asked, refilling Hunt’s cup.
“It’s mostly about the money,” Hunt said. When he’d first learned of his father’s debts, Hunt had believed he’d need a miracle to pay them off.
But then, he’d serendipitously been introduced to Meadowbrook.
“Damn, Hardwood.” Rosewood sipped from his cup. “You’ve got a lot riding on a schoolgirl’s whim.”
Was that all this betrothal was to her? A whim? The thought sent ice along his veins.
But the schoolgirl in question would soon be his wife, and for that reason, he would be careful in discussing her with these gentlemen.
Because he was going to be allowed the opportunity to court her. The irony of it all was that he found himself anticipating it. The image of her mouth, those plump, lush lips, momentarily stirred him
“She’s more than a schoolgirl.” Dimples notwithstanding. He bit back a grin.
Meeting her had been the best thing that happened to him all year.
He had not expected the answer to all his problems to come in such an attractive package.
“But she is a woman.” Rosewood pinned his gaze on Hunt. “And for that reason, I’d formulate an alternate strategy if I were you.”
The advice was sound. And if Hunt hadn’t felt such a strong attraction between himself and Allison Meadowbrook, he might have taken it.
As it was, Hunt refused to entertain any other scenarios.
He had far too much to gain from this marriage for him even to consider failure.
Hunt stood on the front step of Miss Primm’s residence for the second time in as many days. Lifting his hand to the knocker, he was a little startled to see that his hand wasn’t as steady as it ought to be.
What the hell had happened to the confidence he’d had the day before?
Not what, rather, but who—The Earl of Rosewood.
