“Lord Devereaux?”
The voice spoke again, tinged with a thin veneer of irritation. Charles blinked and focused his attention on the man before him.
Clad in black, the clerk had all the appearance of obsequiousness, but it could not disguise the impatient contempt that many in business had for the clients they served, seeing them as merely a means to an income rather than a client in whose best interests they were supposed to act. But then, he couldn’t expect any man to act in accordance with anything other than what was best for himself. Men of the world—whether those in trade, or the idle gentlemen who languished in their country estates—only sought to serve their own gratification. As for women of the world…
Women were a good deal worse. Men acted out of self-interest, but women preyed upon men to take advantage of that self-interest.
“Lord Devereaux!”
Charles gestured toward his valet. John was one of the few men, perhaps theonlyman, whose loyalty surpassed self-interest.
“My master is here to see Mr. Stockton,” John said.
“I knowthat,” the clerk replied, “but servants must enter through the back door, not the front.”
Charles gestured with his hands.Arrogant arse.
The valet suppressed a smile.
“My master insists on my accompanying him wherever he goes.”
“I don’t think that’s entirely…” the clerk began, but his voice trailed off as Charles stepped across the threshold. Fear shimmered in the man’s eyes as he craned his head to look up. A little shorter than average, he’d have to look up to most of the clientele, but Charles topped him by a head and a half. He itched to grasp the clerk by his lapels and toss him down the steps, and, as if he’d read his mind, the clerk lowered his gaze to Charles’s gloves. Were Charles to remove them, the little man would see the callouses on his knuckles—trophies of his childhood that uttered a silent warning to anyone who had the wit to recognize danger.
At length, the clerk stepped back and bowed.
“O-of course, your lordship. I’ll tell Mr. Stockton you’re here. And Mr.…?”
“Richards,” John said.
The clerk nodded, then ushered them into a large room on the upper floor overlooking the street. Its occupant, a gray-haired man with soft eyes, rose to his feet from behind a large mahogany desk.
“Mr. Stockton, Lord Devereaux for you,” the clerk said. “I’m afraid he’s insisted on being accompanied by—”
“Yes, yes, Billings, I can see that,” the solicitor replied. “That’ll be all, thank you. Gentlemen, sit, please.”
After the clerk retreated, closing the door behind him, Charles slid into a seat, motioning to John to occupy the adjacent chair.
The solicitor reached for a sheaf of papers, bound with a pink ribbon, which he untied. Then he met Charles’s gaze.
“Please accept my condolences on the loss of your father, Lord Devereaux. I…”
He paused as Charles raised his hand.
“Very good, your lordship. I understand. You’re not here to discuss pleasantries.” He flicked through the papers. “The estate accounts are, I’m afraid, in need of your attention. The death duties were substantial.”
Of course they bloody were. Charles gritted his teeth to stem the anger vibrating through his bones. Did the arrogant fool not realize he already knew that?
Stockton raised his eyebrows, as if awaiting a reply. Then he nodded and continued. “Your father passed over four months ago.” He tilted his head, looking at Charles over his spectacles, in the manner of a judgmental schoolmaster.
Charles leaned forward, his frame casting a shadow over the desk, and the solicitor’s eyes widened in apprehension. He glanced at his valet, then gestured with his hands. The solicitor watched the motion, confusion in his expression as Charles continued to move his hands in a fluid motion. Then the valet nodded.
“My master says that he’s fully aware of the circumstances surrounding the estate,” he said. “He sold his property in Italy to pay the death duties. Surely there can be no requirement for further payment?”
“There’s already a substantial loan secured on the estate,” the solicitor said, “but the trustees aren’t amenable to selling any heirlooms to service the loan.”
Charles raised his hands again, making a series of gestures. Then his valet spoke.
“Are the trustees amenable to the bank seizing the property if the loan cannot be serviced?”
