“The loan is being serviced, Lord Devereaux,” the solicitor said, “but the estate’s income is barely sufficient to meet the interest, which is twenty per cent.”
Twenty per cent?
Devil’s breeches, what the fuck had his wastrel of a father been thinking?
“I share your concern, Lord Devereaux,” the solicitor continued. “Coutts Bank did not consider your father to be an acceptable risk and therefore levied a premium on the interest rate. I warned him at the time, but you know what the late earl was like…” He shrugged.
Yes. I know damned well what that old bastard was like.
Charles closed his eyes, suppressing the memory that had threatened to resurface. The skin of his back itched and he shifted position in his chair and leaned back, crossing his legs. He reached for the signet ring on his left hand and rotated it with his thumb, focusing on the repetitive motion to divert his mind from the image of his father’s face, twisted in anger and disgust…
“Lord Devereaux?”
Charles opened his eyes to see the solicitor staring at him, his head tilted to one side. Stockton gestured toward a decanter half filled with a dark amber liquid. “Perhaps a brandy?”
Charles made a series of gestures to his valet.
Doubtless he’ll add it to his bill to increase the profit he’s making out of me.
John frowned, and the solicitor raised his eyebrows.
“My master says he’d greatly appreciate a brandy,” John said, “but only if you pour one for his valet also.”
Charles frowned at John, whose eyes twinkled with faint amusement. The solicitor poured two glasses and pushed them across the table.
“While the estate income can service the interest on the loan, the problem is the repayment of the capital. There’s nothing to spare to reduce the capital outstanding. I’m sure you’d rather the profit fromthe estate be used to benefit the estate rather than its creditors.”
Charles gestured with his hands.
“What is to be done?” John said.
“If you can raise the funds to reduce the loan,” Stockton said, “even if not eliminate it entirely, then the interest will similarly reduce, leaving sufficient income to reduce the capital further. I trust you understand?”
Yes, you condescending fool, I’m aware how loans operate. Insult me again and I’ll throw you out of the window.
John raised his eyebrows as Charles signed his response.
“Ahem, my master says that he understands you, and he’ll make arrangements to sell any assets that are not under trust.”
Stockton poured himself a brandy, then leaned back and sipped it. “Are you married, Lord Devereaux?”
I don’t think that’s any of your…
“Lord Devereaux is not married, Mr. Stockton,” John said, ignoring Charles’s gestures.
“Then forgive me for being frank, but the solution seems perfectly clear,” the solicitor said. “A substantial enough dowry should clear the loan, and there are plenty to be had this Season, or so I’m told. Once Society’s matriarchs know that Earl Devereaux is in Town, I imagine your hallway will be littered with calling cards. You’ll have your pick of the—”
Charles leaped to his feet and his chair tipped onto its side with a clatter.
Was there no end to the torture? Not only was he forced to surrender his home and return to that godforsaken mausoleum in the middle of bloody nowhere, must he now be plagued, within hours of setting foot on English soil, by the prospect of being pecked at by desperate debutantes and their overbearing mamas?
“Yes, yes, very good.” Stockton rose and offered his hand. Charles stared at it for a moment, then took it, his larger hand engulfing the older man’s. One squeeze and he’d be able to crush Stockton’s fingers…
“I apologize if I gave offense, Lord Devereaux,” Stockton said. “I understand how difficult it must have been to leave Italy after having lived there for so long, and under such trying personal circumstances. But I trust you’ll be happy at Penham Park. There’s sometimes comfort to be found in knowing that one is doing one’s duty to one’s heritage.”
Charles released Stockton’s hand. Then the older man escorted them out of the building to the waiting chaise. Charles climbed on without a backward glance and, as soon as John joined him, the chaise set off.
He focused his attention on the surroundings—row upon row of identical houses with imposing, colorless façades. Then he reached for his signet ring to rotate it, focusing on the feel of the hard metal against the base of his finger, until the swell of anger receded.
