Or maybe he’d find a way that they could share a full meal together. Something she’d enjoy.
“Sir.” The footman cleared his throat, returning Sol back to the present. “If I may, your brother wishes to see you in an hour. In his study.”
Sol blinked at the other man, working to gauge whether this would be a good meeting or a bad one. After all, he’d been inside for over a week so he couldn’t have done any damage, right?
Unless someone had found out about Hannah. He bit his lip. No, there would’ve been a snide comment or two from the staff if that had happened. The tension in Sol’s shoulders eased. He should be fine—though if ever there was a sign that he should proceed carefully while Frederick was still courting Lady Drucilla.…
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, giving an exaggerated faux yawn. “Still a bit foggy in the head. From this dratted illness.”
“Hmm…” The footman frowned. “I would eat up, then, and finish readying yourself for the day. He’ll expect you to be… presentable…” The man glanced down and Sol followed his gaze.
Right. Shoes.
“Of course.” He nodded at the man. “Let him know I’ll be there, fully dressed, with a smile.”
“Very good, sir,” the footman said before exiting, the maid in tow.
Yes, this was good, Sol decided. He would see Frederick, help him with whatever he needed, and then, if things were going according to plan with Lady Drucilla, perhaps start laying the groundwork for a plot of his own. One with no guarantees of a happy ending, but as long as he didn’t hurt his brother, it had to be worth a try. Did it not?
With a nod to himself, Sol lifted his teacup and took a sip, the hot liquid fortifying him. Yes, it would all turn out right in the end. Together, he and Frederick would make it so.
An hour later, Sol hovered in front of the door to his brother’s study. Lavishly decorated, and adorned with several of Frederick’s prized mirrors, the once dusty and crumbling chamber was an homage to the wealth Frederick had accrued reviving their family business. But Sol knew no matter how much success his brother had achieved, Frederick was not yet satisfied. He needed more. Needed to carve a true place of his own in the world—one of honor and respect.
Feeling something much like guilt, Sol again considered the unaccounted income he’d noted in the books for the Weiss Bank—and whether he ought to raise the matter with Frederick, when now, more than ever, he needed to step carefully. The prior year, his brother had stretched them a bit too thin in his eagerness to win the favor of—and more so, prove his “goodness” to—certain influential gentiles by lavishly donating to their pet charities. Sol had made the mistake of questioning if they truly had the funds for such expenses, and, well, even though it was clear his brother still loved him, their relationship had never been quite the same.
His fault.
He’d not shown enough respect—not taken enough care before speaking on the topic. He’d been presumptuous. After all, who had taught him the business in the first place? Who had spent years of sacrifice keeping them from ruin? He’d been arrogant and disloyal. Even now, the shame at his doubt still ate at Sol’s gut.
And yet… Sol again could not account for an influx of funds.
With only a twinge of trepidation, Sol rapped his knuckles on the door. “Frederick, it’s me,” he called through the thick, diamond-cut wood.
“Enter,” his brother said. Sucking in a breath, Sol pushed into the room, moving stand directly in front of the large black desk, hands clasped behind his back in what was hopefully a sign of deference and respect.
“Good morning,” Sol said, focusing on his brother instead of his own reflection. Frederick’s collection was impressive, but Sol had always found the mirrors a touch eerie. Not that he didn’t have his own oddities. And his brother kept this singular, harmless one hidden, displaying only key frames in rooms impeccably tailored to show their beauty.
Frederick didn’t look up from his correspondence. Instead, he adjusted his spectacles and motioned with his free hand. “Please sit.”
Sol obeyed then glanced behind his brother when his head stayed down—he met his reflection in a towering mirror, grapes and thick leaves and clawed birds carved through the frame.
“Is that new?” he asked.
“Relatively,” his brother said, finally looking up and glancing behind him. “It came about two months ago. From Poland. Supposedly belonged to some sort of prince.”
“It’s unusual, isn’t it?” Sol asked. And a bit dark, he held back from saying. And menacing. If an inanimate objectcouldbe menacing.
“I’d say so. But an excellent addition to the collection.” Frederick swiveled around, reaching up to stroke a raven’s head stretching from the bottom of the frame.
“Very much.” Sol nodded, shifting in his chair. “Your collection is unparalleled.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Frederick smiled, giving the mirror one last happy gaze before turning to him, hands folded on the desk. “But enough about that. I’m in need of your assistance.”
“Anything.” Sol scooted forward in his seat. Hoping to demonstrate his trustworthiness—and perhaps alleviate those unwarranted doubts—he added, “Is it the books? I had noticed additional income that is unaccounted for. I presumed they were new clients just not properly entered by the new manager. I took the liberty of assigning them temporary account numbers and reversing the calculations. Once I did that, they balanced. Nothing is late either, not our payments to creditors and customers nor payments into us. We’re having a rather solid quarter. Once you marry Lady Drucilla, I’m sure new business will pick up in other sectors. Especially after the winter.”
“Yes, you’ve managed to do your duty to the company at a relatively decent clip, especially for you. This plan to play sick was a stroke of genius.” His brother smiled, tenting his fingers. “Perhaps, instead of finding you an heiress, we’ll invent a disease to keep you in your bedchamber from now on. Something de rigueur from the Continent.” He barked a little laugh at his joke.
“Perhaps,” Sol agreed, smiling as well, though not without his stomach feeling oddly unsettled.
