ache in her heart, she steeled herself with a new resolve.
She would not ruin this for Amy, no matter what it cost her.
Six
…She never told her love
But let concealment like a worm i’ th’ bud
Feed on her damask cheek…
—William Shakespeare , Twelfth Night
“A gentleman to see you, Lord Trevenan,” the butler announced. “A Captain Mercer.”
James looked up from his correspondence. “Did he state his business, Roberts?”
“Not entirely, but he says it’s a matter of some urgency, pertaining to his late lordship.”
Gerald? Frowning, James put aside the letter he’d been reading. All was well at Pentreath, according to his estate manager. Mercer…the name was unfamiliar. Still, what harm could it do to hear his business? “Thank you, Roberts. Show him in here, if you would.”
“Very good, my lord.” The butler withdrew.
Of all the things to which James had yet to become accustomed since inheriting the title, being addressed as “my lord” counted chief among them. So did acting as master of this huge Belgravia townhouse he had entered no more than three times in his life. Perhaps one day he’d adapt to both conditions; his household had already adjusted with surprising ease. “Captain Philip Mercer, my lord,” Roberts announced from the library doorway.
The newcomer—a tall, brown-haired man perhaps in his thirties—advanced into the library. “Good morning, Lord Trevenan. I hope I am not disturbing you?”
“Not at all,” James said with more politeness than truth. He gestured to an armchair opposite his desk. “Pray, be seated.”
“Thank you.” Mercer came forward and sat down.
Navy? James wondered as he studied his visitor more closely. Or perhaps the merchant service? Mercer had the sun-browned complexion and slightly rolling gait of someone who spent a lot of time at sea, but his accent sounded refined enough to James’s ears. For a sailor, he was quite the polished article, not at all like the hearty, sporting types with whom Gerald had usually kept company. “You wished to speak to me? On a matter of some importance?”
“Indeed, my lord.” Mercer leaned forward, his eyes—a striking pale grey—intent on James’s face. “At the risk of distressing you, I must inform you that this matter concerns your late cousin. He and I had become business associates in the months before his death.”
James raised his brows. “Gerald—in business?” To his knowledge, Gerald had displayed neither interest nor acumen in any business enterprise, much to the disgust of his father. Still, his cousin had always needed money to support his way of life in town.
“Last spring, Lord Alston—as he then was—acquired a number of shares in my company, Mercer Shipping,” the captain continued. “By autumn, he had taken a more active interest in certain…practical aspects of the business.”
“I see.” James could imagine Gerald, at his most arrogantly bullish, thrusting himself into the middle of things and trying to take over without any real understanding. Most people would find that galling, as Mercer clearly had, to judge from his tone and expression.
“Quite.” Mercer paused, brows drawing together. He appeared to be weighing his words carefully. “Alston…well, to make a long story short, part of a shipment from last December—just before Christmas—has gone missing, and I have been unable to determine its whereabouts. I have searched several warehouses, but to no avail. As your cousin oversaw the unloading of this shipment, I wondered if he might have redirected it to some other location, and if, as his cousin, you might have been privy to this information.”
James shook his head. “I am afraid I know nothing of this, Captain Mercer. Gerald and I were not close. Indeed, I was unaware until now that he had invested in your company.”
“Ah.” Mercer shifted in his chair. “That is another matter I hoped to discuss with you. As your cousin’s successor,
She would not ruin this for Amy, no matter what it cost her.
Six
…She never told her love
But let concealment like a worm i’ th’ bud
Feed on her damask cheek…
—William Shakespeare , Twelfth Night
“A gentleman to see you, Lord Trevenan,” the butler announced. “A Captain Mercer.”
James looked up from his correspondence. “Did he state his business, Roberts?”
“Not entirely, but he says it’s a matter of some urgency, pertaining to his late lordship.”
Gerald? Frowning, James put aside the letter he’d been reading. All was well at Pentreath, according to his estate manager. Mercer…the name was unfamiliar. Still, what harm could it do to hear his business? “Thank you, Roberts. Show him in here, if you would.”
“Very good, my lord.” The butler withdrew.
Of all the things to which James had yet to become accustomed since inheriting the title, being addressed as “my lord” counted chief among them. So did acting as master of this huge Belgravia townhouse he had entered no more than three times in his life. Perhaps one day he’d adapt to both conditions; his household had already adjusted with surprising ease. “Captain Philip Mercer, my lord,” Roberts announced from the library doorway.
The newcomer—a tall, brown-haired man perhaps in his thirties—advanced into the library. “Good morning, Lord Trevenan. I hope I am not disturbing you?”
“Not at all,” James said with more politeness than truth. He gestured to an armchair opposite his desk. “Pray, be seated.”
“Thank you.” Mercer came forward and sat down.
Navy? James wondered as he studied his visitor more closely. Or perhaps the merchant service? Mercer had the sun-browned complexion and slightly rolling gait of someone who spent a lot of time at sea, but his accent sounded refined enough to James’s ears. For a sailor, he was quite the polished article, not at all like the hearty, sporting types with whom Gerald had usually kept company. “You wished to speak to me? On a matter of some importance?”
“Indeed, my lord.” Mercer leaned forward, his eyes—a striking pale grey—intent on James’s face. “At the risk of distressing you, I must inform you that this matter concerns your late cousin. He and I had become business associates in the months before his death.”
James raised his brows. “Gerald—in business?” To his knowledge, Gerald had displayed neither interest nor acumen in any business enterprise, much to the disgust of his father. Still, his cousin had always needed money to support his way of life in town.
“Last spring, Lord Alston—as he then was—acquired a number of shares in my company, Mercer Shipping,” the captain continued. “By autumn, he had taken a more active interest in certain…practical aspects of the business.”
“I see.” James could imagine Gerald, at his most arrogantly bullish, thrusting himself into the middle of things and trying to take over without any real understanding. Most people would find that galling, as Mercer clearly had, to judge from his tone and expression.
“Quite.” Mercer paused, brows drawing together. He appeared to be weighing his words carefully. “Alston…well, to make a long story short, part of a shipment from last December—just before Christmas—has gone missing, and I have been unable to determine its whereabouts. I have searched several warehouses, but to no avail. As your cousin oversaw the unloading of this shipment, I wondered if he might have redirected it to some other location, and if, as his cousin, you might have been privy to this information.”
James shook his head. “I am afraid I know nothing of this, Captain Mercer. Gerald and I were not close. Indeed, I was unaware until now that he had invested in your company.”
“Ah.” Mercer shifted in his chair. “That is another matter I hoped to discuss with you. As your cousin’s successor,
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