A Duke in the Night(44)

August kept his expression pleasant. Now that was an unexpected remark. “You are, of course, speaking of the former owner of the Silver Swan.”

“Indeed.” Strathmore’s voice was devoid of any sort of challenge, as though it were merely idle curiosity that had spurred that question. August wasn’t fooled for a second.

“I believe Mr. Merrill’s refusal to adopt change led to the failure of his business, if that is what you’re asking.”

“I suppose I am.” Strathmore glanced out the window, over the darkening harbor. “Did you know that this place had been in Mr. Merrill’s family for six generations before you bought it?”

August laced his fingers together, wondering if there was an accusation in that statement. But it would seem that Strathmore had more in common with his sister than just the color of his eyes. He, like Clara, was utterly inscrutable. “I did. Though I fail to see the relevance.”

“The relevance.” The baron seemed to be mulling that over. “I would suggest such information might be relevant with respect to the pride or self-worth that ownership might bring to a man like Merrill. Did that not give you pause?”

August frowned slightly. “Good Lord. Are you suggesting that I should have left this place in the hands of Merrill for the sake of…sentimentality?”

The baron shrugged. “That might be one word for it.”

August’s frown deepened. He’d believed the man to be much wiser than that. “No. There is no room in business for sentimentality. Nor do I do things by half measures. If Mr. Merrill had any sort of pride of ownership, he had a strange way of showing it.”

“Ah.” The baron turned back from the window, his fingers playing with the stem of his wineglass. August couldn’t tell if there was censure or acceptance in that single syllable, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Mr. Merrill had his chance. And he failed. But amidst that failure, I saw opportunity. I buy things with potential, Lord Strathmore. And then I make that potential happen to ensure the safety and well-being of my family.”

“Yet you did not offer Walter Merrill a partnership.”

“No.” Strathmore would know that only if he knew Merrill himself. Even given Strathmore’s ties to the community, that sort of knowledge was a little odd for a man who called London home and Dover a very temporary residence. “The level of deterioration to which this place had fallen, both physically and financially, was extreme. Mr. Merrill was not supportive of my proposed changes to correct that. Though he was certainly supportive of the bank draft with which I provided him.” He eyed the baron. “If he tells you anything different, he is lying.”

“Walter Merrill died last year. Shot by soldiers while sneaking through the dark with a tub of smuggled French brandy strapped to his back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Strathmore lifted his eyes to August’s. “I’m sure.”

August met his dark gaze, unhappy with the direction the conversation had taken. He’d hoped to plant the seeds of a solution to the Haywards’ financial difficulties, but when it came to business, it would seem the baron had some convictions and ideals that were going to prove difficult. Lord Strathmore seemed to be a man who would have to be backed into a corner first, the very real threat of total bankruptcy of his family presented before he started to see things the way August wished him to.

“Strathmore Shipping is not for sale, Your Grace.” It came from Clara, and it was so quiet, August almost didn’t hear it.

“I beg your pardon?” August turned toward her.

Her face was pale, her hands clenched in her lap. “It’s what you came to Dover for, isn’t it?”

*



You will not meet a more ruthless, cunning adversary than Holloway when he goes after something he wants.

It was what Harland had told her. Clara had heard him, but she hadn’t listened. Not carefully enough.

But she had listened as she sat at that damn table tonight as August Faulkner made it clear why he was really here. Made it clear why he had really sought her out that day at the museum and why he had followed her to Dover. No, Clara amended, it wasn’t she he’d been seeking. It had been Harland all along. He’d asked after Harland all along. She just hadn’t paid attention.

She was such a fool. Clara had allowed herself to believe that he had really come to Avondale for Anne, because she had wanted to believe in the caring brother and not the ruthless adversary. And worse, she had completely fallen for every charmed word that had slipped from his silvered tongue and convinced her that he truly found her—what had he said? Extraordinary. She had kissed him. Would have done far more than kiss him.

Mortification and fury crowded into her chest, and she welcomed them. They didn’t allow room for the sadness and disappointment that weren’t welcome at all.

He buys broken things and breaks them apart further before building them back up into profitable ventures.

Harland had said that too. Things like the Silver Swan. Like Strathmore Shipping.

The duke’s expression was closed, his eyes shuttered and his lips thinned. “Cl—Miss Hayward, I—”

“Yes or no, Your Grace,” Clara hissed.

Holloway’s features tightened even more. “The possibility came up.”