A Duke in the Night(5)

August placed the deed in the center of his desk. He jabbed his finger into the middle of it. “I want you to tell me what you were able to discover about this.”

For all of Duncan’s talents in law and accounting, his true gift lay in his ability to uncover information from places one did not even know existed. Places a duke could not venture without people taking note. He was a man whose boyish face was rarely noticed and easily forgotten, and it hid a razor-sharp mind. His gentle nature, accompanied by the canny application of charm and coin, made him seem always a friend and never a threat. And no matter what August had asked of him, he had never disappointed.

His man of business took his time settling himself into one of the wide upholstered chairs that sat near the corner of the desk and gave August a long look. “I must ask, Your Grace, was this a test for me?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“In the course of my inquiries, I was advised that you are already acquainted with Miss Hayward.”

August felt a muscle working along the edge of his jaw as he wondered exactly what his man of business had been told. “We crossed paths years and years ago. I haven’t seen her since, so I hardly think that qualifies as ‘acquainted.’”

“So your previous…encounter was not why you agreed so easily to the absolute secrecy of the sale?”

August set his glass down on the corner of his desk with an irritated thump. “I would have danced an Irish jig naked on the back of an ass if it had been a condition that would see Haverhall finally become mine.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And I would have insisted on confidentiality even if the Haywards hadn’t.” Almost all of August’s holdings were already acquired anonymously through subsidiary companies that he had crafted, not easily traced back to the duchy. That make it easier for the competent individuals he hired to manage his investments on his behalf, and he did not like to advertise the extent of his empire.

August snatched his glass up again. “So no, my previous encounter did not influence my decision to accept her terms. Nor has it provided me the reason why Clara Hayward suddenly and inexplicably decided to sell what seems to amount to her purpose in life. That was your job.”

“Ah. Well, I had to ask.” Duncan suddenly grinned at him. “You were right, of course.”

“About what?”

“When you said that there must be something more to the sale of the school.”

August leaned forward impatiently. “Of course I was right.”

Duncan took another slow sip of his brandy. “Were you aware that the current Baron Strathmore is a trained physician still practicing?”

“I was, yes.” Another eccentricity of the Hayward clan that seemed to have been forgiven thanks to barrels of Strathmore money, though he wasn’t sure what this had to do with Haverhall.

“Did you know that he served during the Waterloo campaign?”

“Hmm. That I did not know.”

“Departed immediately after he was widowed, though the accepted story seems to be that he spent his period of mourning simply traveling.”

“His wife was a shrew. Given what happened at the end of their marriage, I can understand why he might jump at the chance to shoot things. Therapeutic, I might suggest.”

Duncan examined the edge of his glass. “He didn’t shoot things. He served as a battlefield surgeon.”

August felt another tug of impatience and took a healthy swallow of brandy to hide it. “Very honorable, I’m sure. But get to the point, Mr. Down. What does any of this have to do with Haverhall or the Strathmore shipping empire or—”

“There is no empire.”

August’s glass froze halfway to his mouth. Carefully he set it aside. “I beg your pardon?”

“There is no empire, though the baron is doing an extraordinarily admirable job of hiding that fact. What remains, as far as I can determine, is the crumbling framework of what used to be a ridiculously profitable import and export company. It could be revived, of course, though I’m not sure the good doctor is the man for the job.” Duncan left that last bit dangling.

August tipped his head, an old familiar feeling of heady anticipation starting to tingle through his veins. “Do tell.”

“Old Strathmore made the bulk of his fortune on the trade of common goods. He exported furniture, cutlery, glassware, and toys, all purchased directly from the craftsmen. His ships returned with sugar, tobacco, cotton, copper, iron ore, and the occasional shipment of indigo. Nothing glamorous, but all bulk items in high demand. And he increased his profits by distributing and selling them himself.”

“What changed?”

“Aside from Lord and Lady Strathmore’s indecently extravagant lifestyle?” Duncan drained the last of his brandy. “It would seem extravagance became contagious. The late baron decided there could be more profit in bringing in luxury items from the East Indies. Gold, diamonds, spices, silk.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” August mused, bracing his hands on his desk.

“He wasn’t lucky either. Or perhaps he trusted the wrong people. Either way, he leveraged his company to purchase bigger ships to make the journey east instead of west. He committed huge sums of money to secure cargoes, hired more crews with heavier armaments—”

“He overextended himself.”