A Duke in the Night(6)

“He borrowed heavily to cover losses. It cost a bit of coin, but I was able to obtain records that document the loss of one of his Indiamen to a storm, three others to pirates. Or maybe mutinies. Hard to say for sure when the crews disappear with the cargo. But all of those ships were laden to the gunwales with a king’s ransom in goods already purchased.”

“What’s left?” This was the important part.

Duncan snorted. “A great deal of debt.”

“Ships?”

“Five vessels of varying sorts, including two clippers. The current baron has sold three Indiamen and two large brigs last year. Of his remaining ships, two are active. Two more have been refitted and are now waiting for crews, and the last needs expensive repairs.”

“The two ships that are active—where are they?”

“Back to their former routes and former cargoes. Virginia, mostly. It would seem that Strathmore’s dependable network of trade partners in the West survived intact.”

August straightened with keen interest. Owning a vast fleet himself, he knew just how valuable those trade networks and partners were. “And his distribution arrangements here?”

Duncan made a face and shrugged. “I wasn’t able to confirm that. But he’s been selling cargo to someone. He, along with his siblings, seems determined to save a sinking company.”

“Commendable, I suppose, but with two ships?” August drummed his fingers on his thigh. “He’ll be dead of old age before he makes any headway.”

“It’s a tricky knot, that of requiring money to make more money.”

Which was why Clara Hayward had sold Haverhall. The answer was obvious now. Selling any more of their remaining fleet would cripple any chance their family might have at expansion or recovery of the shipping company. “They’re trying to get the remaining ships crewed and repaired in a timely manner before they rot at their moorings,” August murmured. “I would have done the same.”

“The baron does strike me as a resourceful man.”

August felt his brows lift. “You spoke to him?”

“Of course I did.” Duncan covered his chest dramatically with his fingers. “For the terrible heart palpitations I’ve been having.”

“Palpitations.” August shook his head. “The only thing that makes your heart palpitate is money, Mr. Down. And lots of it.”

“There is something about a pot, a kettle, and the color black I feel I should mention at this juncture, Your Grace.”

“How much trouble are the Haywards still in?” August asked, ignoring the jab. The heady anticipation he had felt before was still buzzing through him.

“There is no agricultural or industrial revenue to subsidize their income—Haverhall is the only land that existed in conjunction with the Strathmore title. But the profits from the school alone weren’t enough to cover the loan from Strathmore’s banker that is coming due in six weeks. Capital plus interest.”

August didn’t even want to know how Duncan had discovered that, but he didn’t doubt him for a second. “Strathmore is relying on the ships that are currently in the Americas to return in time with their cargo to counter his debt.”

“Yes.”

August turned away and paced the room, stopping by one of the towering bookcases. He ran his fingers thoughtfully down the ancient leather spines. From experience August knew that ships were notoriously unreliable when it came to punctuality.

“I want that company,” he said to no one in particular. Strathmore’s ships would be a welcome addition to his fleet, but it was the baron’s trading network that held the real value. A network that could be expanded and exploited to his advantage.

And to have a chance at that, before the baron was forced to put the company up for sale on the open market and ignite a bidding war, August knew that he would need to insert himself into Strathmore’s world. Convince him that he was a friend, a confidant, and the answer to all his troubles. Discover exactly what he truly desired and then show him the path to achieving it. Sometimes it took minutes. Other times much longer. But August was a very patient man. And everyone had their price. Everyone had their breaking point.

“Is Lord Strathmore still in London?” August asked.

Duncan smirked, making it obvious to August that he knew exactly what he was thinking. “He is.” His man of business made a show of glancing at the mantel clock. “What’s more, he can usually be found at the British Museum late on Wednesday afternoons. I am told that he escorts his sisters there regularly.” He paused, a sandy brow raised. “Thinking of reacquainting yourself with the baron, Your Grace?”

An unseemly excitement shot through August, different from mere anticipation, though he did a decent job at convincing himself that it was the prospect of adding to his holdings that was responsible for it, not the possibility of seeing Clara Hayward again. “I need to get to Strathmore before he’s forced to sell. If he puts that company up for sale on the open market, there will be at least a dozen men clamoring to buy him out. And competition like that will drive the price up well beyond what I’d like.”

Duncan sniffed. “I’m surprised there haven’t been at least a dozen men clamoring to entice Miss Hayward to the altar before all of this. Surely someone else might have discovered that she owned Haverhall. Surely you’re not the only one who’s recognized the profit that could be realized by developing that land.” He put his empty glass aside and took his spectacles out of his pocket, polishing them on his sleeve. “Men have married for far less, and English law falls squarely in their favor.”