A Duke in the Night(80)

“I think we’re past that,” Rose said quietly. “We all knew it might come to this. We need more money, and there’s no more to be had. We’re out of options.”

“I might be able to—” Harland stopped.

“To do what?” Clara prompted.

Her brother shook his head. “Never mind. Yes, we’re out of options. Save one, of course. Sell a share of Strathmore Shipping.”

Clara took a deep breath. “That’s not true.”

Harland pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “You have a buried treasure stashed somewhere nearby that you didn’t tell us about?” His attempt at humor echoed hollowly.

“I could ask His Grace for a loan.”

Rose turned from the window, and Harland’s head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?” her brother said into the silence.

“I could ask Holloway for a loan.” She held up her hand at Harland’s expression. “Just a loan. Not a share in the company, but a short-term loan until our ships return.”

“At what price?” Harland demanded.

“What do you mean?”

“The Duke of Holloway is not known for his charity,” he said darkly. “You might as well sell him the entire company right now. If we offer a share of the company to someone looking for a simple investment, but who is not interested in swallowing the entire business whole, we will still retain control. We will still have the ability to make our own decisions, control our future. If Holloway covers our debt, he will take away that control. Maybe not at the beginning, but eventually. The second we lose a load of cargo to bad weather or bad luck, the second we default on a loan payment, we’ve lost. The duke will annex Strathmore Shipping into his own empire without even blinking. He’s made his desire to do so very clear already.”

Clara winced. “But maybe he would consider—”

“If you think he’d be more forgiving based on sentimental reasons, or because he has a soft spot for you because you were his sister’s headmistress, think again. Better yet, ask Walter Merrill, who lost the Silver Swan to him.”

“You make him sound so…mercenary,” Clara said.

“Because he is. Because he’s had to be,” Harland replied wearily. “If he thought there was even a chance that he could take advantage of our circumstances, he would do so with no hesitation. Not because he is cruel, but because he is a shrewd businessman and the interests of his family will always take precedence over the interests of anyone else. No matter what.”

Deep down Clara knew that Harland was right. It didn’t mean that she didn’t hate it.

“Promise me you will not talk of this with Holloway,” Harland said. “Promise me that you will keep him out of this.”

“I promise,” Clara mumbled. She stared sightlessly at the rows of books towering silently around and above her. The sacrifice of Haverhall hadn’t been enough in the end, and it made her want to scream with frustration and unhappiness. “I should never have sold it,” she mumbled.

“What?” Harland asked.

“I should never have sold Haverhall. Because it was for nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Harland said fiercely. “Without that money we wouldn’t have a ship at sea, let alone two. We would have had no chance at all of fixing this.” He suddenly reached into his coat and pulled out a second letter. “This was also waiting with the post.”

“What is it?” Clara asked despondently.

“A notice from the solicitor that the new owner of Haverhall has expressed his willingness to allow the school to operate as per usual for a full year. You will not be required to vacate the premises unless, of course, you wish to.”

Clara stared at him. “Why would he do that?”

Harland shrugged. “Probably because you are already a convenient tenant he can collect a rent from? Or because it suits his purposes to have the buildings occupied?”

Rose had come to stand closer to Harland. “But if that’s the case, the fall term’s tuition—”

“Still won’t be enough,” Harland told them heavily.

A dismal silence fell.

“We’ll fix this,” Harland said into the silence. “Together. Haywards always find a way.”

Clara nodded. Harland was right. No one had died. Her family was still together, safe and healthy. They were not destitute, nor would they be forced onto the streets. They would be able to afford rooms, food to eat, coal to keep them warm.

“Whom will you ask?” It was Rose’s question. “To invest?”

Harland looked away. “Leave that to me. The Duke of Holloway is not the only wealthy man in London who might be counted on for discretion. I had hoped never to have to do this, but we no longer have a choice.”

*



It had been her hair that had first caught his attention.

It whipped behind her in the wind, and the sinking sun set fire to it, sending flames of dark red streaming behind her. August had been on his way home from Dover, along the worn road that skirted past the castle, when he’d seen Clara trudging up the incline toward the small church that sat in its shadow. He hesitated before he reined his mare toward her, urging the horse into a canter as it surged up the hill.

The church grounds were deserted at this time of evening, and August dismounted, leaving his horse grazing in the long light. She hadn’t gone into the church but was standing against the ancient Roman lighthouse that flanked it, staring out in the direction of the sea. She had her arms wrapped around herself, her expression distant and drawn.