Page 8 of Her Ruse with the Wicked Duke
“Indeed. Are you aware of any gentlemen in this fine establishment looking to invest across the sea?”
“You will want to speak with that group over there, by the window.” The man pointed to a group of younger gentlemen laughing and sipping on glasses of dark amber liquid.
Rowan nodded a thank you and promised to join him for dinner before striding across the room. The men turned around, their laughter ceasing.
“Your Grace.” A boy smiled. He could be no more than twenty years old, and yet he was dressed like an old lord, with a deep maroon suitcoat with a high collar. “Can I interest you with our betting?”
“Lord Alvanley has just bet Lord Harrel a whopping three thousand pounds on which of two raindrops will fall the fastest.”
The lords were sitting near the glass, whispering words of affirmation to the raindrops as they slowly ran down the windowpane. Rowan leaned in, cocking his head to the side, perplexed by this form of enjoyment.
It was entertaining, indeed, but after his schooldays, he escaped on a ship and was surrounded for nearly a decade by musty old sailors and the occasional wayward traveler who spoke no English. He knew nothing of the boyish bond these men had established.
Lord Harrel howled as his raindrop made it to the sill, spilling his whiskey. Lord Alvanley began fuming and stomped away.
“Care to make a bet, Your Grace?”
“It is intriguing. I am not here to lose money, unfortunately. I am in search of investors.”
“What is the offer?” one of the men spoke up. He was a fat, old man with his chin jutting out in an awkward way, like he had been punched in the face long ago and never healed correctly.
“I am looking for a long-term investment into produce and cotton from the Americas.” Rowan had practiced his pitch a million times over in the mirror, and yet he still felt like a beggar.
If they stopped staring at me like I am an oddity, this would be much easier.
“I heard that you were seen with my daughter at the ball the other night,” the man replied.
Suddenly, Rowan understood why he looked familiar. He had hardly spoken to the man’s daughter at the ball. He did not even remember her name. Yet, she apparently told her father that they had a wonderful evening together.
Rowan nodded. “Ah, yes. I believe I did converse with your daughter the other evening.”
“And you are interested in business.” The man toyed with the words in his mouth. “I would assume you are already quite successful and wealthy, Your Grace.”
“My father worked diligently to provide me with a legacy.”
“If you are planning on playing my hand both ways, you are mistaken, Your Grace,” the plump, old man finally said, smiling like a snake.
“I beg your pardon, Sir?” Rowan squinted, utterly confused.
“An investment into your business and a dowry will not come from my hand.”
Of course, he is worried about a dowry. Thankfully, marriage would not be on the table if he begged me. I do not even know his name.
“Our business comes first and foremost.”
“Wonderful. Shall we meet again, in a more formal setting?” The gentleman reached his hand out for a handshake.
“Absolutely.”
If I can secure deals by just talking to the ladies, maybe this deal with Alice will not have to last very long.
* * *
Alice watched from the sidewalk as Grace stepped out of the market, waving to the merchant, stepping onto the street to join her, and successfully filling the woven produce basket with colorful vegetables and fruits.
Alice was obligated to wear a dull, cream linen dress into town that happened to match her lady’s maid’s, since all of her gowns were being laundered, something she usually would not do if she thought she would see anyone of high status.
Usually, the markets were full of servants and maids running errands on Saturdays, so she was not too worried. Most masters and mistresses did not accompany the servants, but Alice found enjoyment in being away from the estate.
