Page 19 of The Scarred Duchess
Matlock skimmed the contents with eyes wide; he seemed to disbelieve the figures he saw. “Above an eleven-percent return? This far exceeds the funds. It is quite impressive.”
“That exact amount is on deposit at Childs.” Gardiner sipped his drink, set it on the side table, and removed a second document from his inner jacket pocket. “I have a further proposition.”
He outlined an investment scheme that would deepen the liquidity available to the self-indulgent and incautious aristocracy—barons, viscounts, earls, and marquesses. Once their borrowing crossed a threshold deemed impossible to repay, his gang would remand the peers to Marshalsea for debt.
“How would you recover your investment?”
“We auction off the estate lands unencumbered by patents or entails.”
Matlock nodded, approving. “I applaud your knowledge of your borrowing base. Very interesting. What do you require of me?”
“I assert three or four connexions of yours would suffice for a satisfactory influx of capital. I shall guarantee an annual return of two points higher than the funds. Should the investor choose to reinvest, each instance shall receive a bonus of half a point.”
“You are about to gain valuable connexions, young man. And antagonise many others,” he cautioned.
“I prefer to call it ‘culling the herd,’ as it were.”
“You cannot make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.”
“Indeed, I cannot, but I shall not allow that to stop me from trying,” the younger man replied with a smile.
Matlock continued their conversation as the carriage rolled towards Boodle’s later that evening.
“This evening shall afford you a bird’s-eye view of those you shall find as investors and those you deem for...what did you name it?”
“Culling, my lord.”
“Yes, culling. How agrarian you sound.” Matlock assessed his companion. “Am I to surmise you have purchased a property? You are now a landed gentleman?”
“You would be correct.”
“Excellent. How shall I introduce you in the future?”
The young man handed him a crisp calling card.
Edward A Gardiner, Bushey Heath, Watford
“Bushey Heath? Sir Robin Trowbridge’s estate?”
“Former estate, but yes.”
The earl’s eyes narrowed. “I knew of no evil concerning the baronet.”
Gardiner did not flinch. “Sir Robin hid his gambling losses and vowels behind the names of his steward and his man of all business. His perfidy revealed itself once the bailiffs put those poor men in chains.”
“You do not seem ill-affected by it.”
“Why would I be, my lord? A peer used his privilege to importune innocent, hard-working, loyal men. It was despicable behaviour. Sir Robin deserved everything he had visited upon him.”
Matlock sighed. “I daresay he did.”
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of a respectable-looking establishment. “Pay attention. Tomorrow evening, we shall discuss your observations after dinner. Come early. Lady Matlock has invited a fourth to round out the drawing room.”
The fourth, as Gardiner discovered upon his arrival at Matlock House the next evening, was the countess’s younger cousin. Like Lady Matlock, the young lady wore a modest evening gown and pearls. Her hair was up, although a few tendrils tickled her cheeks. She was everything lovely.
“My dear, if I may make the introductions?” asked Lord Matlock. “Miss Edgecombe, this is Edward Gardiner of Bushey Heath in Watford, a most enterprising young man I am proud to bring to your attention.” The young lady curtseyedas he bowed.
“Gardiner, it is my pleasure to acquaint you with her ladyship’s cousin, Miss Madeleine Edgecombe of Haxby Hall in Yorkshire.”
