Page 11 of A Lord in Want of a Wife (Daring Debutantes #2)

I f Cedric were in London, he would meet with his banker and have detailed information regarding his accounts. He would also discover the particulars of Lord Wenshire and his daughters. Dowries were flexible things, but general details were always available if one knew who to ask.

Additionally, he would have talked to his many female friends about Miss Richards, learning if she were shrewish or had a gambling habit.

And best of all, he would have danced the waltz with her several times.

Enough to indicate his interest in her such that gossip one way or another would find its way to his ears.

But he was not in London. There was no way to subtly find out what he wanted to know or to communicate his desire. No way except in the crudest manner possible. And he didn’t even have another bottle of Aarack to help ease the awkwardness of the discussion.

Nevertheless, he did his best.

There were few people at the captain’s table that night.

Indeed, even the captain had gone into town which left three crew aboard ship.

Miss Grace Richards came to the table in her sailor’s clothing.

She ate quickly, smiled at him and then rushed back up into the sails to do whatever she did up there.

He got the distinct impression that staying below bothered her.

Miss Lucy Richards dressed wonderfully, though the gown was of poor quality.

No doubt it was the best available to her when she’d departed China.

Still, she looked beautiful to him. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes seemed to sparkle at him, and yet she remained poised at the table, eating sparingly.

She reminded him of a fawn, filled with life but still skittish.

Unless she was negotiating spices, of course. Then she became a tigress.

He loved the variety of that and looked forward to seeing what she would become when she was a lady of the ton as his bride.

Her father sat beside her, listening to tales of India from the sailors who joined them. He was not a talkative man. He listened, chuckled, and smiled fondly at his daughters. Then the meal ended, the sailors departed, and Cedric knew it was time.

‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir,’ he said as Lord Wenshire set down his napkin. ‘I should like to converse with you. Over cigars, perhaps?’ He didn’t have any on him, but most gentlemen puffed when they could.

‘Bah,’ Mr. Richards said. ‘I stopped that habit when I started coughing.’ He smiled at Lucy. ‘My daughters made me.’

Cedric grinned. ‘Did you smoke your last one?’

Lord Wenshire stifled a cough. ‘Last week.’ Then he narrowed his eyes to look first at Cedric, then at Lucy. ‘Dearest,’ he said as he took her hand. ‘You should take a walk on deck. Watch the port. There’s always something interesting going on out there.’

Lucy looked at her father and then at Cedric. She understood the man’s meaning, but it was clear she was reluctant to leave. ‘Perhaps I could stay—’

‘That is not how the English do it, my dear. The hour after the meal is reserved for men speaking to men.’

She grimaced then gave in. She lowered her head and clasped her hands in front of her, though she still managed to look at him. He gave her a reassuring smile as she left the room. And then he did something unusual for him.

He waited. He looked at her father and knew that revealing himself immediately would be a mistake.

He had to let her father guide the conversation.

Except for one thing. He was the one who asked for the time alone with him.

Still, he waited, feeling anxiety build in his belly until Lord Wenshire began to muse aloud.

‘I knew your father. Went to school with him, though I was several years ahead.’ He shifted to stare hard at Cedric. ‘What do you think of him?’

As little as possible. ‘He is the Earl of Hillburn, I am his heir. In that way, he deserves my respect.’

‘Does he?’ the man challenged. ‘Do you respect your father?’

This was not a topic he wanted to confront, but it was a legitimate question from Lucy’s father. And damn the man for getting right to the heart of it. Cedric looked down at his dirty plate and wished he had some very strong brandy at hand.

He did not. Neither did he want to lie, even though polite society generally expected him to.

‘My father is a gambler. Over the years, he’s sworn to stop, but he never has. I remember one Christmas when he was flush. He burst in like Father Christmas, dropped packages for everyone, and talked of all the wonderful things he wanted to do with us that winter. I remember being so happy.’

‘How long did it last?’

‘Not even a day. To be fair, we were the ones asking him to go riding in the snow with us, to listen to my sister sing, to praise me for my marks at school.’

‘He wasn’t one to praise?’

‘Oh, he was. Deep in his cups he had praise a plenty for everything and everyone. My father is a joyous drunk whom everybody loves.’

‘And what happens when he has no more money to gamble?’

‘He comes home and waits until quarter day when he can again return to London to lose it at the tables.’

‘So your title is hollow and you came to India to make your fortune.’ He leaned back in his chair to study Cedric. It was not a comfortable moment, but Cedric had experience in enduring uncomfortable moments. He sat still and tried to explain his situation in positive terms.

That was a near impossible task.

‘I wanted to learn what the East India Company did, to see if there was a place there for me.’

‘And is there?’

‘There might have been,’ he admitted. If he hadn’t seen some of the techniques used by the company.

If he hadn’t talked with farmers. If he hadn’t learned how the company forced them to grow poppies, then paid them pennies for the crop.

If he hadn’t stood in the factory that processed the opium and witnessed the conditions there.

And if he hadn’t befriended the daughter of one of the natives and learned from her all the quiet, untidy things that Englishmen did in India.

He said none of that out loud.

‘I received a letter from my sister begging me to return home. I have three, and they are of an age to marry.’ He shook his head. ‘She needs me to sort through things for them.’

Mr. Richards’s brow lifted. ‘Sort through things?’

Might as well tell it all. ‘Their dowries, sir. My father won’t give them any details.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know what’s become of the funds.’

‘Yes, you do. Your father gambled it all away.’

‘Most likely.’

‘So what are you going to do?’ The question was posed casually as if it were the same as choosing a cravat for the evening or a new style of haircut.

It wasn’t that simple, and even though he was his father’s heir, there was precious little he could do to control the man. Which meant he didn’t have an answer.

Abruptly, Lord Wenshire leaned forwards. His posture, which had been lazy, was suddenly taut as he stared hard at Cedric.

‘What are you going to do?’

Cedric felt his temper flare. He did not like being questioned by anyone, much less a man who had all the advantages of the rich.

Lord Wenshire might not be in line for an earldom, but he came from the aristocracy.

The second son of a second son. He’d been educated with the elite and had travelled the world making money.

He did not know what it was like to have disasters for parents.

And to be constantly crippled beneath the weight of his father’s addiction.

‘Lord Domac!’ the man said, his voice harsher than before.

Cedric matched it, his words coming out hard and angry.

‘I tried gambling as a teen. I was clever and understood the games.’ He shook his head.

‘But I could not sustain the profit.’ Not without resorting to trickery, and that was something he could not stomach.

‘I tried businesses in England, learning about mills and factories at home.’ He shook his head.

‘I could not buy my way into any of the profitable ventures. And I haven’t the stomach needed for coal mining. ’

Lord Wenshire grunted as he fell back against his chair. ‘I’ve been in a coal mine. Filthy, awful work. And what it does to the children.’ He shook his head.

Cedric shuddered. He’d seen that, as well. Even if he had the money to invest, he couldn’t do it. ‘So I followed Graham to India. There are ways to make money with the company here.’

Lord Wenshire nodded. ‘I worked for them for a decade. It’s the basis of my wealth.’

‘Only a decade? I thought it was longer.’

‘Well, maybe fifteen years.’ The man shook his head. ‘Once I was transferred out of China, I began searching for something different. India worked, for a time, but I wanted something…’ He shrugged. ‘Wholesome.’

Cedric nodded. He understood the desire. ‘Did you find it?’

Lord Wenshire snorted. ‘In lots of different ways. But mostly, I was searching for the right cargo. The right product to take back to England.’

Now this was something he needed to know. ‘What is it? What did you find?’

‘Chinese tea.’ He shook his head. ‘I spent years searching the globe, and in the end…’ He pushed his plate away from him on the table. ‘I came back to the East India Company and tea.’

‘I want to be in shipping,’ Cedric blurted out. It was a shock because he’d never said that aloud before. ‘I am not a farmer. I can manage whatever estate remains from my father, but there is little money there. I will not process opium. It is not…’

‘Wholesome?’

That was as good a word as any. There was medical value in the drug, but also a great deal of abuse. Plus the Chinese government had made it illegal to import, so only black market deals were available.

‘Cargo is the way to go,’ he said. ‘Shipping it from one place to the other, as you do.’ He leaned forwards. ‘I want to learn from you, sir. I want to understand how you have made your fortune—’

‘So you can imitate it?’

‘Yes.’

‘You need money to start. Do you have any?’

No sense in denying it. ‘None.’