The Reluctant Duke (Love's Pride Book 1) (18 page)

Gwen stared into the fireplace. It seemed that had been all she could do for the last three days. Three long days of second guessing. Full of doubts and fear.

“Are you all right my dear,” Aunt Celeste said, looking at her as if she were a lost kitten in the snow. Gwen knew what she saw, ugly black smudges under her eyes. A glassy faraway look. She really should pull herself together. If the Duke was going to have his aunt dismiss her, he would have done it by now.

“Yes Aunt Celeste, everything is fine.”

“Are you sure dear? You look tired. It’s not that silly party I hope. I assure you. No one is talking about it. Everyone thought it rather heroic of Bathurst to catch you and carry you from the room. Believe me, they are more interested in Lady Lambert being discovered in the arms of her footman. I can assure you. Your fainting spell isn’t on anyone’s lips.

Gwen smiled at the older woman, trying to reassure her, silently thanking her for her concern.

“No, I am just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Oh, I am sorry. You seemed to be all better after the party when we left you with Bathurst. Did anything happen? Did my nephew do something he shouldn’t have? I promise you I will …”

“No! No, nothing like that. I’m just not well.”

“Well, you let me know if there is anything I can do. With Bathurst’s wealth, we will want for nothing I can assure you. Only the best of everything. At least until he marries and his wife puts a strangle hold on his finances.”

Gwen blanched. Where did that come from?

“I am sure that when the Duke marries he will retain full control. Believe me, I cannot see anyone telling him what to do. More like the other way around if you ask me.”

Aunt Celeste laughed. “Yes, maybe you are right. Though we should be careful, the wrong woman could ruin the happy family we are creating here don’t you think? I will tell you something in confidence. But you must never tell him.”

“Of course my lady,”

“I like Bathurst, he’s all man and is turning out to be a good Duke. He takes it seriously. I don’t think we would have been so lucky with one of his cousins.”

Gwen was silent as she slowly pulled the thread to her needlepoint. It wouldn’t do for her to comment on the performance of the Duke.

“And,” Lady Celeste continued. “You’ve got to admit that he does cut a dashing figure. Something about a man with power who knows how to use it.”

“He most definitely knows how to tell people what to do,” Gwen said before she could stop herself.

“Yes, well, that is as expected. It can become a habit. We forget how to ask for what we want. Instead, we just demand what we need and expect everyone to provide it. That doesn’t mean we’re not appreciative, just that we don’t always see things correctly.”

Gwen tried to bite her lip to stop herself from speaking but couldn’t do it. The words refused to stay hidden. “Some people need to learn how to ask instead of order. They might get what they want that way.”

Aunt Celeste didn’t respond. Instead she lifted her paper as if to hide a smile.

.o0o.

The strong smells of London assaulted the Duke of Bathurst as he rode in his open carriage through the streets. Horses, raw sewage, and the Thames at low tide. God how he hated this piss pot of a city.

It smelled worse than a Portuguese battlefield on a hot day. He shuddered to think what it would be like in full summer. Hopefully by then he would be deep in Brookshire.

Thomas tugged his tall hat tight. Six days, six long, miserable days since he had seen her. It had taken that long to put his plans in place. His stomach tightened. This had to work.

The London docks teemed with activity. Stevedores unloading giant bales of cotton from Egypt. Men rolling casks of Whiskey down from Scotland. Still others scurryied up and down gangplanks with heavy reams of silk from China.

The gateway to the empire. All of it was open to him, and he was stuck minding a conglomeration of farms and estates. A brief thought of what might have been flashed through his mind.

As the carriage pulled to a stop outside a large wooden warehouse, the Sergeant Major opened the carriage door. The Duke stepped down, nodding at the three other men with the Sergeant Major. His solicitor Mr. James Hopper looked out of place. As if afraid the dirt and grime would mar his perfect attire. The two large, burly men with him looked as if they were born to the place. They made the Sergeant Major look like a street urchin.

“At the top of the stairs,” The Sergeant Major said, glancing to the second floor of the warehouse.

The Duke took a deep breath. “Gentlemen, shall we.”

He led the way up the stairs, leaning on his walking stick with each step. He had been using it more than normal he realized. Too much pacing and not enough sleep.

At the top of the stairs, he opened a wooden door with “Harding and Grant” painted in fading yellow. The interior office was Spartan with a small desk and a single candle. Not a good sign Mr. Grant. The Duke thought as he stepped inside.

The young man behind the desk jumped to his feet, almost knocking his chair over.

“May I help you?” he said with a bit of a stammer quickly closing the brown ledger he had been working on. He glanced over the Duke’s shoulder as the other men entered. His gaze coming to rest on the two large men who barely fit through the front door. Swallowing hard, he glanced down at the ledge book.

“That is all right; we will announce ourselves,” The Duke said as he marched across the room to the inner office door.

The Sergeant Major intercepted the young man before he could stop them. Staring down at him, he silently shook his head.

“You don’t want to get involved my boy,” he said.

The Duke opened the inner door and stepped into John Grant’s office. It was as bare as his outside office. An older, heavyset man sitting behind a large desk looked up. His forehead creased in confusion for a moment then quickly changed over to fear when he saw the other men enter.

“Yes?” The older man said.

“Mr. John Grant?” The Duke asked as he peered down at the man who had hurt Gwen. His heart raced, and his fist ached to punch that silly smile from his face.

“Um … Yes,” The man answered, as if afraid to give even that much information.

“I am the Duke of Bathurst.”

The man’s face relaxed as he processed the information. It was obvious that he had run down the list of people to be worried about and the Duke wasn’t one of them. He sat back in his chair.

“How may I help you?” He asked.

The Duke smiled. A slow, deadly smile. The kind Tiger’s get before they pounce. This was the man who had tried to sell Gwen. Had made her life a living hell. Just rewards were due.

“This is Mr. James Hopper my solicitor,” The Duke said as confusion returned to the man’s face.

“And these two men,” the Duke said gesturing to the two large, burly fellows. “Are here to escort you to Newgate Prison.”

All color drained from John Grant’s face as he froze in place. His eyes grew wide as he stared back at the Duke then shifted to the other men.

“But … I … I don’t understand. Why?”

“Debts Mr. Grant. You owe me Nine thousand six hundred and twenty-two pounds. Unless you are able to pay them today, then … Are you able to pay them? Do you have access to funds that I am not aware of?”

“But … We … I never borrowed money from you. I don’t owe you anything.”

“Ah. It was a simple matter. I have purchased your debts. I was able to get quite a few of them for pence on the pound. It seems people do not believe you will repay them.”

The man stood up. His legs wobbly, barely able to hold him upright. His white face quickly turned to a deep red as he stammered, searching for words that could make this all disappear. A small speck of spittle had caught in the corner of the man’s mouth.

The Duke briefly considered the possibility the man would die right here and now. No bother, either way he would get what he wanted.

“Yes, well. As I said. These men will escort you to Newgate Prison where you will reside until the debts are paid. Of course, you do realize that they charge you room and board at the prison, and those charges will be added. I can assure you, they will not let you out until they and I are paid in full. Have you ever visited Newgate Mr. Grant?” the Duke asked. “It is not a nice place, between the rats and the thieves. The foul food, it can be quite unpleasant.”

Now true fear spread across the man’s face as the reality of the situation sank in. He glanced towards the front door, but the wall of muscle between him and escape looked to be impenetrable.

“I don’t understand?” he muttered to himself then looking up at the Duke he said. “I don’t understand why did you buy my debts?”

“That is not important nor germane to the situation. All you have to do is figure out how to pay me.” The Duke said as he leaned on his walking stick. “Or go to prison. I assure you all of the paperwork is complete and proper. These men work for the prison company and wouldn’t be here if it weren't.”

“But … I.” suddenly a light appeared in the scared man’s eyes. He drew himself together, hooking his thumbs into his vest. “Sir, I am a respected businessman. I own four ships, each loaded with a king’s ransom in cargo. I promise you. When they arrive, you will be paid.”

The Duke smiled down at the man again and said, “One of your ships is three weeks overdue. I don’t think it will arrive in time if at all. Another is loaded with teak from Rio de Janeiro and isn’t due to arrive for another fortnight. A nice cargo, but well short of the money you owe. As for the other two, they are both outbound for the orient and won’t return for six months. Unfortunately, I can’t wait that long.”

The man paled again, obviously shocked that someone knew his business so well. His eyes shifted back and forth as he sought a way out. The Duke stood there, saying nothing watching the man squirm.

“There must be something.” Mr. Grant said. “Some way to work this out. It does you no good sending me to debtor’s prison. It won’t lead to you being repaid any sooner.”

The look of hope that flashed behind the man’s eyes only made the Duke smile more. Let him hope. It would hurt that much more when the truth seeped into that pea brain of his.

“That may be, but I can’t allow that. To prison you go,” The Duke said with a sad shake of his head. “Gentleman, if you will.” The Duke stepped back as the two prison wardens stepped forward.

“No, No,” Mr. Grant said as he edged back until the office wall held him from going any further. “There must be something, someway. This can’t be happening.”

The two men grabbed him by the arms and started to lead him from the office.

“No. Please. You can’t do this.” He yelled as he tried to wrestle free.

“Sir, if I might,” Mr. James Hopper, the Duke’s solicitor said with a serious frown.

“Yes?” The Duke said, gesturing for the men holding Mr. Grant to stop.

“Well,” the solicitor said hesitantly. “The man is correct, you won’t be able to retrieve your debts with him sitting in prison. No one will loan him money. He has no family, no friends. You will be out quite a sum. There may be a way.”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Grant said as he hung between the two giants. “Whatever it takes. Please,” he begged.

The solicitor had to turn his back on Mr. Grant to hide a smile. They had him now. A fish on the hook.

“Well, there is some value in Mr. Grant’s business. Not enough, but some. There is also his home. Again not enough even when you add them together, but it might be enough to cover your investment.”

“His business. What would I want with a small shipping company,” the Duke asked with a frown as he glanced at Mr. Grant.

“I don’t know sir,” his solicitor said. “You might be able to sell it. Make your money back. As for the home, I took the liberty looking into it. A small place by your standards. But …”

Mr. Grant’s face twisted with a thousand different emotions. His business, his pride and joy was lost to him or spend the rest of his life in prison. He knew about debtor’s prison and quickly realized he wouldn’t last a month. And if somehow he did survive long enough he would lose the business anyway.

The Duke of Bathurst felt a warm glow of contentment wash over him as the look of trapped fear fell across the man’s face. He reminded him of a trapped rabbit looking into a hound’s eyes. There was no way out.

Realizing he was defeated Mr. Grant’s shoulders slumped as his head sunk to his chest.

“Good,” The solicitor said. “I thought this might happen and had the necessary papers drafted.

Grant sighed and accompanied him back to his desk.

The Duke watched them go over the documents, Surprised at how well things had gone. Once the last form was signed Grant turned to him.

“What now.”

“Now. I would recommend Australia. I know for a fact that there is still several thousand in outstanding debts. Money owed to less than savory people. Once they realize you have nothing of value left they will not be happy.”

Grant’s eyes grew as big as wagon wheels. It was obvious that he was perfectly aware of the type of people he owed money too.