Charmed by His Lordship (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 3)

by Jen Geigle Johnson

The men settled back in their seats, Reuben and Mr. Nicolson flanking her, and the pale and pinched Mr. Keats directly across. Even with the support, Lucy could not be lulled into believing she was safe.

  “Let me fill you in,” Reuben began. “Captain Sharpe arrived and introduced his new secretary, Mr. Keats, who will be conducting his business.” He paused, and his brows knit. “The captain wishes to withdraw the entirety of his assets and transfer them to another bank.”

  Lucy’s mouth opened, her throat going dry. Her mind whirled, calculating the numbers, the probabilities, and difficulties involved in shoring up liquidity with such a substantial transfer.

  “All of his assets?” she clarified. “This seems sudden. If we can understand Captain Sharpe’s needs, what his concerns are, I’m confident we—”

  “I advised my client to proceed at once,” Mr. Keats interrupted.

  “You told him to?” Her body locked in place.

  “Yes.” Mr. Keats’s small chin tipped in the semblance of a smile.

  Reuben placed an elbow on the desk, leaning into Lucy’s line of fire. “Captain Sharpe has been a loyal customer at Tilney’s Bank since he first became an officer. We have always taken care of his interests.”

  Mr. Keats spared him a glance. “I have stated Captain Sharpe’s desires clearly.”

  Had he? She couldn’t let this account go. Other patrons might follow his example, since the captain was a prominent figure, even if he wasn’t in society much. She could only begin to guess how the loss of the captain’s finances would affect the bank’s assets and stability. Most patrons with a fortune as large as his used multiple banks, but the captain used only one. Hers.

  “You have mentioned no complaints,” Lucy began. “Is another bank offering a higher rate of return? Has Tilney’s failed Captain Sharpe in providing service? If you share the plain and practical reasons, we may be able to resolve the matter without you needing to go to such great lengths.”

  Mr. Keats’s gaze locked on hers, and his pale eyes flashed with something dark. “Miss Brook, you are precisely the reason. You may have inherited this bank, but you should not attempt to meddle in matters so complex.”

  The burst of contention hit her with palpable force, knocking her stomach inside out. She leaned against the back of her grandfather’s chair.

  Mr. Keats’s bony index finger jabbed the table as he spoke. “Banking is no place for a woman. It is unbecoming for a lady.”

  “That is enough,” Reuben warned.

  Lucy felt as if Mr. Keats had slapped her. Heat exploded in her face and radiated through her body. Even her fingers tingled. “That’s absurd.” She was a lady and longed for everything a woman of her age wished for—a husband and children. But personal aches could not sidetrack her now. The bank’s success mattered most.

  “You may have inherited your grandfather’s bank, but a woman should leave the running of it to the manager and the board of trustees,” he said, his voice patronizing. “It weakens my . . . my client’s confidence in Tilney's as a sound financial institution. So, as advised, Captain Sharpe shall withdraw the entirety of his funds.”

  She had owned the bank for a mere year and was already losing Tilney’s foremost customer.

  All voices seemed to erupt at once. All except for hers. She sat mute.

  Mr. Nicolson’s narrow shoulders bunched. “Look at our financial reports. We rival the Bank of England for organization and guaranteed payments. How is that for confidence?”

  “You expect us to hand over his assets in one afternoon? It takes time,” Reuben boomed.

  Mr. Keats stood. “Gentlemen.” Splotchy red crept up his face and into his thinning hair. “Gentlemen,” he said again, as if Lucy were invisible. Perhaps she was. “I give you a fortnight’s notice. Captain Sharpe is on holiday in Brighton until the fourteenth. You have until then to make the arrangements. I will send you the particulars on when we will meet again.” He snapped his leather case closed with finality. “I bid you good day.” He swung the door shut with a resounding bang.

  Lucy covered her face with her hands. What would cause Captain Sharpe to lose confidence in Tilney’s Bank? Was she really so inept?

  In the stillness, Reuben shuffled his feet by the closed door. “We have the funds. We can remain solvent even with this blow.”

  She glanced up at the two men she trusted. “Captain Sharpe is an influential man. What if another customer follows suit? And then another? It could spell disaster.” Sweat trickled down her spine.

  “Fiend seize it. This is because of the rubbish The Times printed this morning,” Mr. Nicolson said.

  Lucy snatched the discarded newspaper on the table.

  “Page three,” Reuben said, taking the chair across from her.

  She smoothed a finger over the wrinkled column. It was titled “Bank Heiress Going Bankrupt.” Her heart sank like a paperweight. Why must people assume she was incapable of intelligent thoughts?

  “This article makes me out to be a light-headed peagoose.” She tried to swallow past the sting of unshed tears. “No wonder Mr. Keats lost confidence in Tilney’s. Who else will leave based on this?”

  “Captain Sharpe is only one customer,” Reuben said.

  “One wealthy and influential customer.” No one else had invested such a large amount of money at Tilney’s. She pressed a hand to the twinge in her chest.

  “So you wear a dress. I don’t understand what all the hum is about.” Mr. Nicolson adjusted his spectacles. “Two other women own thriving banks in London.”

  “Yes, but Mrs. Coutts has the Prince Regent as a customer.” Reuben drummed his fingers on the table. “And Lady Jersey is . . . well, Lady Jersey, a patroness of Almack’s. Perceptions are hard to change.”

  Lucy swallowed. “Which is why we need Captain Sharpe to remain a customer at Tilney’s. I have no clout in society. The Times made my faults abundantly clear.”

  Lucy wondered, for the hundredth time, why her grandfather had entrusted his life’s work to her rather than a male relative. Surely he had anticipated the obstacles?

  “Some underestimate you, but don’t believe them,” Reuben soothed. “The Times misrepresented the facts. Everyone at Tilney’s saw your commitment as your grandfather’s health declined. Besides you are a senior partner.” His raised his eyebrows. “Lucy, he choose his heir carefully. He praised you for your quick mind and forceful nature.”

  Lucy nodded, her chin trembling. Only her grandfather would praise her for a forceful nature. She had not been forceful during Mr. Keats’ tirade.

  “Miss Brook, only a fool would think you could single-handedly destroy Tilney’s,” Mr. Nicolson said with a warm smile.

  Lucy smiled and clasped her trembling hands. “You are right. We can work together to figure this out. Mr. Keats has strong opinions.” She blew out a breath and centered her thoughts. “This is my question now: is Captain Sharpe in full agreement, or is his secretary leading this?”

  Reuben tilted his head. “There is one way to find out. Mr. Keats shared the details of Captain Sharpe’s trip to Brighton—and the lofty connections at a house party at the Garvey’s.”

  Lucy lifted her head, her heart lifting. “That’s it. I will go to Brighton and speak with Captain Sharpe.” Hope rose inside her.

  Mr. Nicolson glanced from Reuben to Lucy, then held up his hand. “Just a moment. What is this about the Garveys? And how do you propose to meet Captain Sharpe if he is invited and you are not?”

  “I happen to know Mr. Garvey,” Reuben said with a grin. “He’s a bit of a dandy, even at his age, but a clever old chap. He spends time with the Prince Regent. Not my usual company. Each summer he hosts a large house party at Havencrest, his estate in Brighton.”

  “Can you obtain an invitation?” Lucy held her breath.

  Reuben rubbed his jaw and nodded. “I believe so. Mr. Garvey is generous and enjoys company. I’ll send a letter immediately, and since Brighton is only a short distance, we should receive word befo
re nightfall.”

  Lucy stood. “We need Captain Sharpe’s holdings and his show of confidence.” Captain Sharpe’s prize money was a hefty sum. Likely two hundred times his annual salary as a naval captain. “If you procure an invitation, then I am willing to do anything to win him over.”

  “Win over? What do you intend to do?” Mr. Nicolson eyed her in a way that made her stomach turn. “The other two women bankers are married. Getting married would add credibility to your role.”

  Her face heated. “I hold no foolish romantic notions. Do you think I have marriage proposals to choose from?”

  The idea was ludicrous. Fortune hunters and dandies abounded, but unaffected gentlemen did not. Besides, even if her heart sometimes longed for more, her mind knew better. She alone directed her life, and she enjoyed that control. A husband would limit her, wouldn’t he?

  “You’re in mourning. No gentleman would seek to court you while in mourning,” Reuben said.

  “Well, Brighton will be strictly for business,” she stated firmly.

  “It is none of my concern. Forgive me for being a dunderhead.” Mr. Nicolson grimaced.

  Lucy relaxed her posture. He was like a brother to her and she couldn’t help teasing him to prod him out of his guilt. “No one who can greet every client by name even after one meeting and can balance investments books is a dunderhead. You dolt.”

  Mr. Nicolson smiled, and Lucy laughed.

  “Suitors or not, you do need a proper chaperone, Lucy. You know your sister would love to escort you.” Reuben smiled kindly.

  “Even with little Thomas?” Lucy didn’t mean to intrude, but he was a year and a half old, and her sister had not fully regained her energy.

  “Perhaps I should attend as well,” Reuben hedged, his brows drawn.

  “That is a fine idea. And I would be grateful to you both,” she encouraged. Reuben worked long hours at the bank. He might enjoy a holiday. She couldn’t recall a time when he wasn’t buried in paperwork. “Such short notice will be disruptive. If Charlotte cannot be separated from Thomas, then please encourage her to bring him. You know I adore him.” Perhaps the trip would jolly Charlotte out of her melancholy.

  “I can manage things here, Miss Brook,” Mr. Nicolson volunteered. “And I am on call for a quick ride to Brighton, if I am needed.”

  “How do you plan on approaching this issue with Captain Sharpe?” Reuben asked.

  Lucy rubbed her hands together and cast her eyes over the ledgers and books. “Surely he will change his mind once he sees our bank’s holdings and securities.”

  “That is your plan?” Mr. Nicolson’s eyes rounded.

  Lucy frowned. “What more is there?”

  Reuben drummed his fingers on the mahogany desk. “I have some advice for you, Miss Brook. Please take this in the spirit it is meant.” He cleared his throat. “After listening to Mr. Keats’ concerns, I suggest you treat a meeting with Captain Sharpe as a social call. Make his acquaintance. Meet him on agreeable terms as a friend among his friends. I am sure he will see your levelheadedness and form his own opinion about you, which we can then build on.”

  The image of Captain Sharpe came to mind, his piercing eyes and a presence larger than life. Lucy narrowed her eyes, trying to picture herself relating to him without the structure of her position at the bank. A longing for companionship stirred like dust best left undisturbed.

  “A social call. I agree.” Mr. Nicolson tilted his head and gestured to her hair. “You should try arranging your hair differently. One of the new styles.”

  She refused the desire to smooth her hair.

  “Ringlets, and maybe a few ornaments, too.” He turned towards Reuben for confirmation.

  “If you know so much, then you should attend as my lady’s maid,” Lucy quipped.

  “I am holding down the castle here, remember?”

  Reuben rubbed his chin. “Yes, you’ve been in half-mourning long enough.” He warmed to the topic. “How about one of those dresses the young ladies wear with the . . . the flounces.” His thick fingers traced a path on his beefy upper arm.

  Lucy raised an eyebrow and laughed at these men giving her advice on her appearance. “I suppose I have stayed in mourning longer than needed.” She had been especially close to her grandfather. The grief of losing him still shrouded her in a fog some days, but it was time to move on to sunnier places.

  “Purple makes your complexion look a little sickly,” Mr. Nicolson said.

  “I do not wear purple. I wear lavender,” she huffed. True, lavender was not her best color. She preferred lilac with its pink undertone for her complexion. Still, she understood the clumsy message. “I will see what I can do to freshen my look.”

  “Your only worry is to make a good impression,” Reuben said.

  Lucy placed a hand to her forehead. “There is so much to do.” She should air out her gowns from last season. She needed to inform her maid. And she must help Charlotte prepare as well.

  Reuben opened a bottle of ink. “I will figure out a way to broach the subject of the captain’s financial concerns. Go pack, and I’ll leave as soon as I send a note.”

  Gratitude formed a lump in her throat. “Let us hope this works.” It was a broken prayer and a desperate hope.

  To read the rest of The Captain’s Lady, click HERE.

  TABITHA’S FOLLY: SHOCKING PROPOSITION

  N o one saw Tabitha standing in the doorway of her brother, Tauney’s, room.

  James, the valet, lifted clothes out of Tauney’s trunks in large stacks instead of loading them in. Neat, color-coordinated piles of breeches and jackets decorated the bedding, and Tabitha’s worry increased.

  She shook her head. “We are already so late.”

  Tauney, only nine months her elder, finished giving animated instructions to James and then waved his hand in her direction. “Late. Psht. The party doesn’t even begin for two days.”

  Of course he would refuse to understand. As the only girl in a family of four brothers, and his closest sibling, she felt responsible for him. She tried another tactic. “If we don’t leave now, we will have to delay our journey an extra day and stay at a local inn.”

  The valet rushed past them, at last packing clothing into Tauney’s trunks.

  “The local inns. How dreadful.” Tauney grimaced. “Do you remember the last time we stayed in one?” His face was so comical, his mouth twisted in disgust. Tabitha couldn’t help but laugh.

  “But that is exactly my point, though it wasn’t so bad.”

  “For you. My valet had to sleep in the barn. He wasn’t even presentable when he came to help me get ready in the morning.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “He flicked hay off his person”—Tauney shuddered—“in my presence. It fell to the floor by my foot, and I had to train one eye on it while dressing so as to rid my room of it later.” He leaned closer. “Didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Good valets are difficult to find, you know.”

  She often felt pity for his valet.

  Her brother was of the opinion that since women spent so many hours concerned with their appearances, they would appreciate the same from men.

  Tabitha couldn’t argue with that sentiment, especially if they smelled nice. The memory of a distinct earthy aroma warmed her. And she wondered if he had arrived. She turned to hide her blush.

  She hurried down the stairs. If they were to avoid a war like Napoleon had never seen, she would need to make excuses for Tauney to her other brothers.

  The balls on the billiards table cracked and rolled, making her smile. Memories of many a Christmas when their father was still alive, teaching the young Eastons how to play pool, brought a comforting sense of family and home.

  She had three of the best men of the ton standing right here in her study. And one upstairs, who sometimes had feathers for brains.

  “Well, where is he?” Edward, the eldest, frowned.

  She laughed, “He has decided on a new color scheme.”

  When the others gr
oaned, she held up her hand, “But he has promised he is almost finished. I have to admit I am a bit excited to see what he and James accomplish.”

  “Well I most certainly am not.” Edward’s frown deepened. “We promised the countess not to be late. She asked for our particular assistance in helping some of the ladies feel welcome.”

  Julian humphed. “Of course she did. Trying to hitch us to a woman like all the other mothers in the ton. If it wasn’t for you, little sister, I would have stayed far away from this house party.” As handsome as Julian was, with many women vying for his hand, he naturally felt a bit stifled.

  She could well understand the sentiment.

  “Come now man, the hunt.” Oscar, the fun-loving Corinthian of the bunch, grinned. “You have yet to best me in the hunt.” He eyed his next shot. “This will not be the year of course.” He sent another ball in a blur across the table and then raised an eyebrow. “But I would think you’d be anxious to try.”

  Julian took his turn, knocking in all four of the balls. With a satisfied grin, he said,

  “This is the year, dear brother.”

  “Ha-Ha!” Tabitha loved it when they puffed and bristled in fun. “Shall I make a wager?” She won all sorts of money from her brothers, especially when they were pitted against each other.

  Julian laughed. “A wager she says! If the matrons could hear you now!”

  “We’ve corrupted her.” Edward’s eyes held warmth, and she knew a part of him was secretly pleased. “I knew it would happen. What diamond talks as you do?”

  Oscar, ever positive, added, “And yet she is a diamond. The books at Whites are filled with their own wagers as to who will win her hand.”

  Every brother's face went ashen.

  She blushed. “It’s not as if there is anything to worry about…” But how embarrassing to be discussed in such a manner.

  Edward looked positively ill, loosening his cravat, and she began to wonder what had them so concerned.

  “What could possibly go wrong?” She looked from face to face. A new sense of foreboding began in the back of her throat in a particular, pointed tightness.