Quill saw the telltale interest in Peter’s eyes and laughed, his heart lighter. He slapped his brother on the back and left the club.

Chapter 2

VISCOUNT DEWLAND, not unversed in the vagaries of seabound vessels and their schedules, had sent young George, an undergroomsman, to the East India docks on the morning the Plassey was due. But after two weeks of sending George to the docks, the master and mistress left for Bath in the hopes that a course of waters would aid the viscount’s health. Kitty left anxious instructions with Codswallop that they should be summoned the very moment there was news of the Plassey. And every evening for another three weeks, young George returned to the house somewhat the worse for wear, having spent his day in the pubs that lined the dock.

It wasn’t until the second of November that the Plassey finally glided into her berth and the coxswain dropped anchor with a ceremonious splash. Young George headed back to St. James’s Square on the spot.

But he entered a quiet house. The future bridegroom, Peter, was rarely seen these days. His valet said he was sulking, a source of great amusement downstairs. Sulking because he didn’t want to marry an heiress!

In fact, the only family member in residence was Quill, who was seated in the back garden, reading through reports compiled by his secretary. Since his accident some six years before, Quill had been denied the normal pursuits of an English gentleman. So he had turned his considerable intelligence to investment. Not one of his teachers at Eton—where he was widely considered the most brilliant lad to pass through the school in years—would have been surprised to learn that those investments had paid off in spades. Although he had made his first fortune by speculating on the East India Company, Quill now owned a wool factory in Yorkshire and a buttery in Lancashire.

But he preferred speculation to ownership. He employed some fifteen men who scurried hither and yon all over the British Isles, investigating copper mines and coal companies. He had recently begun to send out his investigators secretly, given that a rumor of Erskine Dewland’s interest in a certain firm was sure to drive up its value on the London Exchange.

At any rate, Quill’s mind was wandering from the assessment of Maugnall and Bulton, dimity manufacturers, that he held in his hands. The garden path was drifted with fallen leaves. During the first year of Quill’s convalescence, he had spent hours planning the gardens visible from his bedroom. Now the young plum trees had gamely put forth fruit, and late apples occasionally fell with a gentle plop at his feet.