Page 49 of The Baron Takes a Bet
He traveled across town to Mr. Armstrong’s offices to find out about their pending annulment. It was all he could do to keep himself busy before his bank’s offices opened, although he would have preferred doing anything else. When he finally reached the opposite end of town where the offices of Armstrong and Leach stood, he found that only Mr. Leach was there. Evidently, Mr. Armstrong was tending to a matter in court and wouldn’t be available until that evening, at which point Mr. Leach promised to inform Mr. Armstrong that he needed to come to Bairnsdale Terrace at once.
Thanking him for help, Gavin left and rode to the First Merchant’s Bank of London, on Cornhill Street, near the city’s center. It was a neoclassical-style building that sat just behind the Royal Exchange—five stories tall, with an entrance on the corner of the building. It was an impressive sight, but Gavin did not pause to admire it as he entered his place of business.
A long row of wooden desks lined the right-hand side of the building in front of a two-story paneled wall. Mr. Leman, a tall, redheaded fellow and the acting floor manager, was passing behind one of the tellers when Gavin caught his eye. He nearly threw up the papers he was carrying when he saw his boss andhurried down the line of desks at the end of the room, where a set of stone steps led up to the offices.
“Mr. Winscombe! I er, I mean, Lord Bairnsdale,” Mr. Leman said, shaking his head at his mistake. “My apologies. I was not aware that you were coming in today.”
“Have no fear, Leman. I’m only coming to have a few things collected from the office and sign whatever papers I have left to formally end my tenure with the bank.”
Gavin reached the staircase and hurried up them, followed by Leman. Why he was walking at breakneck speed, he didn’t know. Perhaps he was trying to outrun the poor mood he had been in since leaving Bairnsdale Terrace that morning.
“Are you certain this is the best thing to do, sir? You and the other partners have only just begun to compete with the Bank of England—”
“I’m already richer than Midas, Leman, and I’ve just inherited an estate that makes its own fortune. There’s nothing left for me to do here, except sell my portion and live happily ever after.”
Leman sighed loudly, unhappy with his boss’s words, as he followed Gavin into the office. It was an impressive room, with four rectangular windows, looking out over Finch Lane, a little street cut between their building and the Royal Exchange. A handsome, dark wood desk sat at the center of the room, lined with a neat pile of papers, all requiring his signature.
Sitting in the leather chair behind his desk, Gavin got to work. Leman brought him a cup of tea and a plate of mint hard candies as Gavin signed page after page, effectively removing himself from any claim to the bank he had founded.
It might drive someone like Leman mad that he could so easily give up his life’s work, but Gavin hadn’t ever planned on working his entire life. He had only wanted to make a sufficient amount to carry himself comfortably throughout the rest of hislife, and he had managed that tenfold. Now that he had a barony to run, he was too busy to focus on work here.
During the hour it took for him to sign all the papers, several people, from managers to clerks, came in to say goodbye and to wish Gavin luck on his new life as a baron. After finishing his task, Gavin stood up and stretched. Leman hadn’t left, instead busying himself with his paperwork in the corner at a desk once used by Gavin’s secretary. Leman came over to Gavin’s desk and looked sadly at the pile of papers that effectively removed Gavin from the company.
“Will that be all then, sir?” he asked sadly.
Gavin smirked. He plucked one of the mint candies off the dish and tossed it into his mouth.
“I’ve petitioned the board to hire you as my replacement,” he said, ignoring the shock that came over the floor manager. “It will double your work load, but you’ll make far more than a floor manager.”
“B-but, sir, why?” Leman stuttered.
“Leman, you know more about this bank than most people know about their own mothers. If there was a more capable person, I’ve never met them.”
The floor manager began to shake his head, seemingly unsure how to accept such a thing.
“Thank you, sir.”
Gavin nodded, and with a firm pat on the back, he left.
It was a strange feeling, leaving one life behind as another was beginning, but then Gavin was used to the unsteady ground. There was a comfort in knowing that he had managed before and would do so again. At least Leman would have a better day than Gavin.
He was trying his hardest to find a good disposition, but he could not do it. There seemed to be a familiar dark cloud hanging over his head, and he didn’t know how to shake it.
After reaching his horse, he rode back towards White’s for luncheon. Riding all over London on an empty stomach, with little sleep and the sexual frustration that had plagued him for days, was doing little to better his mood.
Upon arriving at the five-story, Portland stone building, Gavin felt at home. White’s had been a common thread in his life since graduating from Eton. Of course, some thought Gavin was mucking about when he decided to have a career like a working man. There had been a gentleman or two at White’s who had suggested he seek membership down the street at the Clemet Club, or one of the other establishments that had no requirements to join aside from a sizeable bank balance. But Gavin was always destined to inherit a title and had ignored those who had turned up their noses when he worked.
Coming around the carpeted corner of the foyer into a vast open room, Gavin saw his friends waiting for him, sitting before a spread of cold pheasant, jellies, jams, and puddings. He picked up a biscuit and bit into it, nodding at Trembley.
“Good to see you, Gavin,” the tawny-haired earl said, eyeing his friend with speculation. “It’s been a few months.”
“Six actually,” Gavin said around a mouth full of food.
“Yes,” Trembley answered. “Silas here was just informing me that there was a call for congratulations. I had no idea you were planning to marry.”
“Neither did I,” Gavin said, taking a seat on the plush leather club chair, his back facing the window. “But Uncle John apparently thought it was imperative.”
Trembley shook his head.
