Page 48 of The Wayward Duke
“You do realise you’re glowering at our gracious host as though you’d like to skewer him with an olive fork?”
“Can you blame me?”
“No, but we need him to believe he’s lured you in. Which will prove difficult if you insist on mentally eviscerating him all night.” She took another sip of champagne. “Now stop looking so murderous before someone thinks to call you out.”
“You know I only save my best behaviour for you. But I promise to glower more politely moving forward,” he said. “How are you getting on with the wives?”
“I could fill a hundred scandal sheets with the idle chatter I’ve endured tonight over lukewarm lemonade, but none relating to Kellerman. I spied you over here, brooding in the corner, and thought I’d offer my sympathies. How fares our host this evening? Still reeling in his besotted fortune-hunting lambs?”
“One by one. With promises of fifty per cent returns within months. Probably streets paved with silver and diamonds growing on trees to be hand-delivered by next Tuesday or some nonsense.”
Her laugh was more like a snort. “Ah, practically reckless fraud. He’s desperate, then.”
“Desperate men are dangerous men. I have a friend who’s traded as far as Argentina, and he told me the ports are undeveloped and the terrain is inhospitable. Any investments would be sunk.”
The Portuguese had held those colonies for centuries – if profitable ventures existed, they would have been seized long ago. It was easy to swindle aristocrats with little knowledge of the world outside London’s parks and glittering ballrooms.
“I’m sure if you tried telling any of them that, they’d promptly declare themselves experts in South American shipping because they’d eaten a pineapple once,” Caroline said. “Alas, when it comes to sense and sensibility…”
“… idiots prevail,” Julian supplied.
His wife grinned. “I was attempting ‘more money than sense’, but yes, a parliament of raving idiots hits the mark.”
Julian made a noncommittal noise, though inwardly, he agreed.
“Well,” Caroline sighed, “I suppose I’ll venture back to the crush of wives. You know where to find me if you need me.”
After a few more minutes of covert observation, during which he learned nothing of value, Julian judged it time to engage his quarry more directly. He sauntered over to meet the cluster of gentlemen hanging on Kellerman’s every word.
“Duke, how good of you to join us,” Kellerman greeted him smoothly, shifting to make room for Julian. Behind his deferential smile, sharp eyes tracked Julian’s every movement. No detail escaped Kellerman’s notice.
He performed introductions, and Julian offered Kellerman’s admirers a cool nod. “A pleasure, gentlemen.”
“I was just describing my plans for Brazil. Sugar, coffee, cotton – plenty of sources for revenue. Such fertile acres.”
Julian hummed in response. He knew the realities. The few small ports in Brazil were accessible only by hacking through dense rainforest. Heat and torrential rains would destroy cargo and breed fever before it ever reached the coast. Brazil was still decades away from the development required for massive foreign trade. But he needed to lure Kellerman into complacency, not arouse his suspicions.
“You paint quite a grand vision,” Julian said, as though discussing the weather. “Tell me, what arrangements have you made with local authorities? Securing favourable trade relationships can be quite complex.”
Kellerman flashed his teeth, shark-like. “Already in progress, duke. I have a man of business securing everything as we speak.”
“Impressive. I’ve heard you boast rather incredible profits as well. Fifty per cent returns within mere months, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed.” Kellerman’s smile turned sly. “Imagine profits to dwarf the East India Company in her heyday. Wouldn’t the duchess enjoy dripping with Brazilian gems?”
A few chuckles from the other gentlemen. “Reunited, aren’t you?” One of them said. “Planning an heir now, Hastings?”
Julian tensed, a memory flickering through his mind.
Tristan. His name was Tristan.
Kellerman watched him, doubtlessly looking for any potential vulnerabilities.
Mindful of his audience, Julian arranged his features in a mask of affability. “Should the duchess bless me with a son or daughter, I would be deeply honoured.” He redirected the conversation to safer waters with practised ease. “But I understand Lord Delancey’s lovely wife has recently delivered their first child. A little girl, was it not?”
Delancey blinked, clearly caught off guard by the abrupt change in topic. “Er, yes. Both are quite healthy, thank you for asking.”
“Splendid news,” Julian replied with sincere warmth. “Please give Lady Delancey my regards and congratulations when you see her.”
