Chapter Ten
Edward sat behind the same mahogany desk where only hours before, he had observed, admired, and lusted after a Farrington.
Unfortunately it was not the same Farrington who stood across from him now.
“It is a pleasure to see you,” Edward said, motioning for the man to sit.
Not as much of a pleasure as it would have been to see his sister, but a pleasure all the same. Farrington seemed to be a very decent and likeable fellow.
He bowed. “And you, Your Grace. I am most appreciative of your audience this morning.” Edward smiled. Of course the man was. Especially when he was here to discuss business.
“I assume you’ve brought with you documentation supporting your company’s recent profits?” Edward asked.
Nodding, Farrington placed the stack of papers he had been carrying on top of Edward’s desk. “These are only the most recent, Your Grace. I have many more papers detailing our—”
A sharp knock on the door sounded as Edward’s butler made his way into the room. “Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace, but Mr. Burnham is here to see you.”
Now? Edward was quite certain he had been very specific on his summons, requesting a time after he had negotiated things with Farrington.
Farrington lifted his ledgers. “I can return at another time, Your Grace.”
Edward stood and placed his hand on the pile, forcing them back down onto his desk. “No. You might as well stay to validate that Burnham did, indeed, sully your shipping company.”
Edward made his way around his desk and turned toward his butler. “Send him in.”
Burnham walked into the room, his eyes narrowing as he spotted Farrington. “I must admit I was surprised to receive your letter of summons, Your Grace,” he stated, his hawk-like nose lifting in the air.
“But now I see why it was issued.”
“Indeed?” Edward asked.
“Yes, of course,” Burnham continued. “I, too, believe an apology from Mr. Farrington is in order.” His eyes narrowed farther as they once again fell on the American. “Though I hardly think one is sufficient for the accusations his family cast upon my character, I am willing to make allowances.”
Edward’s gaze flicked toward Farrington who, despite a lifted chin and slightly flared nostrils, remained motionless beside him. Tilting his head, Edward returned his gaze to the impertinent man standing before him. “How very generous of you, Mr. Burnham.”
He nodded and touched a finger to his cravat. “I pride myself on my graciousness, Your Grace.”
Edward nodded. “I wonder if you don’t also pride yourself on other things, too, Mr. Burnham. Such as your remarkable skill with numbers.”
Burnham clasped his hands behind his back, his chest thrusting forward. “Indeed, I do. I find that I am nearly unrivaled in my knowledge of arithmetic.”
“Nearly.”
Burnham’s bushy brows came together. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
“Nearly,” Edward said again, enunciating both syllables of the word. He raised his hand and pointed toward a second stack of papers on his desk. “I have found someone whose talents rival your own.”
Burnham’s nose dipped ever so slightly. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I find that highly unlikely.”
“As did I.” He lifted the first sheet of foolscap off the pile. “But should you need convincing, Mr. Burnham, I have provided proof that such a person does, indeed, exist.”
Burnham’s brows lifted. “Might I take a look, Your Grace?”
“Yes, please.” Edward handed the thin sheet into the elder man’s expectant fingers.
Burnham’s red-rimmed eyes darted back and forth, scanning over Miss Farrington’s calculations, the rustle of foolscap the only sound in the imposing room. The slight breeze that had been stirring the draperies ceased, as though even the heavens were holding their breath in anticipation of Burnham’s response.
“Why, these are nothing more than simple deductions,” Burnham replied. His eyes lifted to Edward’s before a smile crept over his thin lips and his bony finger wagged. “I must say, you almost had me convinced. I did not think you one for jest, Your Grace.”
Edward returned Burnham’s smile. “I’m not. In fact, at present, I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been more serious.”
All traces of amusement were wiped clear of Burnham’s face, his eyes darting between Edward and Farrington. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what game is afoot.”
“I assure you there is no game, Mr. Burnham. At least, that is, not one played by me.”
Burnham shook the piece of foolscap, the thin paper crinkling in his fingers. “But this math is simple in its design. Why, a child could complete these problems.”
“Indeed,” Edward agreed, plucking the paper from Burnham’s hand. “Which is why I find it curious that a man with such an intimate knowledge of numbers had difficulty deducting them.”
Burnham frowned. “Should you be referring to me, Your Grace, I can assure you that I am fully capable of taking one away from three.”
“And yet, over the past eight years, you consistently made the same mistake, Mr. Burnham.” Edward walked toward the back of his desk and then produced one of the black ledgers. He set the leather-bound book in front of Burnham. “Which leaves me to conclude that you, in fact, do not know how to take one away from three. Or if you are as capable as you claim, that you did not properly calculate because you had a specific purpose for doing so.”
The elder man swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing over the limp linen of his cravat. “You have been quite satisfied and, dare I say, even impressed with my service for almost a decade, Your Grace. Might I inquire why you have suddenly sought to question my competency?”
“You might inquire but I need not oblige you with an answer.”
Burnham gave a slow nod as his eyes flitted toward Farrington. “I only ask, because I wonder what person spoke against me, causing you to doubt. And if that person is reliable and worthy of your consideration.”
Edward leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of his desk. “Are you questioning my judgment, Mr. Burnham?”
“Of course not,” he assured, pulling his gaze from Farrington and returning them to Edward. “I am merely concerned that you may have been misinformed.”
Edward lifted the ledger and ran a thumb over the worn binding. “Are you or are you not solely responsible for the figures recorded on these pages?”
“Well, I suppose,” Burnham sputtered. “But I—”
“Have you enlisted the help of a second party to aid in your endeavors without my knowledge or consent?”
“No, but—”
“Or allowed others access to my private ledgers and accounts?”
“No, of course, I would never, but—”
“Then it is you and you alone who holds responsibility for the contents of this ledger.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Burnham answered, his face a mottled shade of red.
Edward slammed his hand down on the smooth wood of the desktop. “Then I have been misinformed, but by whom, Mr. Burnham? The man who readily acknowledges ownership of the hand scrawled across pages of a ledger rife with mathematical error, or the man who discovers the discrepancies and makes me aware of their existence?”
“I—I can hardly say, Your Grace,”
“Which is why I must rely on the solid evidence found within the pages of not only this book, but the seven others in my possession.”
Burnham’s chest rose. “Might I remind Your Grace that without my counsel, many of the recorded transactions in that book never would have taken place?”
“A fact I do not dispute, Mr. Burnham, for without my success, you would have little from which to take. The more I prosper, the more do you.”
“Is that what he suggested?” Burnham asked, pointing to Farrington. “That I would take advantage of your prosperity to further myself?”
Edward glanced at Farrington. Other than a lifted brow and a clenched jaw, he issued no rebuttal to Burnham’s slander. The American had the tolerance of a saint. Edward couldn’t help but wonder if the challenge of living with a strong-willed girl like Daphne Farrington hadn’t given the man the ability to restrain himself.
Edward returned his gaze to Burnham. “He did no such thing.”
“It was that presumptuous chit, wasn’t it?” Burnham sneered. “His sister! As if any woman’s opinion, especially that of an American, could be of any worth. ”
Edward thrust his hand at Burnham’s throat, his fist closing around the elder man’s rumpled cravat. “I suggest you take care with your words, Mr. Burnham. I have the utmost regard for Miss Farrington’s opinion.”
“But Your Grace, you have known her for two weeks at most. I have looked after your interests for years. We have a working rapport.”
With a sigh, Edward released his grip and took a step back. “Yes, one that you have ruined by lining your pockets with my profits. I must admit I’m rather curious to know just what you had intended to do with the funds you have been so diligently putting aside. Did you wish to invest as I have, and increase your fortune through trade? Or did you think yourself above such scruples and aspire to purchase land from a desperate lord?”
Burnham’s chin lifted. “A titled gentleman does not soil his hands with trade.”
“Not usually, no,” Edward agreed, frowning. “But, as you are aware, there are exceptions to that rule.”
“Not if I were one of them.” Burnham sniffed.
“Good God.” Edward breathed. “Did you think it possible to purchase a title?”
Burnham crossed his arms. “With enough money, anything is possible.”
“No monarch in his right mind would issue a title to a tradesman.”
“But our king is not in his right mind, Your Grace. And his son has a hearty appetite, both for food and for fine things. The offer of a large sum for one small favor would hardly be refused.”
“It can and it would,” Edward assured. “To ask for such a thing is impertinent and only serves to prove why you would never be granted such a request in the first place. To receive a title is an honor, not a transaction.” He flexed his fingers and gave them a solid crack. “Now, do you deny the allegations against you, Mr. Burnham?”
“Your Grace, please, let us discuss—”
But Edward was done listening. He held up a silencing hand and took a deep breath. His patience had long expired, and with each sniveling whine Burnham spouted, his nerves drew tighter. The time for testing had passed, and Burnham had long since failed.
“I care not for your discussions, Mr. Burnham. I only wish for you to claim responsibility.”
“Responsibility? Tell me, Your Grace, did your mother ever claim responsibility for the rum debacle and her vain attempts to capitalize on your success?”
“Mr. Burnham, I suggest you be very careful with your words, lest they further taint your character.”
Burnham gave a thin smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about my words, Your Grace. Especially when there are others who might wish to tarnish a reputation or two. Yours, perhaps? Or that of someone you hold dear?”
Edward snatched Burnham by the scruff of his collar. “Should any harm come to anyone under my protection, you shall swing, Burnham. I guarantee it.”
Edward’s burliest footman stepped into the room. “Your Grace,” he said. “Would you like me to take him to the new constable?”
Edward shoved his fist into Burnham’s chest and nodded. “Do whatever you deem necessary, James. I trust” —Edward shot a quick glare at Burnham— “there will be no opportunity for him to act on any of these ridiculous threats from a holding cell.”
“That may be so,” Burnham acknowledged as James grabbed his arms and thrust him toward the door. “But one does not need to be present to see their instructions through. A good colleague will make certain business will carry on with or without his employer’s diction.”
Christ. Edward thrust a hand through his hair. There was someone else. Someone who knew his secrets. He had to find Miss Farrington now. He had to tell her everything about the Seraphina and his family’s part in her brother’s death…before someone else told her first.