“Yet you do.”
“I do, yes; by the hundreds. I inherited them, the same way I inherited Knightly Hall in Hertfordshire and the money my grandfather invested in the Funds. I suppose I could sell them, but while that might soothe my conscience, it wouldn’t do anything to improve their situation, now, would it? At least while they’re under my care, I can see they’re treated well.”
“You could always free them.”
“And so I would—if I could. But the law requires me to post bond guaranteeing their support for the rest of their lives. All five hundred of them. It would bankrupt me. If I were a better man, I suppose I’d do it anyway. But . . .” He shrugged and shook his head.
Sebastian studied the Baronet’s sun-darkened, broad-featured face. Sebastian had heard of a woman who, upon inheriting an estate in the West Indies, loaded all of the plantation’s slaves on a ship and transported them to Philadelphia, where she was able to set them free without posting a bond. But all he said was, “Did Preston feel the same way?”
“Stanley? Good God, no. He was convinced slavery was instituted by God to enable the superior European race to care for and shepherd the benighted souls of Africa. He genuinely believed that manumission was a misguided evil and contrary to God’s plan.”
“How often did he visit Jamaica?”
“He used to go out there quite regularly. But since his son, James, has taken over the management of the plantations, he’s been more content to adopt the role of an absentee landlord.”
“What can you tell me about his dealings with Governor Oliphant?”
“Oliphant?” Knightly pressed his lips together in disgust, as if the name tasted foul on his tongue. “He was extraordinarily unpopular with the planters, you know. Governors frequently are, but . . . Let’s just say that Oliphant went far beyond what was proper.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Not really. Anything I could say would be all speculation and hearsay, and I have a healthy respect for England’s slander laws—and no desire to fall afoul of them.”
“Could Preston have had something to do with Oliphant’s rather sudden, unexpected return to London?”
“He never boasted of it, if that’s what you’re asking. But—” Sir Galen cast a quick glance around and grimaced suggestively. “Well, his cousin is the Home Secretary, now, isn’t he?”
“Miss Preston tells me her father was afraid of Oliphant.”
“I’ve heard he has a reputation for being someone you don’t want to cross. Unfortunately, Stanley Preston wasn’t the kind of man to let that stop him.” Knightly shook his head. “He was a brilliant man, well educated and learned in a number of subjects. But he was not always wise.”
The waiter delivered Sebastian’s wine, and he paused to take a deliberate sip before saying, “I understand Preston was also upset because of his daughter.”
A faint band of color appeared high on the older man’s cheekbones. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“He was disturbed, was he not, by the reappearance in London of a certain hussar captain?”
“I take it you mean Wyeth?”
“Yes.”
Sir Galen shifted his gaze to the large, gilt-framed battle scene on the far wall. “I’m afraid Anne—Miss Preston—has a generous nature, which combined with a warm and trusting heart can sometimes lead her to misjudge those she meets, especially when a friendly manner and a graceful address create the appearance of amiability.”
“You believe Wyeth’s amiability to be merely an appearance?”
“I fear it may be. But then, as you are doubtless aware, I am not exactly a disinterested party. When she was younger, the difference in our ages seemed insurmountable. It was only recently I’d begun to think perhaps I might have some chance, but then—” He broke off and shifted uncomfortably with all the embarrassment of a painfully reserved man in love with a younger woman who has given her heart to another.
“Do you think Preston would have forbidden a match between his daughter and Captain Wyeth?”
“He was certainly determined to do all within his power to prevent them from marrying. He had a younger sister, you know, who married an Army officer and died a hideous death at the hands of the natives at a fort in the wilds of America.”
“No, I didn’t know that. Yet Anne Preston is of age, is she not?”
“She is, yes.”
“Would she have married without her father’s blessing, do you think?”
“If she believed his blessing unfairly withheld, I suspect she would, yes.”
“And would he have disinherited her, if she married against his wishes?”
“He certainly swore he intended to do so. But would he have actually carried through with the threat?” Knightly tipped his head to one side, then shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”