“I was not the only one. Over twenty other men from all over the Continent and the United States were also taken in.”
Ewan stared at his father, unblinking. He failed to see how the fact that other men were duped made his father’s blunder any less disturbing. “How much did you lose?” Ewan asked finally when neither of the other men seemed inclined to elaborate.
The earl sighed. “I used your sister’s dowry to finance the mine, and when de los Santos—that was his name—asked for more, because of the delays, you see, I mortgaged the estate in Yorkshire.”
Ewan almost laughed. “So all of this is to tell me I will no longer receive an allowance.” The Yorkshire estate had been their mother’s and was the only property the earl owned that was not entailed. He’d used the rents from it to pay a small allowance to Michael and Ewan and to buy Ewan’s commission and grant Michael the living of a curacy.
“No,” Francis snapped. “That is not the reason for this meeting. Your father and I wish for you to find this Miguel de los Santos and recover the earl’s money.”
Ewan did laugh then. “And how would I find the man? I’m no investigator.”
“But you have friends who might help. Lord Jasper is renowned for his tracking ability.”
“Jasper is a bounty hunter. He’s paid for his work, and you have just admitted you are ruined. I may be a dolt, but even I know it is wise to diversify investments.”
“Oh, shut up!” Francis hissed.
The earl raised his hand. “I have not told your brothers about this yet or informed your sister she has no dowry. William is at Pembroke Manor, and Henrietta has gone with him. Michael is, of course, serving his parishioners. I would appreciate it if we kept this between us for the moment.”
“Fine.”
“I would also appreciate it if you would consider looking into the matter of Mr. de los Santos for us.”
Ewan almost shook his head and then thought better of it. It was folly, he knew, to attempt to win his father’s affections by aiding him in resolving this crisis, but if he did not help, then Michael and Henrietta would suffer. He had never been close to them, but they had never been cruel. And though Ewan would not involve Lord Jasper in this matter—there was no point as this de los Santos had undoubtedly already spent the money he’d swindled—Ewan might be able to find some way to help his father recover. After all, what he lacked in reading ability, he made up for in mathematics.
And who was he fooling? He was still that sad little boy who only wanted his father to be proud of him.
“I will consider it,” Ewan said. “Give me all the documents related to the investment.”
“Why?” Francis asked. “It’s not as though you can read them.”
Ewan looked at his father. Either the earl wanted his help or not.
The earl nodded. “I will have them sent to you at your lodgings.”
“Actually,” Ewan said, “I have new lodgings.”
“Oh?”
“Send them to me at the residence of the Duke of Ridlington.” And without taking his leave, he strode out the door.
Behind him he heard Francis swear. “What the devil do you mean by this, Ewan? You’d better bloody well stay away from Lady Lorraine! I’ll damn well—”
Ewan closed the library door and made his way to the front door. He heard the library door open behind him and turned, expecting Francis. He was disappointed, as he would have loved to blacken his cousin’s eyes. It was the earl.
“What is this about Ridlington?” the earl asked. “Are you trying to interfere in Francis’s suit with Lady Lorraine?”
Ewan rubbed the bridge of his nose. Francis. Always goddamn Francis. Finally he looked his father in the eye. “I may be a lackwit, but I am your son. What did I do to make you hate me so much?”
“Do not be ridiculous.” The earl looked away, nose in the air. “I don’t hate you.”
“You don’t care enough to hate me.” He had been ridiculed as much as he would tolerate today. Ewan turned his back on his father, opened the door, and strode outside. He could still hear Francis’s irate voice on the walk. The visit had not been a complete loss after all.
*
Carlton House was hot and stuffy. The Regent never did understand the value of moderation, and his guest list, like his taste in everything else, ran to excess. Lorrie would have been the first to admit that excess could be quite impressive. The Regent had certainly aimed to impress tonight.
After entering through the portico of massive Corinthian columns, one passed an army of footmen lining the path to the foyer. Unlike most London residences, one did not enter Carlton House on the ground floor. The foyer was located on the main floor, and from there one was led—or pushed, depending on the size of the crowd—into a two-story entrance hall lit from the top by gleaming gold chandeliers so heavily embellished one feared they might collapse under the weight of their beauty. The chandeliers shone down on more columns—these constructed of yellow marble. Lorrie thought the columns in the entrance hall were Ionic, but they might have been Doric. She could never remember the difference and could only identify Corinthian columns because they had the ornamentation at the top.
Entering in this manner allowed the visitor to be appropriately awed by the main staircase, which sloped gently on either side and was quite wide enough to allow three people to pass undisturbed. Lorrie knew from past visits the throne room, music room, drawing room, and dining rooms were on this floor. Each was more impressive than the last, her favorite being the golden drawing room. Never had she seen so much gilded paneling, molding, or ornamentation. Even the columns in the drawing room—Corinthian again—were gold. All of the furnishings were draped in deep crimson, and the combination of the gold and crimson gave the room the feel of cheap opulence—rather the way a brothel might look, Lorrie surmised, never having been to a brothel.
The ball tonight was to be held in the conservatory, which was in the west end of the property. Lorrie lifted the train of her ball gown and descended the staircase as gracefully as possible, trailing her father and mother and one step behind her brother, who she really thought should have taken her arm. Mr. Mostyn followed, hands clasped behind his back, looking neither up nor down, nor left or right. If he was impressed by the show of marble, crystal, and gilded glory, he did not show it.