How to Ruin a Reputation. Bronwyn Scott

in this place of all places and why his father would give her controlling interest in the estate. Answering his challenge as she’d done had not been the best way to allay his concerns.

      She hoped the slap had conveyed her intentions as readily as his hot gaze had conveyed his. He was a seducer of the first water, used to getting what he wanted. But in this case, he would not succeed in seducing her fifty-one per cent out of her. His game was far too obvious, even if his kisses had been nothing short of dazzling. Never had anything roused her so thoroughly or so immediately. The stirrings of such emotions was a risky pot. Kisses could cloud a woman’s mind, make her forget certain realities. She’d learned her lesson with Philip. He’d only wanted her for her father’s money. Bedevere only wanted her share of the regency.

      Genevra rose from her chair and prepared to dress. Debating herself over Mr Bedevere’s kiss was accomplishing nothing. What she needed was activity to purge last night’s memories. Time in the garden overseeing the new landscaping would be just the thing to distract her.

      Chapter Five

      Henry heartily wished for a distraction—a bird hitting the glass panes of his benefactor’s prized French doors, a servant spilling hot coffee on someone’s lap. Really, anything would do as long as it took the gentlemen’s eyes off him. Breakfast wasn’t his favourite time of day, especially when he had bad news to report. All eyes at the well-set table fixed on him. The meal had long been finished. It was time to discuss the business for which their host, a Mr Marcus Trent, had invited them all.

      ‘Well, Bennington, we’ve had our kippers and ham. Tell us how the will went yesterday. Are you in full possession of the trust?’ Trent was a florid figure of a man with blunt manners honed in a merchant’s world. His sense of competition and honour had been honed in a different world—however, a darker, more dangerous world where one took what one wanted at the point of a knife if need be. For all the wealth and fine trappings surrounding Trent, he was no gentleman. Henry had noted at the beginning of their association not to run afoul of Trent’s good humour. He very much feared he was about to do so.

      ‘There is good news,’ Henry began cheerfully. ‘My uncle did indeed set up a trusteeship for the running of the estate, as I told you he would.’ They needed to remember he had been right about some things. If it weren’t for him, they wouldn’t even have this opportunity to begin with.

      Trent’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Who is the trustee, Bennington?’

      Henry looked at the four other men assembled, sensing their growing worry and, with it, their growing distrust of him. Of them all, he was the outsider. These five men had done business together before. ‘Three of us were named trustees: my cousin, Ashe, myself and the American, Mrs Ralston. We’ve all been given a share of influence when it comes how the estate is to be managed.’

      ‘What precisely is your share?’ Mr Ellingson, the group’s accountant, spoke up from the far end of the table.

      ‘Four per cent,’ Henry offered with feigned pride. He’d been livid over the slight all night. How dare his uncle reward him with so little after a year of his devotion. But Henry would be damned if he’d let this group of cut-throat investors see that disappointment. He went on to spell out the details of the other portions given to Ashe and Genevra while Ellingson stared at him thoughtfully, doing sums in his head.

      ‘This is not what we agreed upon,’ Trent put in after Henry had finished. ‘You said Bedevere wouldn’t come home, that he’d want to sell his shares, that he’d be lucky to receive any shares at all when you got through kowtowing to your uncle.’ The others murmured amongst themselves up and down the length of the table. Henry fought the urge to squirm. He’d been wrong about Ashe and therein lay the crux of his troubles. He’d wagered Ashe wouldn’t come home.

      Ellingson spoke up. ‘There’s only one thing for it. Bennington needs to wed the Ralston widow. Marriage will secure him the majority interest in the estate. Her control will pass to him upon marriage and give him fifty-four per cent.’

      Trent nodded with approval. ‘The Ralston chit is perfect.’

      Henry’s blood chilled a degree at the potential direction this conversation was heading. They were going to mandate marriage, his marriage, as if it were of no major import. ‘There’s always a possibility she’ll refuse me.’ Henry hedged.

      The table roared with congenial laughter. ‘You’re too handsome to be refused, Bennington.’ The man next to him clapped him on the back and Trent tossed a bag of coins on the table. ‘Buy her a pretty bauble and be done with it, Bennington. We’re an “I do” away from untold wealth. It would be a shame to falter here at the last.’ Trent surveyed the group. ‘Let’s meet again in a week and see how our young Romeo is progressing.’

      Henry smiled and pocketed the bag of coins, but he didn’t miss the implication of Trent’s dismissal. He had one week to secure the promise of matrimony to a woman he’d not choose to marry of his own volition. Since yesterday, his prospects had been steadily going downhill.

      Henry took the long road home, giving plans a chance to settle in his head. He would change clothes, then he would call on Genevra. The thought of pursuing her left a sour taste in his mouth. He had cultivated her friendship of course during the earl’s illness because it pleased the earl. The old man had doted on the pretty American. But Henry had seen right away how outspoken she was, how she would be the most non-compliant of wives. She would never give him full control of her money, even if she did happen to fall in love with him. He’d have to beg every shilling from her. It would be like asking his father for an allowance all over again. But it would be worth it, he reminded himself. There was much to be gained.

      On his suspicions, a bore hole dug four years ago on the outskirts of Bedevere land had produced a promising sampling of lignite, indicating a rich deposit of coal beneath the land. It stood to be the most plentiful coalfield in Audley, a piece of Staffordshire known not only for its hops and gardens, but for its coalfields as well. The possibility of attaining such wealth demanded extraordinary effort and the men he’d partnered with weren’t afraid to go to extremes. But so far, the extremes were all his. Aside from the money Trent’s cartel had put up, the risks had all been his. They hadn’t spent a year currying favour with the old earl, nor were they now facing a forced marriage.

      He had to keep his eye on the goal. He would go courting today and keep in mind the purgatory of those consequences would last only a short while.

      It had been a hell of a day and it was only two o’clock. Ashe pushed a hand through his hair, not caring that the action caused his hair to stand on ruffled ends and leaned back in the leather chair. At least here in the study he had the privacy he needed to think. There was so much to think about, it was hard to know where to start.

      He’d spent the morning going over the estate books, trying to get a sense of where to start first, assuming he’d come up with some funds. Did he start outside with the gardens or inside with the most-used rooms? Maybe he didn’t start with the house at all. Maybe he should start with the tenant farmers in ways that would generate income.

      Ashe sank his head into his hands. He didn’t know the first thing about managing an estate and there was no one to ask, unless one counted Henry. It would be a cold day in hell before he took that option. Ashe shut the leatherbound ledger. The numbers in the columns didn’t add up and there were bills to pay. Surely the horses listed as sold last autumn hadn’t gone for so little. The value posted in the ledger was half their worth. His father had kept prime cattle and knew their value.

      Ashe pushed back from the desk. The morning hadn’t been an entire waste. He’d done what he could with regard to bills, which had amounted to writing assurances to those who held Bedevere’s outstanding accounts telling them all would soon be remedied. He wasn’t sure how he would see it remedied, but they didn’t need to know that.

      He’d also sent off letters to London. One was a private message to his closest