you requested, my lord," Beacham said, thumbing through a stack of papers until he found the one he wanted. "At last report, in the Americas barley was selling for seven shillings more per hundred pounds than it does here."
Tristan did some quick figuring. "That's 140 shillings per ton, with shipping costs at what, a hundred shillings per ton? I hardly think it's worth the time or the effort for an overall profit of twelve pounds, Beacham ."
The solicitor grimaced. "That's not the precise fig—"
" Beacham , we're moving on now."
"Ah. Yes, my lord. To where are we moving, my lord?"
"To wool."
Beacham removed his spectacles, wiping the lenses with a handkerchief. Spectacle removal was frequently a good sign. "Except for Cotswold sheep, the wool market is quite sluggish."
"I breed Cotswold sheep."
The spectacles returned to the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I know that, my lord."
"We all know that. Get on with it. My entire summer yield to the Americas, less expenses."
The spectacles didn't come off this time, and Tristan reflected that he'd spent far too much time wagering, looking for his opponents' weaknesses and give-away signs. On the other hand, over the past year he'd made more money for the estate through wagering than by regular means.
"I would anticipate a profit of approximately 132 pounds."
"Approximately."
"Yes, my lord."
Tristan let out his breath, then caught it again as a feminine figure in yellow-and-rose muslin crossed in front of the open office door. "Good. Let's proceed, then."
"Ah, it is still a risk, my lord, once time and distance are figured into the equation."
With a brief smile, Tristan pushed to his feet. "I like risk. And yes, I know it's not enough to make any difference at all in my situation. It will look as though I'm making money, though, which is at least as important."
The solicitor nodded. "If I may be blunt, my lord, I could wish your father had had as keen an understanding of income."
They both knew that his father had spent where he should have saved yet had pinched pence on small, insignificant items, which had served only to alert and alarm both his creditors and his peers. The result had been an unmitigated disaster.
"And I appreciate your being the only solicitor in Dare's employ not to spread rumors." Tristan headed for the door. " Which is why you're still in my employ. Prepare the correspondence, if you please."
"Yes, my lord."
Tristan caught up with Georgiana at the music room door. "And where did you go, this morning?" he asked.
She jumped, guilt obvious on her pretty face. "None of your business, Dare. Go away."
"It's my house." Her reaction intrigued him, and he changed what he'd been about to say. "I have a coach and a curricle. Both are at your disposal. You don't need to hire hacks."
"Don't spy on me. And I do as I want." Georgiana hesitated, as though she wanted to go into the music room yet didn't want him following her in there. "I am assisting your aunts as a friend. I am not in your employ, and who, where, when, or how I go anywhere is up to me. Not you, my lord."
"Except in my home," he pointed out. "What do you want with the music room? My aunts aren't in there."
"Yes, we are," Milly's voice came. "Behave yourself."
To his surprise, Georgiana took a step closer. "Disappointed, Dare?" she breathed. "Did you anticipate being able to torment me longer?"
He knew how to play this game. "Any 'anticipation' where you're concerned, Georgiana, had already been satisfied in my case, hasn't it?" Tristan reached out to finger one of the soft golden curls framing her face.
"Then I'll give you something else to anticipate," she said, her jaw clenched. He barely had time to note that she carried a fan before it cracked across his knuckles.
"Damnation! You little minx," he grunted, snatching his hand back as the broken ivory and paper fluttered to the floor. "You can't go about hitting gentlemen."
"I have never hit a gentleman," she sniffed, and disappeared
Tristan did some quick figuring. "That's 140 shillings per ton, with shipping costs at what, a hundred shillings per ton? I hardly think it's worth the time or the effort for an overall profit of twelve pounds, Beacham ."
The solicitor grimaced. "That's not the precise fig—"
" Beacham , we're moving on now."
"Ah. Yes, my lord. To where are we moving, my lord?"
"To wool."
Beacham removed his spectacles, wiping the lenses with a handkerchief. Spectacle removal was frequently a good sign. "Except for Cotswold sheep, the wool market is quite sluggish."
"I breed Cotswold sheep."
The spectacles returned to the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I know that, my lord."
"We all know that. Get on with it. My entire summer yield to the Americas, less expenses."
The spectacles didn't come off this time, and Tristan reflected that he'd spent far too much time wagering, looking for his opponents' weaknesses and give-away signs. On the other hand, over the past year he'd made more money for the estate through wagering than by regular means.
"I would anticipate a profit of approximately 132 pounds."
"Approximately."
"Yes, my lord."
Tristan let out his breath, then caught it again as a feminine figure in yellow-and-rose muslin crossed in front of the open office door. "Good. Let's proceed, then."
"Ah, it is still a risk, my lord, once time and distance are figured into the equation."
With a brief smile, Tristan pushed to his feet. "I like risk. And yes, I know it's not enough to make any difference at all in my situation. It will look as though I'm making money, though, which is at least as important."
The solicitor nodded. "If I may be blunt, my lord, I could wish your father had had as keen an understanding of income."
They both knew that his father had spent where he should have saved yet had pinched pence on small, insignificant items, which had served only to alert and alarm both his creditors and his peers. The result had been an unmitigated disaster.
"And I appreciate your being the only solicitor in Dare's employ not to spread rumors." Tristan headed for the door. " Which is why you're still in my employ. Prepare the correspondence, if you please."
"Yes, my lord."
Tristan caught up with Georgiana at the music room door. "And where did you go, this morning?" he asked.
She jumped, guilt obvious on her pretty face. "None of your business, Dare. Go away."
"It's my house." Her reaction intrigued him, and he changed what he'd been about to say. "I have a coach and a curricle. Both are at your disposal. You don't need to hire hacks."
"Don't spy on me. And I do as I want." Georgiana hesitated, as though she wanted to go into the music room yet didn't want him following her in there. "I am assisting your aunts as a friend. I am not in your employ, and who, where, when, or how I go anywhere is up to me. Not you, my lord."
"Except in my home," he pointed out. "What do you want with the music room? My aunts aren't in there."
"Yes, we are," Milly's voice came. "Behave yourself."
To his surprise, Georgiana took a step closer. "Disappointed, Dare?" she breathed. "Did you anticipate being able to torment me longer?"
He knew how to play this game. "Any 'anticipation' where you're concerned, Georgiana, had already been satisfied in my case, hasn't it?" Tristan reached out to finger one of the soft golden curls framing her face.
"Then I'll give you something else to anticipate," she said, her jaw clenched. He barely had time to note that she carried a fan before it cracked across his knuckles.
"Damnation! You little minx," he grunted, snatching his hand back as the broken ivory and paper fluttered to the floor. "You can't go about hitting gentlemen."
"I have never hit a gentleman," she sniffed, and disappeared
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