Page 17 of A Match of Misfortune

Rothsburg shook his head. “Again, I wasn’t even there when the cow situation occurred.”

Nash thrust a finger into his chest. “But you were there in spirit. After all, it was you who gave me the idea.”

Rothsburg’s brow lowered. “How do you reckon that?”

Nash scoffed in feigned offense. “I told you about my and Featherbottom’s disagreement, and you said it sounds like he needs to see a cow walk down some stairs. How else was I to take that? So do not play the part of an innocent.”

Rothsburg grinned, shaking his head. “Speaking of Lucian Featherbottom, did you hear he has inherited a title from some distant male relative who died having no heir? He is now the Earl of Harlow.”

Nash stared at his cousin. “Featherbottom is an earl?”

“A wealthy one, at that.”

Nash’s thoughts were churning. He had never much liked the fellow, but he could not deny that another connection to the ton would be useful. “It would be good to see him after all these years.”

Rothsburg’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot think that would be a good thing for either of you.”

“Nonsense. It’s about time we put past disagreements behind us. Besides, I could use a few more investors among the aristocracy to more fully legitimize myself, and I’m certain he wouldn’t let a boyhood feud stand between him and becoming even wealthier.”

“How is your current business venture going?”

“Two days past, I met with the handful of investors my father had secured for me for this current shipment. The gentlemen were beyond pleased at the predicted return on their investments—upwards of twenty-five percent.”

“By Jove!” Rothsburg shook his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “It’s a shame I didn’t have the funds available when your father approached me last summer. Hopefully this season’s harvest will prove a decent one so that I can recover our previous year’s losses with enough left over to invest in your next shipment.”

“I should be glad of your support. Or, if you would prefer, I’m also looking to collect shareholders for a private shipping company.”

Rothsburg’s brow lifted. “Is that so?”

“Since the Charter Act of 1813, the East India Trading Company no longer has a monopoly in India. There is much opportunity for growth there. You see, it is ridiculously expensive to ship cargo, particularly if you are a private citizen, as the more favorable rates still go to those of the EITC. Most private merchants, like Mr. Crauford and myself, are paying upwards of twelve pounds per ton. And, with so many now able to trade, it is hard to even secure transportation.” Nash smiled. “But if you own the ship—or a fleet of ships—it not only reduces costs significantly and allows you to take a far greater portion of the returns on your own shipments, but it gives you a commodity that is in exceptionally high demand.”

“Isn’t there a lot of risk in the shipping business?”

“The higher the risk, the higher the return. Besides, I have a list of captains that are some of the best seamen the world over, each saying that they’d work for me.” Nash could not contain his excitement. There were so many reasons this venture made sense, including that it would eventually allow him a way to return to England and remain permanently. He glanced at Lady Bridget, an apologetic smile forming on his lips. “Forgive me. You did not come here to hear me rattle on about business.”

“Don’t stop on my account. I actually find it all very fascinating. I suppose I have my father to blame for that as he’s constantly speaking about such matters.” Her expression brightened. “He is not in Town currently, but when he and my mother return from the Continent in a few weeks, I should like to introduce you. He is always on the lookout for a sound investment.”

“That would be much appreciated.” He glanced toward Rothsburg. “Speaking of connections, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“What is that?”

“Lord Chatting has proposed my name for a membership at White’s, and I was hoping you might lend your voice in support.”

Rothsburg considered him a moment. “You understand many of the gentlemen at White’s are likely to view you as a nabob.”

Nash smiled, finding little offense at being called the derogatory term. Some of the finest men he knew, Mr. Crauford among them, were nabobs. “Exactly the same as you, my grandfather was a baron. The only difference between us is that your father was thirteen months older, so being the younger son, mine was forced to find his own way in the world. As have I. But my blood is the same that runs in you.” More or less, anyway. Where Rothsburg’s mother was also from the aristocracy, Nash’s had come from a line of moderately wealthy bankers, but such a fact was not particularly relevant at the moment.

“I admit it was wretched luck for your father, but White’s? I feared I might be blackballed when I sought membership.”

“It does seem a touch presumptuous, I suppose, but it was not my doing. Besides, the past few days I’ve met with several gentlemen and been introduced to many more, most who belong to White’s. Each has expressed interest in staying apprised of my future business ventures, so my hope is that, with our potential relationship in mind, they will be inclined to cast a white ball for me as well as voice their support to others of approving my membership.”

“And what of Lord Harlow? He is to return to Town this week. It only takes one black ball for you to be excluded.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll see to him.” Nash wasn’t quite certain how he’d go about it yet, but he didn’t doubt the two of them could at least arrive at an amiable understanding.

Rothsburg drew in a breath, then released it with a chuckle. “I suppose if White’s will ever admit a nabob, it will be you. ”

“So I have your support?”