Page 62 of A Match of Misfortune

Johnathan stood as well. “I am sorry for all of this. But I’m certain some good will come out of it yet.”

The only thing Nash was certain about was that he didn’t seem to have another option.

Chapter Twenty

The carriage let Nash off on Lombard Street in front of his father’s bank—Henderson, Markham & Co. He had less than an hour before he needed to head to Hyde Park with Cecily and the Rothsburgs, but this conversation could not be delayed. He strode into the building, nodding at the clerk and making his way to his father’s office.

When Nash stepped inside, his father looked up from the ledger on his desk, the worry on his brow replaced with surprise. “Nash. What are you doing here?”

“I must speak with you.”

He glanced at the long-case clock that had been positioned next to his office door as long as Nash could remember, then gestured to the seat across from him. “What is it?”

Nash settled into the chair. “Johnathan has offered me a partnership in his family’s company.”

At that, Father returned his quill to its stand. “I thought you didn’t want to work for Mr. Steele.”

“I don’t want to work for anyone other than myself, but …” He glanced down at his hands.

“Has news come of the ship?”

Nash blew out a breath. “Johnathan’s sources confirmed the initial reports. There was an Indiaman run aground near the Cape Verde Islands, and it fits the description of the Dawn of India, down to the painted, gilded sun rising on the stern.”

Father went quiet a moment. “Well, I suppose that is why you have maritime insurance.”

“Yes, but it can take over a year for the claim to go through, and even then, apparently only a portion of the original amount is typically issued. But if I agree to be a partner at Steele Shipping, Johnathan has offered to pay outright all our initial investments in cargo and will also take on any losses the insurance will not cover. How can I say no to that? I already feel wretched enough that the investors will miss out on the profits I promised them, but to make them wait a year and then only receive a portion of their money?” Nash shook his head. “I can’t do that to them. I can’t do that to you and Mother. You need the money. And frankly, so do I. Without the inheritance from Aunt Agnes, a substantial amount of what fortune I have left is in the cargo.”

“What of your ship? Even if Mr. Steele will not take on the cost, you will surely receive some of your initial investment once your claim is processed.”

Nash shook his head, his stomach clenching. “Against Mr. Crauford’s advisement, I did not insure my ship, only the cargo.”

Father’s focus intensified, but he did not reply.

“Without the added cost, the profits would be greater and I could pass on a more significant portion of it to my investors. I reasoned that if I increased their returns, they would be more inclined to invest with me again and tell others of their experience. It was a strategic move to garner shareholders for my shipping company.” Nash leaned forward in his chair, raking his hands through his hair and resting his forehead in his palms. “Clearly, it was a risk I should not have taken.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“Honestly, son, I don’t know how to advise you. You have a hard decision to make based on very few facts. But I will say”—his gaze met Nash’s with firmness—“that this loss is not your fault. Each investor was aware of the inherent risk that comes from such a venture. So, whatever choice you select, ensure it is one that you can live with the consequences of. You are exceptionally skilled at what you do, which is why Mr. Steele would go through such trouble to gain you as a partner. For what it’s worth, remember that.”

Nash cleared his throat, resisting the strange rise of emotions at his father’s words. At his father’s confidence in him. As unearned as the trust currently felt, it gave him an anchoring point.

“When are you to inform Mr. Steele of your decision?”

“Tomorrow before five.”

Nash’s father seemed to consider this. “Do you trust him?”

“Johnathan? I do.” Nash paused. “At least he’s not given me cause not to trust him. I admit I’ve not been inclined to do business with him in the past, but I also haven’t been inclined to do business with any gentlemen besides Mr. Crauford. I’d assume my misgivings are my not wanting to feel constrained by others’ mandates and decisions. Is there a reason you ask?”

“No. Having not met him, I have no insights into his character. My only hesitation comes at the conflict of interest in him being your only source of information while also being the one who has the most to gain from the situation.”

Nash nodded, having previously realized the dilemma himself. “If there were someone else to ask, I would⁠—”

Nash’s father lifted a hand, silencing him. “I know who you could speak with. I should have thought of him earlier, when your ship first went missing. He’s a bit eccentric, mind you, but if anyone would have heard something about a wrecked ship, or know someone who had, it would be him. He seems to make it his business to have information about everyone and everything. His name is Lord Blackstone.”

Nash’s brows lifted. “Lord Blackstone?”

“Yes. He owns a gentlemen’s club over at the intersection of St. James’s and Mayfair.”