Page 96 of A Match of Misfortune

Nash’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had been the one to tell Johnathan of his father’s situation. What a fool he’d been to trust him. “Your quarrel with me has nothing to do with my father. Leave him out of it.”

“I would have liked to, truly,” he said, with not a hint of sincerity. “But I fear it might be too late.”

Nash was around the desk and taking hold of Johnathan’s lapels before the man could react. “How dare you!” Nash pinned him against the back of the chair, ignoring the pain radiating through his bandaged hand. “You cowardly serpent.”

Johnathan held his gaze, a pleased smirk on his face. “Nathaniel!”

His guard stepped through his door and aimed a double-barreled flintlock at Nash.

Reluctantly, Nash removed his grip on Johnathan and lifted his hands.

Johnathan straightened in his chair, smoothing out the fabric of his coat. “Nathanial, see that Mr. Markham is not only extricated from the East India Docks at once, but that he is henceforth banned from returning.” His icy stare met Nash’s with purpose. “We cannot have a volatile man threatening the order of things here.”

Anger coursed through Nash, but before he could so much as utter a word, the cocking of the guard’s pistol filled the strained silence.

“This way, Mr. Markham.”

NASH GLANCED around the group of men seated at the large rectangular table, attempting to not let his encounter with Johnathan weigh too heavily upon him. It was critical that he presented himself well. That he did not give his investors reason to doubt him. There were six of them, including his father. Even Lord Chatting had somehow gotten word of it and was in attendance, which Nash hoped would not prove to be to his detriment.

Nash leaned forward, his elbows on the table, so that he could look each investor in the eye. “As I said at our last meeting, there is no proof that the Dawn of India has run aground. We cannot allow hearsay to dictate our actions.”

Mr. Townsend cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the other gentlemen. “And yet Mr. Steele confirmed an Indiaman has run aground off the Cape Verde Islands. What else are we to conclude?”

Nash released an indiscernible breath, more certain than ever that Johnathan had received no such confirmation. But without proof, what good would it do him to say as much? “We don’t know if it’s the Dawn of India.”

“Fairly confident?” Lord Chatting tapped his fingers on the table in a way that raked upon Nash’s patience. Of all the investors, it had been Lord Chatting who had been the most enthusiastic. The most supportive. Heavens, he had been the one to propose Nash’s name at White’s without Nash asking him to. He was the one who had extended the invitation to him for the Darlingtons’ ball. Perhaps that was why the man was so vexed? He’d offered a very vocal support for Nash, and it had not turned out well for either of them. “Since we don’t have evidence to the contrary, it only makes sense for us to ensure our investment is protected. Something you are not willing to do, but Mr. Steele is.”

“I have protected each of your investments in the cargo, along with my own, by securing maritime insurance. Having looked through the underwriting, I see no reason it should not pay out if the ship has indeed wrecked.”

“A year from now, perhaps.” Lord Chatting’s murmured words were loud enough for all to hear. “And likely not the whole of it.”

Clearly, Nash had not been Johnathan’s only audience for such concerns. “Lord Chatting, if you sell your shares to Mr. Steele and the Indiaman comes in, he will be the one to receive every pound of profit on your investment. Is that alone not worth the risk of seeing this through?”

Lord Chatting guffawed. “A share of five thousand pounds may not be a significant sum for a nabob, but for the rest of us, it is. I’d far prefer having the whole of my original investment recovered now than place my hopes on a sunken ship.”

Nash barely refrained from slamming his fist down on the table. He had no patience for this. “If that is how you feel, then so be it,” Nash said, unable to repress his growing frustration. “But don’t complain to me when the Dawn of India makes port and you are out nearly fifteen hundred pounds of profit.”

“That ship will not arrive at port.” Lord Chatting’s gaze shifted to the other gentlemen. “So to those of you who are relying on Mr. Markham’s unfounded hope and false promises, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He paused, his gaze shifting to Nash’s father. “Which brings me to another matter. I shall be withdrawing my funds from your bank.”

Nash shot to his feet, his legs shaking beneath him. “Whatever for? None of this is his doing!”

Lord Chatting also stood, meeting Nash’s glare with a look of satisfaction, as though he’d finally managed to get the reaction he’d been hoping for. “On the contrary, he was the one who recommended we invest in your venture. Clearly, his judgment is both biased and flawed. I will no longer trust either of you with so much as a shilling of my money.” His gaze shifted to the other four gentlemen. “And I advise you do not either.”

His reasoning was a parroted version of Johnathan’s, and Nash’s anger boiled inside of him. He made to move toward the despicable specimen of a man, but Father put a staying hand on his arm. “I am sorry that is how you feel, Lord Chatting,” his father said. “Come by tomorrow, and I shall certainly assist you in withdrawing your funds.”

Lord Chatting glanced between the two men with smugness, then looked at the others expectantly.

Mr. Stevens rose to his feet. “I would be interested in speaking with Mr. Steele.”

Father’s gaze met Nash’s briefly, but it was long enough to glimpse his alarm.

“Any others?” Lord Chatting’s gaze singled in on each of the last three men, and Nash saw indecision in their faces.

“I will guarantee your investments personally,” Nash said, desperation flooding over him. It was one thing for him to lose investors, but he could not let them speak with Johnathan. To be convinced that they should also remove their funds from his father’s bank. Upon Nash’s arrival earlier, after explaining to his father all that had occurred with Johnathan, his father had admitted several gentlemen had visited him over the last week or two, each requesting their funds be removed and their accounts closed. The bank was on the brink of failing, but Nash would not allow that to happen. His father would not take more of a financial hit on his account. “And a guaranteed ten percent on top of it, to compensate for the potential loss of profits.”

The collective gaze sat heavily upon Nash.

“Are you good for your word?” Mr. Townsend asked.