Page 102 of Honor Requires

“Yes, sir.”

When Stone had gone, Darcy stood alone in the fading light.

The pieces were assembling. Hargrave required transport. Instead of Langford, Darcy would provide the answer by way of information. Gardiner would provide the means. And if Gardiner was still the man Darcy had known years ago, he would not hesitate to report any illegal activity—to the Home Office…and Fitzwilliam.

Darcy allowed himself one brief moment of satisfaction. Then he moved on.

The meeting with Hargrave took place precisely as arranged on a Thursday afternoon at Ashcombe House. Darcy preferred to host his enemies. The familiar atmosphere gave him the advantage.

He received Hargrave in the smaller drawing room, the one that faced the quieter street and admitted a more subdued light. The setting was deliberate—intimate enough to encourage confidence, but formal enough to maintain distance.

Hargrave entered with the easy assurance of a man accustomed to success. “Count Vendicarsi,” he said, bowing. “I thank you for receiving me.”

Darcy inclined his head. “Mr. Hargrave.”

They sat opposite one another, a small table between them. Wine was offered and accepted, though neither man drank more than a token measure.

Hargrave wasted little time. “I shall speak plainly,” he said. “There are opportunities in England at present which are not always apparent to those newly arrived. Trade is shifting. Demand is rising. Those who are positioned to take advantage of it may profit exceedingly.”

Darcy regarded him with mild interest. “And you consider yourself so positioned?”

Hargrave smiled. “I do more than consider it. I have proved it.”

“I see.”

Hargrave leaned forward. “With the right partners, Count, there is no limit to what may be accomplished.”

Darcy let a brief silence fall.

“And what,” he asked at last, “would you require of such a partner?”

“Flexibility,” Hargrave said. “Discretion and resources.”

Darcy’s gaze remained unbroken. He waited a few moments before replying, giving the impression he contemplated Hargrave’s words.

“Shipping interests,” he said, as though the thought had only just occurred to him. “Are these among your concerns?”

Hargrave’s eyes sharpened. “They are.”

Darcy inclined his head. “I do not possess a vessel myself.”

“No?” Hargrave asked, though there was no disappointment in his tone.

“No,” Darcy said. “But I have, in the past, made use of certain…arrangements.”

Hargrave waited.

Darcy allowed himself the smallest pause. “A merchant in Gracechurch Street,” he said. “Gardiner.”

Hargrave’s attention fixed at once. “Gardiner,” he repeated. “I know the name.” There was a sour aspect to his tone. Perhaps he had lost business to the man before.

“He is reliable,” Darcy said. “Discreet. I have trusted him with…sensitive cargo.”

Hargrave leaned back, speculation evident in his expression. “This is most interesting,” he said.

Darcy inclined his head. “I thought it might be.” There was little more to be said. The seed had been planted.

Hargrave took his leave not long after, his manner betraying a barely concealed eagerness.