Page 26 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

Carter cleared his throat. “Any idea what your father’s bank balances were then?”

“With a French banker, a Monsieur Lenoir of the banking family and house of Jarre, located in Paris, Papa had five thousand dollars and twenty-two cents. He used some of that to pay for my living expenses and my schooling. In some English bank in Manchester, he had fifteen thousand and forty-two dollars and twelve cents. The month was June. The year, 1802.”

“During the peace of Amiens. Hmmm.” Carter tapped a finger on his thin lips. “I will ask the man who was our ambassador to Paris that year if he was acquainted with your father.”

“Charles Whitworth was that man,” she told him. “And my papa was well acquainted with him.” She wanted to preen, but sat stoic in the face of Carter’s blush and bluster.

Rafe smiled so broadly that he had to cross one leg over the other. She even saw him bite his cheek to hide his mirth.

“The man knew my father well. My father was not only a friend of Thomas Jefferson, but he helped negotiate much of the purchase of the Louisiana Territory by the United States from the French.”

“A purchase that here in Britain we disdained.”

“Of course you did,” she said matter-of-factly, but with great relish. “I do understand your sorrow. Much of your old territory is now gone to us.”

Carter swallowed and sat forward, his long fingers flexing together upon his polished desk. “Why did your father have so much money with a French banker?”

“He traded with the French just as he traded with Great Britain. Indigo and cotton from our plantations. Whiskey, too. When we first came to Europe, my father and I lived in Paris. It was a terrible time. The Terror, you see. But still my father had to have money, didn’t he, to support us both. The American government is young and poor. They paid my father a pittance. He dealt with the French as he dealt with the British to sell his products. He banked his money here to pay our daily living expenses, as he did in Paris.”

“When did he come here? And where did you live? If his will has no notice of where he banked, we can look at property sales or leases. Drafts for payments of that can tell us about which banks your father used.”

“I have no idea where my father lived here in London. I was not with him.”

Carter tipped his head. “Where were you?”

She smiled, and she was certain her expression was blank. “My papa left me in France.”

Carter blinked, trying desperately to hide his shock.

“Yes, he enrolled me in an all-girls school, run by the woman who had once run a school in the palace of Versailles for Marie Antoinette. Madame Campan was her name, a lovely lady, and my friends even today are the French emperor’s sister, Caroline, and Empress Josephine’s daughter, Hortense.”

“A…amazing,” Carter murmured, unable, judging by his stammer, to summon any other word.

“I have had quite an education,” she told him, implying all she had learned in the chaos of Paris Society. If he had heard any rumors of her internment in the Conciergerie, he gave no notice. That, she was pleased not to discuss.

“Indeed, Miss Butler, you have.” He now seemed happy, if not honored, to have her in his office. “But now you are here with us and wishing to reestablish your inheritance. A fine idea.”

“Necessary.”

“If you remember any details of your father’s financial activities here in London or even Paris, do come to tell me. I would say write to me, but I understand that you are interested in a speedy resolution of your circumstances.”

She rose. She was done with this man. “This is true. I am relieved we can proceed, sir. You will keep me informed of your progress.”

“I will. Do I also inform you, Sir Raphael, of the progress?”

Rafe had gotten to his feet. “No, sir. Direct your information only to Miss Butler.”

Chapter Eight

“Where are you going?” Rafe caught Zeph at the front door as she was pulling on her gloves. His butler, Simpson, had notified him just minutes ago that Zeph and James were leaving the house. Rafe had missed her at breakfast, her unusual absence implying she was still miffed about the meeting with Silas Carter yesterday. Concerned now she was leaving the house, Rafe had no idea what she was doing and why she had not told him her plans.

The day was bright, but the weather chilly and windy, and clouds threatened later rain. Zeph did not care for cold rain, but she stood there in her coat with determination firming her pretty lips.

“Shopping.” She cast him a quick glance.

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” she barked, and whirled so that Simpson could drape her winter cape over her shoulders. “Why? Do you need the carriage?”