Page 50 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

“Thank you.”

Lenoir licked his lips. “I kept your father’s money, transferring it here before I left Paris.”

His daughter looked at him with a grin.

Zeph cocked her head. “It is intact?”

“Oui, mademoiselle. A separate account, under my name at the moment.”

More money? Was it possible to have more money than one could spend? She could hardly believe her good fortune.

The man was beside himself with glee as he said, “Your papa invested in rifles.”

“Rifles.” She needed explanation of that. “Whose?”

“He liked the French Charleville rifles that he had bought and used to fight the British in your American Revolution.” He gave a quick laugh. “They are not good for zeroing in on a target, but they can hit at many yards away.”

Zeph smiled. She remembered this old joke that her father and his Virginia friends often laughed over. “Ah, yes. Especially when the enemy wears bright red and stands in one long line, elbow to elbow.”

“Oui. That is so.”

“And that leads me to ask—how much is my father’s account worth today, sir?”

“Four hundred thousand and twenty-two pounds.”

“Monsieur?” She squinted at him. “Repeat that, please.”

He did.

She did not faint. She did not cry out. She simply sat, her mouth open, her eyes on her caller.

“Zeph?” Cosette giggled. “Zeph…”

Zeph looked at each in turn. “How can it have grown so?”

Lenoir beamed at her. “War. Everyone wants rifles, cannon, rolling stock.”

Cosette looked serene, as if none of that bothered her.

Zeph stood, a hand to the chair to strengthen her shaking knees. Her father had profited from war, people killing others, misery and pain. He had invested in French rifles, but he had also invested other monies in those who opposed Bonaparte. This, added to his years ruling over hundreds of Africans, appalled her. What to do with this money was one problem. But for now, she had to deal with her friend, the girl’s father, and the exasperating fear of their next-door neighbor. “Allow me to ring for our butler. I think we all need a round of good whiskey.” She went to the bellpull and yanked. “Irish or Scotch. I really don’t care. But straight. Very tall and straight.”

And after they all drank and talked as if the world were suddenly right, Zeph showed these two to the door.

“Meet me, will you?” she asked Cosette, eager to talk privately so she might learn if Cosette still possessed Zeph’s book. “A small café, perhaps?”

“I can’t.” Cosette certainly looked as if she couldn’t by the way she checked her father’s eyes. “Come…come to our house.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow? Two o’clock?”

“I will.”

Monsieur Lenior nodded. “The two of you can visit as long as you wish. Then, Mademoiselle Butler, you and I can discuss how I will authorize your account for you.”

“Oui, merci beaucoup, monsieur.”

Tomorrow she would add more money to her accounts. More money gained through the agony and despair of more people. Tomorrow, she would try to find some calm amid the torrent of her shame over that.