Chapter Twelve #3
Kane was a gregarious sort who possessed the novel art of so regaling another that they spilled out their secrets, past and present. Kane, Zeph speculated, dealt with secrets all the time.
“That is kind of you,” Lenoir said. “Cosette had to come to renew her friendship. I, however, came for another reason.”
“Wonderful. And what is that?” If he did not speak now about her father’s investment with his bank, she would make an appointment with him for the very near future.
“Your father had money with me.”
“I know he did.”
The man’s brows shot up.
“Monsieur, I did his books in Paris. I knew how much he had with you. That was in 1802.”
At that revelation, Lenoir was nigh unto speechless. Then he gathered himself and asked, “Did you know the money he gave me was to support you and, if possible, to invest for him, too?”
“I did. When last I did his books, before he left Paris for London, he had a total of five thousand dollars and twenty-two cents with you.”
The man’s brows shot up. He was impressed with her knowledge.
“He told me he would give you more in British pounds each year for my schooling and my welfare. So I assume he added more as years went on. What has happened to that money, monsieur?”
“I have it.”
“You do? I commend you, monsieur.”
“Merci beaucoup. I kept it for you. I did. Even though I had heard that Vaillancourt had hauled you off to prison. When I learned that you had escaped, I was thrilled for you, as was Cosette.”
“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.
But long after the two had gone, she sat alone in the dark of her bedroom and pondered how she might come to terms with her wealth—and all its barbarous sources.
One man would help her sort that out.
The very idea of being in his presence fired her blood.
Rafe Durham, prepare yourself. I will bring you more trouble tomorrow, sir.
*
Rafe tried to swallow his shock when his butler told him his caller was Miss Butler.
Why was she here? What had happened?
He could not imagine whatever it was could be anything bad. Kane and Gus would protect Zeph like hawks.
Dismissing his butler, Rafe took his stairs down at a measured pace. It would not do to have her hear his pounding on the steps and assume she was here to make amends. He was the one who had handled that last conversation poorly.
He took a calming breath. Whatever she wanted, he would provide. Whatever she said, he would accept. She was the only woman he had ever loved, and nothing was beyond him to grant her.
When he opened the door, she stood by the window and turned slowly to face him.
The smile on her face showed a serenity and a certain joy.
Each time he saw her, she became the woman he anticipated she would become, calm, composed, confident, and so gorgeous that his knees went weak and his fingers twitched to take all of her to him.
He dared not hope she was here because she had come to announce her return to his house.
He had, in essence, thrown her out. She would not invite herself back.
Should not. The risk of her social ruin was too real.
The probability was that if he accepted her return, with the temptation of her luscious body so near, he would ravish her.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “You look wonderful. I hear you are well.”
She gave a laugh and did not appear insulted. “Kane and Gus tell you of my days, do they?”
“I ask via notes. They reply that you are well.”
“Good to know.” She strolled toward the chair near the fire.
He extended his hand for her to sit. “I also read of your appearances at events in the ton.”
“I enjoy most. Of particular delight are my afternoon teas with a certain Lady Vic.”
He chuckled as he took the chair opposite her. “Quite a female! Kane will never know how to contain her. Gus will give up trying to tame her.”
“I expect she will run off with some fellow who fancies himself a lover of ancient Greek statues, or she will break all traditions and become a professor of obscure aboriginal languages at Cambridge.”
Rafe relaxed into the comfort of his chair. She was not here to argue with him. “I am pleased you have come to see me.”