Heiress for Hire (Duke's Heiress #1) - Madeline Hunter Page 0,14
your share and you can use the time to decide if you prefer that. A partnership goes both ways when it comes to money. If it is profitable, it pays out. If the business requires funds, you pay in.”
“I may well agree to sell. Do you know what a fair price would be?”
He pulled forward a portfolio, opened it, and flipped through some pages. “I am having valuations done of all his businesses, but at the last valuation of that one, your share was just over thirty thousand. It showed an income per annum of approximately fifteen hundred. It was one of the duke’s smaller investments, but it was a good one.”
She stopped breathing. Radnor had said the business was worth far more than the direct legacy, but such a sum never entered her mind. Even the income astonished her.
Sanders set aside the portfolio. “Miss Hepplewhite, I would be remiss if I did not mention that with your new good fortune, there will be those who seek your company for less than admirable reasons. There will be friendships offered only because you can benefit the new friend. As an unmarried woman you will be the prey of fortune hunters too.”
“You are saying that men will pursue me because of my money.”
“I am afraid so. Should you ever consider marriage, I urge you to consult a solicitor who can explain the implications for you and your fortune, and perhaps advise you on the character of your intended.”
“Thank you for your advice. I am quite sure that I will not be welcoming such attentions. However, if I ever do, I promise that an inquiry on the man will be done.”
She left the chambers in a daze. As long as no one succeeded in challenging this will’s provisions, she was now a wealthy woman. Even if she only received the income from the trust, she would never again have to worry about money. Rich, as Jeremy had said. Rich! RICH! She wanted to shout it to passersby.
The only thing dampening her giddiness was her awareness that Beth was right. A door long closed and bolted was now open again.
* * *
Chase returned to his apartment on Bury Street in the afternoon. He had spent several hours fencing with an old army friend who was now a member of the Horse Guards. The exercise had cleared his head, which he had counted on. He needed to do some clear thinking before he went out again this evening.
His manservant, Brigsby, had hot water waiting, and held large towels after Chase washed. Then he dressed for the second time this day. Finally cleansed and refreshed, he sat at a large writing table set in his bedchamber. Brigsby had already supplied it with a thick stack of good paper and a fresh ink and pen.
Chase opened a new portfolio and wrote Hollinburgh’s Death on it. He always kept detailed notes on his inquiries. He had learned to do this in the army where such notes helped in writing the final report on any case being investigated. He also relied on written words to keep his thinking organized.
He took a sheet of paper and headed it Facts. He took another and wrote the heading Paths to Pursue. On a third he wrote Inconsistencies. On the next Theories. Finally, he pulled a clean page forward and penned Suspects. Not all inquiries required these pages. Some needed other, different ones. Part of starting an inquiry was considering the best way to organize the campaign, however.
Eventually most of the pages would be filled with lists of things to do and evidence amassed. With one review he could see if he had forgotten something. There had been inquiries where reading through his notes and pages had presented answers he had not yet seen.
He opened a letter and placed it in the portfolio. It had come from Sanders and included the list of the last duke’s businesses and their partners. He found another list in a drawer of the bequests in the will and added that.
He spent a few minutes, jotting thoughts on the page regarding Paths to Pursue, and making a short list there of the most immediate actions needed. Finally, he flipped to the Suspects page.
He could fill this already if he listed every person with any motive at all. Instead, as was his habit, he would reserve it for those whom he believed might truly be strong possibilities.
He dipped his pen. He hesitated. Then he wrote. Minerva Hepplewhite.