The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,73
goodness! I had no idea, Jago. How could he use the same collateral for all three loans?”
Her use of the word collateral had jolted Jago. But then he recalled that her father had been a successful businessman and Claire had grown up in a household where discussions about money probably hadn’t been hidden like dirty secrets. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Claire knew a great deal more about finance than Jago did.
“I don’t know how he did it—or why,” Jago had admitted. “According to all three bankers, Cadan took the money in bank notes—which is apparently unusual. I don’t understand what he could have done with it all such a short time before his death.”
Claire’s expression had been distant. “Cadan and I did not speak about much, Jago—and never about his business.” She chewed her lip. “I have to admit I thought he was a bit … odd in the weeks before his accident.”
“How do you mean odd?”
“He seemed frenetic, almost. I knew he was worried about money, but that was hardly new. He looked exhausted after that trip to Plymouth.” Claire raised a lacy handkerchief to her face. “I daresay you think I should have noticed something was amiss and insisted that he not go out that day—”
“Lord, Claire, if Cadan wished to take out his curricle in such vile weather there was nothing you could have said or done to stop him from acting like a cabbage head.”
She’d given him a faint, but grateful nod.
Jago hadn’t been just placating her; his brother had been a fool to take such a light carriage out in a storm. The only one responsible for the accident which took his life was Cadan.
After making his sister-in-law cry—and getting nothing of value for his efforts—Jago had decided to let the matter of the missing money drop.
If he was to commit money to Worth’s investment scheme, he would need to tap into the small pool of capital that he’d managed to save over the last two decades. He was naturally hesitant to do so as it was all that stood between his small family and insolvency.
Thanks to Jago’s untouched quarterly allowance—which had grown steadily in the low percents over almost twenty years—and the money he’d inherited upon his mother’s death, Jago had an annual income of approximately £5000. That would provide a lavish lifestyle for one man, but it was hardly enough to get Lenshurst Park in shape—not to mention give his two nieces a London Season.
And it was not nearly enough to pay off those three loans.
Jago’s mind had still been in a whirl when he’d ridden up the driveway and seen the lights in the library windows.
Because he was a selfish swine, he’d hoped that Benna was the one working so late.
Benna.
Jago had stayed away from her since she’d moved to the house, but it had not been easy.
Every night he saw her at dinner and learned more and more about the quiet but clever woman who hid behind short brown hair and glasses.
He was pleased and impressed by the sheer volume of work she got through and the competent efficiency with which she approached any task. Whether it was sorting through piles of documents or organizing the contents of the enormous ramshackle house, she tackled each job with a cool determination that was awe-inspiring.
It certainly inspired him.
And there were many days when he dearly needed inspiration.
Jago had loved being a doctor. He’d loved not just the sense of purpose helping others gave to his life, but also the simplicity of his existence.
He had employed one servant and owned very few possessions. His needs had been few and he’d had ample time to pursue the things he enjoyed; things like furthering his medical knowledge or corresponding with his many colleagues, or, most recently, sharing his medical skills with others, as he’d done with Elinor.
There is no use yearning for that which you cannot have.
That was true; self-pity was worse than useless.
Jago looked across at the woman in front of the old trunk. She was not wearing her faux spectacles and the feminine curve of her face was more evident without the obstruction.
She was patiently trying the keys, her façade as cool and undisturbed as the untouched surface of a lake.
Memories of that ridiculously tame kiss assaulted him and the dull ache in his groin he’d been feeling from the moment he’d seen the lights in the library window sharpened.