manages the arrangements. This is his information should you want to see if your situation warrants Lord Damion’s notice. Hopkins says he takes only one of every ten men who apply.”
Harry took the paper—Mr. G.R. Gordon of 16 Garner Street, London.
“And now, after doing your business all afternoon without receiving a word of thanks,” Ward said, an edge in his words, “I am half starved. Join me in the dining room if you choose, but keep in mind that you cannot live in my parents’ house or continue to drink through their stores for much longer. Whether through Lord Damion or some other way, you must find a solution, and I have done all that I can do.”
Ward left the room, and Harry immediately began a letter to Mr. Gordon.
By the end of the day, Harry had received a response that included a list of information Mr. Gordon needed in order to continue. Over the next few days, a flurry of letters were sent back and forth, exposing the full account of Harry’s assets, debts, inheritances, and family connections. Each letter from Mr. Gordon ended with the same note: “Should any part of this be proven false in the due diligence of our work, all expectations will be forfeit.”
Friday afternoon—nearly a week since outrunning Malcolm’s men—a note came from Mr. Gordon inviting Harry to meet with Lord Damion to finalize their agreement on Monday morning, alone.
Harry sighed in relief. Earlier that very day, Harry had spotted a man in the shadows between two town houses on the other side of the street. He was dressed as a gentleman and reading the paper, but what gentleman read the paper outside a town house for over an hour?
The thought of leaving the safety of the house for his appointment with Lord Damion terrified him, but Harry replied immediately that he would be there. This madness had to come to an end, and Lord Damion seemed to be the only route left that would grant him a second chance to do better.
Elliott Mayfield, Fifth Viscount of Howardsford, was reviewing accounts when Brookie brought him a note, his old hands trembling as they held the silver tray.
“From London,” Brookie said. “Messenger’s waiting for a response.”
“Really?” Elliott broke the seal quickly and unfolded the paper. He did not get many urgent letters from London. And he’d never had one where the messenger waited for a response.
Dear Lord Howardsford,
By way of introduction, I am Lord Damion, a nom de plume I use to protect my true identity in order for my work to move forward. The work of which I speak is to help dissolute men who have reached the end of their options through any number of vices, but most specifically, gambling. I function as a lender, for the most part, but with terms that require a change in lifestyle and behavior that I hope will then continue throughout the young men’s lives.
To date, I have assisted eighteen men find a place of secure dignity, only two of whom have returned to their fetid ways. Most of the applicants have not yet destroyed every relationship to the point that they won’t be saved by some well-meaning relation should they go back to their poor choices. The necessary humility and determination it takes to start anew has no space to grow so long as these young men have any other mode of rescue.
Your nephew, Harold Stillman, finds himself in a place where I believe my help can assist him to find a better way of life, which is my purpose in writing to you—his only relation in a position to rescue him, as you have in the past.
Mr. Stillman has told me of an inheritance that awaits him should he enter into an approved marriage. I would like you to clarify the situation so I am sure I understand it. My help needs to reach him at a time when he is ready to spend the next several years putting his energy toward building a future, not biding his time until a future falls into his lap.
Please do not think I am holding your inheritance as a reason not to help Mr. Stillman. I am only making certain I know the full situation before I make my decision.
He has also said you have refused to pay off his debts, something I applaud as, in my experience, a man who knows his accounts will be paid has no reason to think of the consequences of his choices.