“The Earl of Whitelock to see his solicitors.” He put one of his cards on the desk, snapping the corner as he did so.
The young man’s neck jerked straight, and he almost leapt from his chair. “Lord Whitelock, of course.” He gulped. “Please, take a seat. Would you like a cup of tea? I’ll just nip into the office and see which of the gentlemen is available to meet with you.” He scuttled from the room like his coattails were smoldering and without waiting for an answer about the tea.
Evan yanked off his gloves, tucked them in his cloak pocket, and removed the heavy garment. With so many capes on the shoulders, it was certainly warm, but this style made him think of wearing his military pack, it was so weighty.
He took a seat and picked up a newspaper neatly laid out on a small table. His name leapt off the crisp pages. “Whitelock Nuptial Celebration Graced with Royal Visit.” All the details of the ceremony and reception were there, including the Prince Regent’s arrival and announcement of Diana’s inheritance. The newspaper expressed surprise that the couple had reportedly left the city so quickly, especially with such a fortune now at their disposal. “The Earl and Countess of Whitelock will surely be the most sought-after guests at upcoming social events this Season, and it is hoped they will return from their wedding trip quickly, though with a rumored Royal Visit this spring, perhaps they would stay in the country preparing for the big event.” The article finished by commenting that Lady Whitelock, because of her great beauty, her father’s title, and the inheritance, would’ve been named “The Incomparable” of this Season, and wasn’t it quick work by the new earl to snap her up before others could ply their suits?
Evan felt like a fortune hunter. He’d barely had time to toss the paper onto the table in disgust when the secretary returned. “My lord, won’t you please come with me. You may leave your cloak here.” The man practically genuflected, clasping his hands together and hunching his shoulders in an effort to please.
The inner office was even more richly appointed than the reception room, with walnut paneling, thick woolen carpeting, and golden drapes at the windows. Leather-bound tomes ranked on shelves, looking as if they had never been opened, and green-shaded lamps stood on the corners of a massive desk.
“A pleasure to see you again, my lord.” Mr. Moody, the lawyer Evan and Marcus had met with the day after Evan’s first audience with the Prince Regent, stretched out his hand, his chin jutting and his eyes gleaming behind his square-framed glasses. “Please, won’t you sit down and tell me how I may be of assistance to you. Anthony, bring tea. Unless you’d prefer something stronger?” He raised bushy eyebrows toward Evan.
At ten in the morning? “No, thank you.” He took the chair offered, the leather butter soft under his hands.
The lawyer took his seat, rested his forearms on his desk, and laced his fingers. “What can I do for you?”
Evan tamped down his true feelings and kept his voice businesslike. “It’s about the matter of my wife’s inheritance. I understand the Home Secretary was going to see to the transfer of ownership from a trust to me.”
“Oh yes. And so he has done. I have the paperwork here.” He slid open a drawer and withdrew a folder. “The money is in the account we opened for you at the Bank of London when we transferred the remainder of the Whitelock funds into it.” Flipping open the file, he scanned a ledger page. “I have taken care of certain bills that arrived here before your marriage—a tailor, a haberdasher, a boot maker. I had thought there would be more expenses, but you’ve been most frugal up to now.” His finger followed a line of neat entries, and then his eyes rose to peruse Evan’s uniform. “Should I expect more debits on the account? More tailoring, perhaps?”
Evan nodded. “There will be many new draws on the account, and I am sure tailoring will be somewhere amongst the invoices.” He would need some sturdy working clothes and some riding attire. Perhaps he could order them, have them sent to White Haven, and get by with his uniforms until they arrived.
“Of course. With such an impressive sum, and coming from …” He hesitated, then must’ve decided to be quite frank, and plunged on. “… such pedestrian origins, you must want to really splash on some things. Horses? Club memberships? Carriages? Once you have entrance to White’s or Boodle’s, your marker will be good at the tables, so may I assume there will be wagering debts? And if you have a mistress to set up in a house of her own, I assure you, I handle such matters for my clients with the utmost discretion. You’ll want to experience some of the finer things in life now that you have the means. I am a bit of a wine connoisseur myself and would be happy to help you lay down a nice cellar.”
Was the man aware that he was rubbing his thumb across his fingertips as if he could feel the money in his hands? The solicitor spoke of buying horses and carriages, clothes and shoes, alongside mistresses, drinking, and gambling, as if they were all legitimate, common expenses for a gentleman of means.
“Not at this time, thank you.” Evan was aware that his tone was dry, and the lawyer’s brows came down. “I’ve been to White Haven, my new estate, and the manor is in need of some improvements.” Which was stating things rather lightly. “I am in town to find workers and to procure the supplies I will need to start the repairs. I will instruct the vendors to send all invoices here, but I will also require that copies be sent to Mr. Marcus Haverly, who will be acting as my proxy here in London while I return to White Haven to begin the work.”
Moody sat back in his chair and stroked his beard with one hand while drumming his fingers on his desk top with the other. “You’re going to be in the country overseeing the work yourself? Wouldn’t it be better to hire someone to do that? A gentleman would send an architect and a builder and would hire a decorator and a steward to accomplish his wishes while he stayed in the capital to enjoy the pleasures of the Season. You can certainly afford it. No true gentleman would sully his hands with such trivial things as … home maintenance.”
The frown on the older man’s face irritated Evan, as did his reference to Evan not acting like a gentleman. He was tired of pretending to be something he was not. And yet there was no escape from the charade. He was an earl, and he would continue being an earl whether he—or the haute ton—liked it or not.
“I prefer to have charge of the repairs myself. All I require is that you inspect the invoices and pay them in a timely manner. If you cannot do that, I am sure there are other law firms who would be eager for the opportunity.”
By the time Evan left Coles, Franks, and Moody, the solicitor had practically been tripping over himself to accede to Evan’s every wish.
The bank was just as accommodating, though they did suggest a guard accompany Evan on his way back to Haverly House, considering the amount of money he’d withdrawn for immediate expenses and purchases. Evan declined, since he’d arranged to meet Marcus on the bank steps at midday, and he would have the carriage.
It was the first of many long days in London for Evan.
All week, as he went from lumberyard to bricklayer to ironmonger, Evan spent money he hadn’t earned. He bought materials and tools, and along with Shand, gathered a workforce. With his own townhouse rented for the rest of the Season, he continued to lodge with Marcus, heading back to Mayfair every evening with his mind and his list of things to do still full.