Sitting a little straighter, Robert nodded. “Broxley was deeply in debt, and not just to Bill. He owed a lot of people. He lost an estate as well as his ownership in Trident. He was renting his own townhouse from its new owner. When Bill called in his debt, he tried to avoid signing over the estate by borrowing from—”
“Enough.” Philip stood and approached his sons. “You knew Bentley’s reputation when you started this. Don’t be naïve.” When Robert and Thomas glanced at each other, he shook his head. “Stop believing that business is all ledgers and meetings with people you detest. There’s a reason the aristocracy has looked down on tradesmen for more than two hundred years.”
“And still does,” muttered Robert.
Philip gave a sharp nod. “True. But those of us who can see what will happen to the aristocracy if we don’t expand our interests have faced this head on, the good and bad. There’s money, a lot of it, and growth. But there is a dark side to what we do, and Broxley will not be the first victim of evil men who use business to build wealth. You two need to stop acting like you will come out of this endeavor as pristine as the day you were born. You are charging a ravening bull. There will be consequences.”
“What has Gilley said?” Thomas asked.
Robert gave a slow shake of his head. “Not much. Bentley apparently went on a rampage yesterday evening about his clients jumping ship. People who have been storing and shipping with him for years are suddenly moving to another vendor.” He looked at Philip. “So your messages had results.”
“Offering businessmen a way to save a great deal of money usually does.”
“How long can we sustain the lower rates?”
“At least a year. That was my plan before I made the offers. We will make up a lot of the revenue through the expansion, by what we charge new clients.”
Robert studied his father. “What about the workers?”
“When the dust settles, we will hire as many as we can.”
“And how long with that be?”
Philip shook his head.
Silence engulfed the study, except for the low crackles of the flames.
“What are our next steps?” Thomas finally asked.
Philip returned to his desk and flipped through some paperwork. “Bentley’s on the offensive now. He’s made offers on three adjoining warehouses to his current complex under a new corporate name. My suspicion is that he’s trying to use a new entity to expand his ownership percentage.”
“Will that work?” asked Robert.
Philip’s smile held a grim humor. “No. I’ve made counter offers to the owners that they will readily accept. By purchasing all the adjoining property, we’ll landlock him from expansion. His next attempt at retaliation will be to target our other holdings, looking for weaknesses.”
Thomas approached his father. “You really have the bit between your teeth on this.”
Philip’s eyebrow arched. “I have been looking into what you told me. Bentley has ruined a lot of lives, not just Lady Rose. It’s about time someone challenged him on his own territory.”
“What do you need from us?”
“This will become increasingly brutal. I need the two of you to be the Kennet face in Society. Proper. Determined. We may need the loyalty of the elite. The Marquess of Aldermaston has asked to meet with me, and I’m sure it’s about Beth. The Huntingdale soiree is tomorrow night. I need you to go with Emalyn and Beth, get a measure of the man, show your faces.”
“Mine’s not much to look at right now,” Robert grumbled.
“Then get yourself in order. Emalyn’s maid can help you cover the remains of that black eye.” Philip straightened his shoulders. “You gentlemen wanted this battle. I am on board with it, but do not mistake that this will be easy.”
An unexpected sense of satisfaction settled over Thomas, and he felt more... engaged?... than he had in months. “We are fully in this with you, Father.”
Philip’s gaze raked over Thomas, head to toe, then he finally nodded. “Let us move forward then.”
*
Rose could notshake an overall sense of melancholia, even though the details of the upcoming soiree occupied most of her mind and energy. In less than three hours, the doors of Huntingdale House would open to welcome half of theton, and Lady Dorothea’s insistence on absolute perfection had made Rose lose most of her good sense and all of her humor. She had even snapped at Sarah, who was only reminding Rose that she should be upstairs dressing and sitting for a hair style instead of bouncing pillar to post with a sheath of papers in her hand. But Rose knew she had to go through the details one last time.
The ballroom of the house had never been large enough for a grand Society ball, so Lady Dorothea had focused her efforts on hosting at least one soiree and one musicale per season. Yet it remained an elegant room, with its pastoral frescos covering the ceiling and walls. Gold leaf medallions anchored the four primary chandeliers, each of which held 120 candles—as Mrs. Williams frequently reminded Rose as they planned the budget for the event. The parquet floor gleamed with polish—making it treacherous for satin slippers—but in the center, Rose had commissioned an elaborate chalk painting of the Acropolis, which reflected her mother’s chosen theme of the evening: classical Greece.
Rose circled the room one final time. Screens had reduced the size of the room by one third, allowing for a staging area for the servants and musicians. The footmen for the evening had been hired, since Rose refused to put their own through the chagrin of wearing togas and sandals for several hours. Musicians with lyres and flutes would gather in the corners, playing throughout the evening, except when the readings from Greek literature would take place.
