Page 16 of Duke of Sapphire

“Your risk assessment,” she said, after a moment, “on the northern shipping venture…you said the exposure over the first three years is acceptable.”

“It is.”

“Only if the second estate’s output stays consistent. You said yourself the contracts are in dispute.” She tilted her head. “That is not an acceptable exposure. That is an optimistic one.”

“The dispute will be resolved.”

“You do not know that.”

“I will resolve it,” he said, “which amounts to the same thing.”

“Confidence is not a financial instrument.”

“In this case it is.” He picked up his pen. “I have resolved more complicated disputes with worse tools. The exposure is acceptable.”

“I maintain that it is optimistic.”

“Noted,” he said. “And incorrect.”

“Noted,” she said, in precisely the same tone, “and not conceded.”

The carriage slowed at the afternoon stop. He recognized the change in the road, as well as the distant sounds of a yard. He did not look up from his annotation immediately. He was aware, in a way he did not particularly welcome, that the last forty minutes had passed without effort. The correspondence was barely advanced. He had not noticed until now.

“We are stopping,” he said.

“So we are.” She straightened and pulled her cap properly back onto her head. “You still have not convinced me about the exposure.”

“I did not endeavor to convince you,” Henry said. “I stated a fact.”

“You stated a position.” She tucked a strand of hair under the cap’s edge. “There is a difference.”

Henry looked at her for one moment. Then he closed the folder and rapped onto the roof.

He was not entirely ready to concede that his exposure was optimistic, but her critique was undeniably astute. It was both exasperating and thoroughly invigorating to encounter someone who possessed the daring to challenge him.

The private sitting room was decent enough. There was a fire, two chairs, and a window with gray light leaning through it. Sappherton evaluated it the way he surveyed everything—quickly, thoroughly, already moving to the next item—and then turned to Charlotte with the expression he reserved for instructions she was unlikely to follow.

“Stay here,” he said. “The door stays shut. You speak to no one. I will return within the half-hour.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said.

He paused at the door, clearly wanting to say it again.

“I heard you,” she said. “Go.”

He went.

The fire was warm. The chair was comfortable. There was tea, cold but present, and the throbbing in her ankle had reduced to a dull ache that was perfectly bearable if she did not move too sharply. Weariness settled into her bones, and her eyes began to droop.

The door creaking jerked her out of a half-slumber, and she looked to see that it was ajar. A gust of wind blew in through the window and made the door creak again.

Sighing, Charlotte rose to close it. As she approached, she heard voices in the passage. For a moment, she thought it might be Sappherton.

“Lord Ashford is offering a substantial reward…”

She went very still.

“He posted it under a family matter notice,” one of the voices went on, “which means the inquiry offices are handling it quietly.”