Page 50 of Again, Scoundrel

McGann had a ship that was in disrepair but could be fixed and put to sea more cheaply than building new. Alistair would be the face of the company, putting his title and ties to the aristocracy, tenuous though they both were, to good use. They’d both worked for the East India Company, and now that public opinion was turning against its practices, the time was right to open a competing venture. A much smaller venture to be sure, but Alistair had faith in it. The monopoly of the East India Company was soon to be broken, so they needn’t stay small forever. There was every reason to think they could and would be successful.

He drank another cup of coffee and, when the clock hit noon, the earliest possible moment he felt he could visit anyone other than family, he lifted himself from the table and went to find Somerville.

“Crawford,” Somerville said, leaning back in his desk chair as Alistair was shown to his study. “You’re about early this morning. Or is it that you’re still up?”

Alistair flinched as Somerville chuckled, but the assertion was no more than he deserved. He’d spent all of his first month at home in his cups.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’ve a business proposition to discuss with you, Somerville,” Alistair said. “I’d like to start a shipping and trading company, and I’m in need of investors. I’ll make the return worth your while.”

Somerville nodded as Alistair explained his plan but held up a hand to stop him before he could finish.

“Crawford,” he said. “Why did you bring this to me? The Marquess should be your funder.”

“I’m approaching many potential investors,” Alistair replied. “The Marquess is currently in Kent.”

The elder gentleman leaned back in his chair. “And you couldn’t wait for his return? Is it gambling debts?”

“It is not.”

“The Marquess is one of my oldest friends, you know. We were together at Eton and then Oxford.”

Alistair nodded. He himself had known the Somerville family since he was in leading strings.

“You must be aware then, as I am, that your father wishes for you to remain here in London.”

Alistair nodded again, more curtly this time. The realization that he was wasting his time began to dawn on him. Somerville would not go against his father.

“You must also know,” Somerville went on, confirming Alistair’s assessment, “that I would have no desire to go against his wishes.”

“There’s money to be made,” Alistair said, but Somerville only waved that away.

“I’ve plenty of money. Lifelong friends are harder to come by. If he wants you home, son, and not at sea, I won’t interfere.”

Somerville paused and studied Alistair’s face. “But I will invest if the Marquess does. Your plan is sound enough.”

Alistair opened his mouth to say more, but Somerville cut him off. “Don’t take this any further. That’s the best I can do.”

“I’ll come back when I’ve got the Marquess’s agreement in hand, then.”

“See that you do. And, Alistair, if you want to raise other funds, you’ll have to do the work for it. Do you catch my meaning? Fathers and friends of fathers will only get you so far.”

“I was in the Navy, Somerville. Hard work is all I know.”

“But you did not stay in the Navy. Nor in the Company.”

“I am aware of that.”

He’d left both. But he’d thought it would count for something, all those years at sea.

“Then be aware you’ll have to convince people you mean to stay with this. Work on your reputation, son. Show your face at events. Engage with your potential investors. Stop drinking that god awful whisky you carry around everywhere. And for heaven’s sake, choose a bride. Someone with a sterling reputation and finances to boot, if you can find such a lady to have you. If you bring money to the table, others will believe you’re serious.”

The next day brought Pembrooke’s declination for the reason that his allowance was not enough to cover investing, only his living expenses. It was a statement Alistair thoroughly doubted given his friend’s inclination to excess, but his arguments did nothing to change the mind of the young heir.

Pembrooke did invite Alistair to a week-long house party in the country filled with young lords as debauched as he was, but Alistair politely declined. He needed this week to work.

Every morning, he awoke early, ate his austere breakfast of coffee and toast, and made his plans for the day. Every evening, he came home exhausted with little to show for it. By the end of the week, several truths were clear to him.