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Brother and sister looked around and found a small elderly man clothed the loose-fitting attire of a summer weight dark blue coat. His hair was white, thick and fell around his long face with great disorder when he removed his top hat. His eyes were blue and seemed to hold a gentle expression, Star thought as she met his gaze. His waistcoat was a pale shade of gray and his pantaloons were a darker shade of gray. He looked from Vern to Star as he went forward and said, “Miss Berkley, you won’t remember me, since the last time we met you only reached your father’s coattails. It is, however, for me, very nice to see you again.” He turned to her brother who had stood up and went forward to take the banker’s hand. “Ah, my lord, how tall and fine you have become.”
“It would appear that you have the advantage of adult memories over us,” Vern said with a warm smile.
Mr. Port nodded, but as a sigh escaped him, Vern’s brows drew together and he said, “Come…do sit and be comfortable with us, I shall ring for coffee.”
“No, no refreshments, thank you. I have come on a serious matter. In fact, it quite breaks my heart and my spirit to be put in such a position.”
“Oh?” Vern said.
“Berkley Grange has fallen on sad times, but do you know, your father always managed to bring it around, and I feel that you shall too, my lord.”
“That is most kind of you, but please, I know that is not what you are here to tell us. My sister and I believe in frank speaking. Do be at ease, we are prepared to hear what you have to say,” Vern told him. Star felt so proud of him, thinking this had to be difficult for her brother.
Mr. Port had taken a seat in the old leather bound winged chair, placing his worn hide satchel beside his feet.
Vern sat once again with his sister on the sofa and brother and sister watched the flitting grim expressions pass over Mr. Port’s face. He said finally, “I am afraid I am here on some very grave and disturbing business. I am not certain how this came about, as apparently it took place in our Hastings Office…and the matter was completely out of my control.” He shook his head, “Not that I could have prevented it from going forward, you understand?”
“What sir, do you mean?” Star asked suddenly feeling a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“As our letter indicated last month, my lord…Miss Berkley, that the mortgage your father took on the Grange just before his death…well, the payments on the mortgage had, as you know, fallen terribly behind. The main branch…in London demanded that we call in the mortgage, but we managed to stall them while his lordship here made a few payments. Our branch discovered that we could stall them no longer…and only found out when we received the London Edition of the Chronicle that Berkley Grange’s mortgage was available for purchase...”
“What?” both brother and sister screeched as one.
“And, it pains me to tell you that the mortgage for the Grange was indeed purchased yesterday. Our bank no longer holds or controls it.”
“And who does?”
“I don’t yet have the paperwork from our Hastings Branch, but I will send round that information as soon as I do. Your payments, their respective amounts and required collection will be totally in the hands of whoever now holds the mortgage.”
Chapter Twenty
A FEW MILES away, at the Stamford residence, Sir Edward’s mind worked frantically to solve the puzzles he had laid out for his own edification.
He had allowed the scoundrel Farley to live.
Had that decision been the wrong one? He had wanted to avoid a scandal which might have arisen had he killed the man in cold blood. Questions might have gone forward and an investigation might have exhumed truths that might have led to Star and her brother. He hadn’t wanted to chance that.
He hoped he wouldn’t regret his decision and yet, doubts clutched at his heart. He had to set things to rights for Star and her brother. This was a priority for him, and he had to make certain that the young Lord Berkley never engaged in such machinations ever again.
He sighed as he gazed at himself in his long mirror and adjusted his cravat. He looked like a libertine and he didn’t want to. He wanted to look as he felt, like a man hopelessly in love.
His ginger colored waves of hair, had been cut and combed in the windswept style and gave him a cavalier look. He didn’t want to appear cavalier, but sincere. He didn’t wish to look like a rogue out for a moment’s pleasure. He wanted to look serious, as serious as he felt.
A flash of memory jolted him. It was as though he could smell her fresh scent, feel her hands as she grabbed hold of his locks and pulled him to her.
He heard her voice as she told him how much she loved his long wild hair.
He smiled and turned away from the mirror and sighing heavily as he strode out of his bedchamber then made his way to Jules’ door and knocked.
Jules called out for him to enter and he did, closing the door at his back and standing for a moment. His friend was already up and sitting at his window table. He was still in his dark blue brocade dressing gown and idly stirring his coffee.
Edward’s gaze found Jules’ light blue eyes and he saw at once that his friend appeared troubled.
He frowned and was about to ask him what was wrong when Jules gave him a bright smile and remarked, “Certes, you are up early. What…can it be noon already?”
Sir Edward grinned at him ruefully, “I have not been such a late sleeper for years now…and Jules, we have to talk.”
Jules regarded him thoughtfully and Edward wondered what was in his friend’s head. They had not seen one another since the previous morning. Jules said, “Of course, Edward…do sit. I can send for another pot and cup for you.”
