East India Company. It is not tainted, that is, unless you consider trade a taint. I don't believe you are in any position to quibble about that. Name me the sum I owe you."
Thorogood weighed the bag of coins thoughtfully in his hand as he contemplated the young lord. Lord John would be nearing thirty now, not young any longer, actually. Whatever he had been doing, it had taught him a new authority and assurance that the callow spendthrift had not possessed. He propped his fingers together in an arch and named a sum that would have made royalty flinch.
Jack gave him a look of disgust. "That would more than cover the full sum of the original markers plus interest at a rate to make the shylocks cringe. If you think that is what I owe you for five years of my life, you are sadly mistaken. I will pay it, but I will have every marker I ever wrote in return. Should any more turn up at some future date, I will return them to you for payment."
Henry concealed his surprise with a brief nod. "I did not anticipate immediate payment. You may pay it as you are able."
Chatham rose abruptly. "I will give you a draft on my bank today if you can present the vouchers. I will not have your threats hanging over my head any longer than is necessary."
Fully astounded, Henry hurried to the drawer where the markers had been kept all these years. Something in the way Lord Jack had phrased that sentence gave food for thought, but he would savor it later. He would step cautiously for now. He wondered if the careless name the young man had gone by in his youth still applied. "Lord Jack" no longer suited this imposing stranger.
The transaction completed, Jack threw the sheaf of papers in the fire and watched them burn before striding out without a polite word of courtesy to his host. Five years of waiting for this moment had left him expecting an elation he could no longer feel. The deadness inside remained even with the burden of all those old debts lifted.
He needed to seek some new stimulation now to keep his spirit from dying entirely.
Only recently arrived in London, he'd not had time to seek out old friends. With his business accomplished, he felt ill-at-ease and restless. It was time to rejoin society and see how his reputation had fared over the cleansing solution of time.
Jack walked into White's and found little different in the decor other than a mellowing of age. Perhaps the faces behind the newspapers were slightly different or older, the youths behind the gaming tables seemed younger, he knew fewer than he had expected, but on the whole, the changes were slight. He moved easily toward the group in the corner of the back room, using his leisurely pace to identify vaguely familiar features. One of their number looked up and gave a whoop of recognition. Jack grinned at this irrepressible greeting. Peter's hair might have retreated slightly from his sloping forehead, his yellow waistcoat might be tighter over his paunch, but the cheerful beam of his round face remained unchanged.
"Chatham, as I live and breathe! Back from the dead, old boy? Have you come to haunt us in these dismal corridors?"
They drew him back into their circle without reproof, either glad of this diversion on a dull day or unaware of his fall into trade. Jack ordered drinks, joined in the genial jesting, and tested the waters. Many of their former number were not evident in this gathering place. Some younger, newer faces watched his homecoming with disinterest or an eagerness to be amused but he found no disdain. Yet.
Settling into a comfortably upholstered chair, Jack turned the conversation away from himself and encouraged gossip about those faces among the missing. His companions eagerly grasped the opportunity. In this time-honored fashion he learned how little things had changed beyond the names and the faces.
"And Beecham? Has his father stuck his spoon in the wall and left him all those barrels of gold yet?"
The slender young toff with the diamond
Thorogood weighed the bag of coins thoughtfully in his hand as he contemplated the young lord. Lord John would be nearing thirty now, not young any longer, actually. Whatever he had been doing, it had taught him a new authority and assurance that the callow spendthrift had not possessed. He propped his fingers together in an arch and named a sum that would have made royalty flinch.
Jack gave him a look of disgust. "That would more than cover the full sum of the original markers plus interest at a rate to make the shylocks cringe. If you think that is what I owe you for five years of my life, you are sadly mistaken. I will pay it, but I will have every marker I ever wrote in return. Should any more turn up at some future date, I will return them to you for payment."
Henry concealed his surprise with a brief nod. "I did not anticipate immediate payment. You may pay it as you are able."
Chatham rose abruptly. "I will give you a draft on my bank today if you can present the vouchers. I will not have your threats hanging over my head any longer than is necessary."
Fully astounded, Henry hurried to the drawer where the markers had been kept all these years. Something in the way Lord Jack had phrased that sentence gave food for thought, but he would savor it later. He would step cautiously for now. He wondered if the careless name the young man had gone by in his youth still applied. "Lord Jack" no longer suited this imposing stranger.
The transaction completed, Jack threw the sheaf of papers in the fire and watched them burn before striding out without a polite word of courtesy to his host. Five years of waiting for this moment had left him expecting an elation he could no longer feel. The deadness inside remained even with the burden of all those old debts lifted.
He needed to seek some new stimulation now to keep his spirit from dying entirely.
Only recently arrived in London, he'd not had time to seek out old friends. With his business accomplished, he felt ill-at-ease and restless. It was time to rejoin society and see how his reputation had fared over the cleansing solution of time.
Jack walked into White's and found little different in the decor other than a mellowing of age. Perhaps the faces behind the newspapers were slightly different or older, the youths behind the gaming tables seemed younger, he knew fewer than he had expected, but on the whole, the changes were slight. He moved easily toward the group in the corner of the back room, using his leisurely pace to identify vaguely familiar features. One of their number looked up and gave a whoop of recognition. Jack grinned at this irrepressible greeting. Peter's hair might have retreated slightly from his sloping forehead, his yellow waistcoat might be tighter over his paunch, but the cheerful beam of his round face remained unchanged.
"Chatham, as I live and breathe! Back from the dead, old boy? Have you come to haunt us in these dismal corridors?"
They drew him back into their circle without reproof, either glad of this diversion on a dull day or unaware of his fall into trade. Jack ordered drinks, joined in the genial jesting, and tested the waters. Many of their former number were not evident in this gathering place. Some younger, newer faces watched his homecoming with disinterest or an eagerness to be amused but he found no disdain. Yet.
Settling into a comfortably upholstered chair, Jack turned the conversation away from himself and encouraged gossip about those faces among the missing. His companions eagerly grasped the opportunity. In this time-honored fashion he learned how little things had changed beyond the names and the faces.
"And Beecham? Has his father stuck his spoon in the wall and left him all those barrels of gold yet?"
The slender young toff with the diamond
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