Free Seeking Celeste by Hayley Ann Solomon Page A

was piqued.
    When a simple ribbing caused his good friend to make a curt and quite unnecessary reply, his suspicions were confirmed. Miss Derringer—whoever she was—had better have a spotless record. Whilst Robert was as notorious as he for delighting in the muslin set, he had never before shown any matrimonial interest in the female sex.
    The sharp set of his jaw and the uncommonly reticent manner of his speech confirmed Lord Rutherford’s worst fears. Robert, at last, was hooked. He only hoped that this Miss Dernnger-Anne, was it?—lived up to expectation. The name rang a faint but familiar bell in his head. Robert was right. There was something... .
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    The offices of Messrs. Wiley and Clark were bustling but surprisingly clean given their location just two streets down from the dockyard. The Thames was notoriously murky on this side of town, but none of the grimier aspects of the city were evident in the Spartan but elegantly furnished rooms.
    The senior of the two men seated at an oak table almost the length of the second chamber looked up from his books and eyed his partner with interest.
    â€œAny news, yet, Ethan?”
    His inquiry was met with a shake of chestnut curls and a grimace at the large, hand-inscribed books in front of him.
    â€œNone, I am afraid. I have contacted the other beneficiaries, but the two remaining parties remain elusive. So far, the inquiries have not been exhaustive, but I might say they have been reasonably efficient. Any further search would involve a capital loss to the firm unless the investigation is offset by the sums held in trust.”
    Old Mr. Wiley set down his monocle and sighed. “I am not certain I can authorize such a step.”
    â€œBut the parties can surely not object—”
    â€œMy dear Ethan, when you have been around as long as I have, you will learn not to make such foolish and ingenuous assumptions. Greed is limitless and rears its head in the most unlikely of places. No doubt Lord Featherstone and Miss ... Derringer, was it? ... ought to be grateful for the intelligence we bring. It is a guinea to a groat, however, that if we use some of the capital to locate them, one or other will lay a complaint against us to the authorities. It may not be fair, it may not be natural, but by godfathers, it is life.”
    The younger man still appeared troubled. “What shall I do, then?”
    â€œReinvest the capital. The money was earned on change; it is reasonable to assume the investors would keep it there. Merchant shipping is a good line; record the details carefully and buy in again.”
    â€œAnd the interested parties?”
    â€œTo hang with the interested parties! If they did not respond to the advertisements in the Morning Post, it is not our fault. We still have our contacts in place at Whitehall. If they can help, so much the better. If not, well, no one can say that as a company we have not acted in the best interest of all concerned.”
    Mr. Clark sighed. Lord Featherstone he knew nothing about, but Miss Derringer ... she was a different story. Above his touch, of course, but nevertheless not so stiff as to hold him in contempt.
    They had spent a memorable hour together when Miss Derringer had recklessly placed all of her competence on change. He remembered advising her to go with a safer option, but she had smiled, simply shaking her glorious raven head. Her eyes had glowed bright as emeralds and she had had a reckless air about her. The air, Ethan knew, of a gambler.
    He was not to know the despair that had driven her to him, or the do or die attitude that had caused her to be so unthrifty. Anne had decided that either way, with the competence or without, she would be doomed to a life of humble servitude. Betting on the Polaris was a whimsical way of casting caution to the winds. She had known, he knew, the risks. Unlike most gamblers, she had seemed not to care. When the Polaris had been sunk, she had nodded