Something Old, Rebecca Connolly [ebook reader for laptop TXT] 📗

only by the grace of his wife that he had managed to recover anything of his marriage when he’d finally been satisfied there.

He could not fall into that trap again. Could not put anything before his wife or their family. Could not obsess over details that would not lead to his ultimate happiness, no matter how it might concern him. Only Lily could be paramount in his life. He should have learned that long ago.

Drumming his fingers on the table before him, Thomas pulled out his pocket watch, glancing at its face with a heavy sigh. He had promised Lily he would return before dinner, and that they would spend their evening together quietly and comfortably in the parlor, just as he’d always wished.

Waiting here was not part of his plan for the day.

But Lord Whitlock had invited him to meet here, and Thomas had included it in his day of business affairs to keep his time away from home to a minimum. What exactly Whitlock wanted was not clear, but Thomas was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Unless he continued to be tardy in his arrival. Then Thomas might be less accommodating. It was only just.

“Apologies, Granger, I was detained by my children.” Whitlock hurried to the table and sat without any flourish or airs, shaking his head. “I’m terribly fond of them, but to settle a dispute over whose turn it is to leap over the other down the stairs seems a trifle much.”

Thomas blinked. “Down the…? Your children were hopping over each other on the stairs?”

Whitlock turned his hand palm-side up in a gesture of acknowledgement. “Hence the lengthy part of the conversation on my part, mostly to protect them all from the wrath of their mother, should she discover the game.”

“Is this a frequent occupation for them?” Thomas asked, starting to laugh over the image forming in his mind of the Whitlock children’s antics. “Your daughters must seem angels by comparison.”

A faint snort came from the marquess. “These are my daughters. Believe me, the girls are as rambunctious as the boys, and the only relief Kate or I have is in the baby. Awake or asleep, that child never gives us cause for concern.” His brow furrowed, and he suddenly crossed himself quickly. At Thomas’s quirked brow, he smirked. “I take no chances where the curses of fate are concerned. I’d toss salt or spit, if we were not in a hallowed place.”

Thomas gave him a bemused look. “I was not aware that White’s was considered hallowed.”

“Only to some.” Whitlock straightened, leaning his elbows on the table and surveying Thomas carefully. “To business. You like a worthy investment, wouldn’t you say?”

“Where the risk is acceptable,” Thomas agreed with a nod, “and the returns guaranteed.”

Whitlock nodded soberly. “What if I can guarantee moderate returns, but the chances of impressive returns improve daily?”

Were the words coming from any other man, Thomas would have had a healthy dose of skepticism about such a claim. But as the man relaying it was Lord Whitlock, his skepticism was low. Present but low.

“And the risks?” he inquired, folding his arms.

Whitlock grinned. “Nil. Well, almost nil. The project is happening regardless, and it has the potential to grow exponentially. For men of vision and the patience to see it through.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes in an effort to hide the prickle of excitement beginning in his chest. “I’m listening.”

“My brother David lives in Scotland with his wife and children,” Whitlock told him, lowering his voice. “They live relatively quietly nestled in the Highlands, managing their estates and such. But David also has his ear to the ground with regard to promising opportunities, and there are things stirring in the lowlands. What would you say to investing in railways?”

“In what?” Thomas shook his head, his mind whirling. “Is that what I am hearing about? New methods of transport, using teams of horses to pull loads along tracks of iron and steel rather than relying on roads or canals?”

Whitlock nodded quickly. “The very same. There are existing railroads in Yorkshire, Surrey, and Swansea, all of which have been successful in their own right, and another is in the process of creation in Liverpool. Horses do well enough, but there are whispers of other means of power being developed, and should that take place, there would be no end to the possibilities. David has met with several parties about the Scottish rails, and they are eager for investment. I’ve pledged myself to the project and wondered if you might be interested in the same.”

Interest was certainly something Thomas was not lacking in this venture, but his sense and reserve slid firmly into place. “I am interested,” he said slowly, “but I would need to see some numbers and estimates. Do you think it might be possible for David or his contacts to have reports sent to me?”

“Of course!” Whitlock knocked on the table twice, smiling as though Thomas had already agreed. “I have a grand feeling about this, Granger. I’m no gambler, and if I can be convinced, I daresay you will be as well.”

“We shall see,” Thomas allowed, not quite ready to grin at the prospect. “I’ve a great deal of investments at the present, and may have to divert funds from one of them to this project if I deem it plausible. Making that decision will not be easy.”

Whitlock waved a dismissive hand. “You’ve a head for business and sound judgment. I have no doubt you will know at once what can go.”

Thomas only shrugged.

The marquess cocked his head, smiling in bemusement. “Something tells me Cornwall agreed with you. Have you courted your wife creditably?”

There was no way Thomas was divulging that information in the same discussion as business ventures, and he was certainly not doing so in a club of all places.

He shrugged again, saying nothing.

Whitlock’s brows snapped down. “Reserve as a method of punitive treatment is crass and ungentlemanly. You came to me, remember, so I daresay I have earned a