said?”
“My friend?”
“That fellow Walpole.” Lord Gaynor tossed back his liquor and refilled his glass as if he needed fortification. “Is it true about this money business? Are ye as clever as he says?”
Adam said nothing for a few beats, then admitted, “Yes.”
“Rather disreputable, isn’t it? Making so much money?”
Bronwyn moaned so faintly she knew they couldn’t hear it. Still, Adam bent a glare on her, and she thought the temperature of the room dropped appreciably.
“Not so disreputable as being poor.”
The chill didn’t seem perceptible to Lord Gaynor. “Good thing your family’s an old and noble one. Don’t know how ye’d stand the disgrace, otherwise. Ye’re acting like a merchant.”
“So kind,” Adam murmured.
“Just keep it quiet,” Lord Gaynor said. “If ye don’t rub society’s nose in it, ye’ll keep their respect. I’d hate to have it known my daughter married a clever man.”
Adam’s quiet voice agreed, “Most humiliating.”
Wishing she were anywhere else, Bronwyn closed her eyes again.
“I’m going to be your papa-in-law, and as your own father is dead, I thought ye’d appreciate a little advice.” Lord Gaynor sipped his drink and nodded. “Thought ye’d appreciate it. Not that I mind your head for business. Why, I’deven take a bit of advice from ye and not feel besmirched.”
Adam leaned back in his chair and pulled the feather of his quill through his fingers. “Of course, I’d be glad to advise you, but I doubt Bridget—”
She looked up at him.
“—Bronwyn”—he corrected himself—“would be interested.”
Lord Gaynor drained his glass, then squinted across the breakfast room at Adam. “She’s a clever miss. Ye’d be surprised.”
Adam lifted an eyebrow at her, as if he were questioning her. She looked back down at her hands and wished her da would keep his mouth shut. If he believed cleverness was unacceptable in a man, what madness made him think it should be acclaimed in a woman?
Adam sounded almost amused as he said, “I’ve been down at Change Alley, and the stocks are frenzied as ever.”
“Has the proclamation against the stocks not licensed by Parliament taken effect?” Lord Gaynor asked.
“Enforcement will begin on Midsummer Day—June twenty-fourth.” Foreseeing a long conference, Adam capped his inkwell with a cork. “The rumor of it has burst a few of the bubbles. The owners have packed up shop and left without a whimper. There are others, however, who say they’ll ignore the proclamation, or claim their obsolete charters are legal.”
“Will they succeed in fighting the proclamation?” Lord Gaynor asked.
Bronwyn wrinkled her forehead. When had her feckless da learned enough to comprehend the intricacies of the stock market?
“If I knew that, I could make a lot more of that money which so embarrasses you,” Adam said acidly. “Enforcement will be spotty at first, but it should be efficacious eventually.”
“And when it is?” Lord Gaynor’s eyes glowed.
“Stocks will drop like rocks.” Adam dropped a paperweight as illustration. “Anyone holding the burden of stock will be crushed. Bankrupt.”
A thought as dramatic as it was illuminating streaked across Bronwyn’s mind, and boldly she asked, “Will men be killed?”
Adam looked startled. “Perhaps.”
Lord Gaynor patted the top of her wig. “’Tis not something ye should worry your pretty head about.”
She looked to Adam, and he replied to the demand in her face. “Certainly the rabble will riot, for they’ll no longer have the illusion of being rich. Men will be killed then.”
“Is there another way to kill a man with this stock?”
Adam tugged at his ear as if he couldn’t believe her questioning, but he answered steadily, “An interesting turn of phrase—killing a man with a stock.” He looked at her inquiringly, but she said nothing. “I have no way of knowing for sure, but I believe there will be
“My friend?”
“That fellow Walpole.” Lord Gaynor tossed back his liquor and refilled his glass as if he needed fortification. “Is it true about this money business? Are ye as clever as he says?”
Adam said nothing for a few beats, then admitted, “Yes.”
“Rather disreputable, isn’t it? Making so much money?”
Bronwyn moaned so faintly she knew they couldn’t hear it. Still, Adam bent a glare on her, and she thought the temperature of the room dropped appreciably.
“Not so disreputable as being poor.”
The chill didn’t seem perceptible to Lord Gaynor. “Good thing your family’s an old and noble one. Don’t know how ye’d stand the disgrace, otherwise. Ye’re acting like a merchant.”
“So kind,” Adam murmured.
“Just keep it quiet,” Lord Gaynor said. “If ye don’t rub society’s nose in it, ye’ll keep their respect. I’d hate to have it known my daughter married a clever man.”
Adam’s quiet voice agreed, “Most humiliating.”
Wishing she were anywhere else, Bronwyn closed her eyes again.
“I’m going to be your papa-in-law, and as your own father is dead, I thought ye’d appreciate a little advice.” Lord Gaynor sipped his drink and nodded. “Thought ye’d appreciate it. Not that I mind your head for business. Why, I’deven take a bit of advice from ye and not feel besmirched.”
Adam leaned back in his chair and pulled the feather of his quill through his fingers. “Of course, I’d be glad to advise you, but I doubt Bridget—”
She looked up at him.
“—Bronwyn”—he corrected himself—“would be interested.”
Lord Gaynor drained his glass, then squinted across the breakfast room at Adam. “She’s a clever miss. Ye’d be surprised.”
Adam lifted an eyebrow at her, as if he were questioning her. She looked back down at her hands and wished her da would keep his mouth shut. If he believed cleverness was unacceptable in a man, what madness made him think it should be acclaimed in a woman?
Adam sounded almost amused as he said, “I’ve been down at Change Alley, and the stocks are frenzied as ever.”
“Has the proclamation against the stocks not licensed by Parliament taken effect?” Lord Gaynor asked.
“Enforcement will begin on Midsummer Day—June twenty-fourth.” Foreseeing a long conference, Adam capped his inkwell with a cork. “The rumor of it has burst a few of the bubbles. The owners have packed up shop and left without a whimper. There are others, however, who say they’ll ignore the proclamation, or claim their obsolete charters are legal.”
“Will they succeed in fighting the proclamation?” Lord Gaynor asked.
Bronwyn wrinkled her forehead. When had her feckless da learned enough to comprehend the intricacies of the stock market?
“If I knew that, I could make a lot more of that money which so embarrasses you,” Adam said acidly. “Enforcement will be spotty at first, but it should be efficacious eventually.”
“And when it is?” Lord Gaynor’s eyes glowed.
“Stocks will drop like rocks.” Adam dropped a paperweight as illustration. “Anyone holding the burden of stock will be crushed. Bankrupt.”
A thought as dramatic as it was illuminating streaked across Bronwyn’s mind, and boldly she asked, “Will men be killed?”
Adam looked startled. “Perhaps.”
Lord Gaynor patted the top of her wig. “’Tis not something ye should worry your pretty head about.”
She looked to Adam, and he replied to the demand in her face. “Certainly the rabble will riot, for they’ll no longer have the illusion of being rich. Men will be killed then.”
“Is there another way to kill a man with this stock?”
Adam tugged at his ear as if he couldn’t believe her questioning, but he answered steadily, “An interesting turn of phrase—killing a man with a stock.” He looked at her inquiringly, but she said nothing. “I have no way of knowing for sure, but I believe there will be
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