“Why should I, the Viscount Hartford come back another time to a meeting I requested?” Cillian affected his best nob’s accent.
The man gave a little smirk. “You arenotthe viscount.”
“What do you know of the viscount?”
“A viscount, sir, would not be walking around with muddy boots and nor would he have such simple cufflinks.”
Cillian glanced at the silver cufflinks peeking out from the sleeve of his jacket. He had to give the man one thing—he was observant. He leaned toward the man. “Did you also know that the Viscount Hartford inherited his title after his cousin died?”
“I did.”
“And that the viscount was once a soldier.”
“Well, yes.” The man’s feet twitched, the first sign the defenses were going.
“And where, pray tell, do you think I lost my eye?”
“That could have happened anywhere.”
“I’ll tell you where it happened,sir. It happened at Corunna, when we were facing hundreds of French soldiers and our commander had been torn apart by cannon shot. It happened when we were swarmed with cavalry, and I was knocked from my horse. It happened to the new Viscount Hartford, who did not survive all those bloody battles to be held up by the likes of you.”
The gatekeeper’s mouth opened and shut, making his chin wobble in the most unflattering of manners.
“You can either step aside and let me in or I can make you,” Cillian added for good measure.
The barricade crumbled. With some stuttered words that were scarcely an apology, the man stepped aside. Cillian paused to take a breath, pushed open the door, and entered the room.
His gaze fell on the three men first. Sir Wicksteed, a man with a fortune based in shipping, Lord Basnett who had essentially been blessed with inheriting enough fortunes to last several, lavish lifestyles, and Mr. Pyke who owned a timber company. If anyone was to be interested in Cillian’s plans for his cousin’s dwindling assets, it would be Sir Wicksteed. The man was a philanthropist and had turned a small shipping business into a fleet.
Wood paneling covered every wall of the offices, creating a dark environment despite the windows at the side facing out onto the streets of Bath. Several lamps were lit, scattered upon small tables and the large one in the center. A deliberately intimidating environment perhaps.
But Cillian had been in far worse places. It took more than a little gloom and three impeccably dressed men to scare him away.
His mind briefly flicked to Ivy and her questions. It would probably be another matter if she was sitting here in front of him. His lovely wife put the fear of God in him sometimes, fool that he was. It seemed he had courage until it came to her.
Cillian sat and forced himself through the pleasantries before handing over the business plans, carefully penned by Shah. For a soldier, he had the most beautiful writing.
“You already agreed to finance the expansion of two silk mills,” Cillian reminded them. “In Campden and Derby.”
“But this says you want to open an additional mill, and you wish to expand the plans further.” Lord Basnett took off his glasses, folded them carefully, and set them on the table. “We agreed to two mills at a sixty percent share.”
Cillian took a slow breath. His damned cousin had agreed to a terrible deal. The silk mills would go from earning the estate one hundred percent of the money, entirely untouched by others, to handing over a fortune every day. They needed to expand or else they could not keep up with the competition—his cousin had at least been right there—but to give these men the control was reckless.
“You cannot expect me to give you full control,” Cillian said. “The deal will be at forty-five percent which as you can see, with current projections, will give you a sizable return on your investment.”
“Yes, but these are just made-up numbers!”
Cillian eyed Mr. Pyke coolly. “As are any figures,” he said slowly, feeling as though he was talking to a child. “But these are based off current and projected profits.”
“And these plans for worker’s housing...” Lord Basnett prodded the piece of paper in front of him. “What is the sense in spending so much money there?”
“The workers are frequently ill. That costs the mills production time. If we have healthier workers, there will be less time off, and more productivity.” Cillian had to wonder if these men were being deliberately dense or genuinely did not see the benefits of looking after workers. Anyone with a brain in their heads could see looking after workers was better for business.
“I don’t know why all the youth of today are so fussed with looking after people,” Lord Basnett muttered. “In my day, we kept our heads down and worked hard and didn’t expect anything in return.”
In Lord Basnett’s day, he was raised in a household with over one hundred staff.
“I hardly think I can be classed as the youth, Lord Basnett. I have had more than enough experience in life to know what works and what does not.”