To Dream Again (24 page)

"Well, that's true enough, but there's more to it than that."

Nathaniel glanced at him, and the solicitor went on, "It appears that your brother has borrowed immense sums of money during the last few years. Nearly everything he has is mortgaged." Finch shook his head. "I don't understand it."

"I do. I know my brother very well. He probably didn't use the money he borrowed to make improvements or develop new products. I saw the new mansion in Mayfair. Quite impressive. I'd say it must have cost him a pretty penny."

Nathaniel leaned back against the wall. "You see, Adrian's greedy. He doesn't want to give up anything, even to save his business. Appearance is everything, if you know what I mean. He'd have to be on his knees in the gutter before he'd admit he can't afford silk cravats and lavish parties. Perhaps not even then."

"He does like to live well," Finch agreed. "He has an extensive household staff, a home in Mayfair, an estate in Devon, a villa at Brighton, an impressive art collection, membership in several clubs..."

Nathaniel nodded. "Exactly. The problem is that he's in now in a downward spiral. Sales keep falling, revenue declines until suddenly he's losing money instead of making it. So he cuts his costs by using poor quality materials and sales fall even further."

"But what caused this downward spiral? When you sold your share to him and went to America, Chase was doing very well. Ten years later, it's nearly insolvent. What happened?"

"Adrian never had any ability to manage the company. I told you, he's greedy and impatient. He wants instant profit, and he's never reinvested those profits back in the business." Another thought struck him. "If my brother is in trouble and his creditors called his loans, he'd be ruined."

Finch shook his head. "That isn't likely to happen. He's engaged to be married. Wealthy American heiress with a substantial fortune."

"Honoria Montrose. Yes, I know."

"If Lord Leyland is genuinely in trouble, his creditors will be waiting to see what happens. If he marries Honoria Montrose as planned, his problems will be solved. If the marriage is called off for any reason, his creditors will probably come after him like attacking sharks."

"If Adrian's in such trouble, she'd be bound to know about it."

Finch shrugged. "No doubt her solicitors would have investigated him, but she may have ignored their advice. It's reported to be a love match."

Nathaniel's sound of contempt left the other man in no doubt what he thought of that. "Adrian has charm, I suppose," he conceded. "But I can guarantee you he doesn't love her. He loves her money. If she lost it all tomorrow, it makes my head spin to think how quickly he'd call off their engagement."

"Perhaps, but Honoria Montrose is no fool. Leyland may be marrying her for her money, but she's probably marrying him for the title. It's seems to be quite the thing these days for wealthy American women to marry titled, impoverished Englishmen."

"Have you learned anything else?"

"Yes."

Nathaniel turned to look at him. "What?"

"Why didn't you tell me that you started a toy company in St. Louis and that it failed?"

Nathaniel sighed. He didn't want to discuss his past defeats. "I prefer not to talk of it."

"I believe you had a hard time finding suppliers willing to provide materials on credit, and you didn't have the cash to pay for them up front, so your output was low. You also had problems having supplies delivered on time."

Nathaniel shot him a wry glance. "I don't need a summation, thank you. I remember perfectly well what happened. And I don't recall asking you to investigate me."

"And then, you went bankrupt," Finch went on, ignoring Nathaniel's words.

Nathaniel scowled at the solicitor, but Finch did not back down. He simply stared back at him, waiting, his gaze mildly curious.

Nathaniel closed his eyes. "Yes, I went bankrupt. I just didn't have the desire to start over." He paused, then added, "Until I met James."

"I understand," Finch replied. "James had the ability to make people believe in themselves, to believe that anything they wanted was achievable. You have that ability as well, my friend."

Nathaniel shook his head and opened his eyes. "Please don't make any comparisons between James and myself. I would never abandon my wife and daughter."

Finch sighed. "Well, James was never what you'd call responsible. He loved his family as far as he was capable, but he resented being tied down to anything for long. He was the sort of man who probably never should have married at all." He paused, looking at Nathaniel and asked, "Are you planning to tell Mara about your failed business?"

He couldn't. It would serve no purpose, and it would endanger the tentative trust he'd gained from her. "No."

"Don't you think she has the right to know? She is your partner."

"Mara doesn't have anything to do with it. It's in the past. It's over." He straightened away from the wall. "Why rake it all up again? All it would do is make her worry, and she has enough to worry about."

"It will worry her a great deal more if she learns about this from someone else."

"Are you planning to be that someone?"

"No. I was hoping you would tell her yourself." He studied Nathaniel's set expression and sighed. "I know you feel you should protect her, but the truth has a way of coming out whether we like it or not. How do you think she'll feel when she learns you've kept this from her?"

Nathaniel didn't answer. He turned away and started down the alley toward the door into the factory, but he paused and glanced over his shoulder when Finch spoke again.

"Nathaniel, you're not only dealing with your own future, you're dealing with hers, too. Remember that. Don't hurt her."

"I don't intend to."

Finch gave a slight cough. "Yes, well, you know what the road to hell is paved with."

Nathaniel walked through the door and slammed it shut behind him. Yes, he knew, better than anyone.

***

When Nathaniel entered the office, all thoughts of his brother vanished from his mind. Mara was kneeling on the floor in front of her husband's steamer trunk, her face buried in the folds of a blue dress. He heard her muffled sobs, and he came to an abrupt halt in the doorway.

"Mara?"

She straightened with a jerk, and he could see her struggle to regain control. She averted her head, wiping away tears with a hasty swipe of her hand.

She rose and tried to walk past him, but he stepped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. He bent his head to look into her face. "Mara, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, but her tearstained cheeks made her a liar.

He glanced over her shoulder at the clothes that lay in neat piles within the trunk, the items she had set aside, and the empty cardboard box. His gaze moved to the frothy garment of silk and lace in her hands before he looked again at her downcast face. "What is that?" he asked gently.

"It's a gift from James," she said in a low, tight little voice. "A ball gown. He was always giving me silly, useless gifts. I assume he intended to bring it with him when he came back."

Nathaniel lifted one hand from her shoulder and tilted her chin upward. "It's a very pretty dress."

Her lip quivered, a muscle worked in the line of her jaw, and her eyes darkened to the tumultuous color of storm clouds. "It's a useless dress. A useless dress from a useless man who hadn't the sense God gave a rabbit. Where would I ever wear a dress like this?" she demanded, her voice quavering with the effort of controlling her emotions. "It probably cost the earth. Why couldn't he have just brought the money? That I could have made use of."

Nathaniel's thumb caressed her trembling chin, a touch he wished could soothe the hurt that lay beneath her anger. "He had dreams for you. Dreams of the life he wanted to give you."

"Dreams. Fantasies. Promises. What good are they?" Mara stepped back, holding up the dress between them like a wall. "What good is this?"

"You might wear it someday."

She bundled the dress into one hand and gestured to their surroundings. "Oh, of course. I go to balls all the time. Invitations pour in every day, the maid brings them with my morning tea. Haven't you noticed?"

Her face puckered, her chin lowered, and the dress slid to the floor by her side. "I don't even know how to dance," she whispered as another tear fell from her eye and glistened on her cheek. "James always promised to teach me." She stared down at the dress on the floor and added, "He never did."

She stepped around him and ran out of the room. Nathaniel didn't try to stop her. He bent down and lifted the delicate dress from the floor, fingering the silken folds. He wished he could teach Mara to dance; he wished he could make her laugh again and wash away all her pain. Most of all, he wished he could make her realize that dreams were what made life worth living.

Adrian froze, the cup of tea raised halfway to his lips, and stared at the small man seated in the opposite chair of his study. "He's what?"

"He's bought into an electrical equipment company in Whitechapel," the other man replied. "It seems the company was in serious trouble and about to go bankrupt. Your brother purchased fifty-one percent of it."

"Electrical equipment?" Adrian frowned. "How odd. You're certain?"

Owen Rutherford, private detective, stiffened in his chair, clearly affronted.

"Sorry, I'm just surprised, Mr. Rutherford. I would have expected my brother to be involved in another toy company."

The detective relaxed slightly. He pulled a sheaf of papers from the dispatch case on his lap and scanned his notes. "Definitely not a toy company. Elliot Electrical Motors manufactures dynamos, searchlights, and other electrical equipment. No toys at all."

Adrian took another sip of tea. "Fifty-one percent," he murmured. "Who owns the other forty-nine percent?"

"A widow. Mrs. Mara Elliot."

"A woman?" Adrian's lip curled with contempt. Only Nathaniel would find himself saddled with a female partner, and it probably didn't even bother him.

"It seems the woman's husband—a Mr. James Elliot—owned the business. Something of a rake, by all accounts, with no money and plenty of debt. He died recently, and the bank holding the loan against the company foreclosed. Your brother purchased fifty-one percent for about five thousand pounds, paying off the loan against the company. He also moved into a lodging house next door."

"Where did he obtain five thousand pounds?"

"It seems that he sold patents on several inventions to raise the capital." Rutherford turned a page on his lap and once again scanned his notes. "There would have been enough to cover the loan, but not much more."

Adrian sat back, resting his head against the leather upholstery of his chair, and was silent for several moments. "Why?" he asked himself the question aloud. "Why would Nathaniel invest everything in an electrical equipment company? It isn't like him at all."

"His toy company failed. Maybe he decided to try something different."

"No." He knew Nathaniel would never choose to make dynamos for a living. "Toys are his obsession. This makes no sense."

Rutherford coughed. "Well, Lord Leyland, your brother seems to have a reputation for being rather odd."

Adrian was dissatisfied. He knew his brother too well to be fooled by appearances. Nathaniel might be bizarre, but he wasn't stupid, and Adrian knew that better than anyone. He had underestimated his younger brother once before, and it had nearly cost him half of Chase Toys. He would not make that mistake again. "There's more to this than eccentricity, Mr. Rutherford. Find out everything you can about what he's up to."

"Yes, my lord."

"Nathaniel's planning something. I can feel it, and I want to know what it is."

The detective put his notes back into his case and closed the lid. Then he departed, closing the study door behind him and leaving Adrian to his tea and private speculations.

What were Nathaniel's real intentions? Perhaps he had some new invention and was planning to manufacture it. But what?

His hand tightened around his cup. Nathaniel was always cropping up like a bad penny, making things difficult. He’d been doing that ever since he’d learned to walk.

"Whitechapel," he muttered. It was just like his brother to have an address in the East End, to live in a lodging house like a common dustman. Nathaniel had never cared about his reputation, his station in life, or what people thought of him.

Adrian swallowed the last drop of tea and set the delicate Dresden cup and saucer aside. It was time to pay his little brother a visit.

***

Mara walked, with no conscious thought of her direction. She simply moved one foot in front of the other, her strides carrying her farther and farther away from the factory, away from the man who thought wishes came true.

Her husband had always believed the same thing. Mara tried to recall a single promise kept, a single wish come true, a single dream realized, and she could think of none. James had never stayed around long enough to keep his promises, only long enough to make her believe them.