Being a man of duty and conscience, however, despite being a man of meager funds, Adam tucked the coin away, hefted his satchel, and took himself off to visit his banker. He should have saved the walk. In fact, he should have saved the entire trip to London. Then he might at least have the price of a fine Christmas goose.
Mr. Beasdale was not receptive to Adam’s elucidation as to the future profitability of Standings. In fact, the heavyset, ruddy-faced banker was not receptive to the baronet at all. He kept Adam waiting in the bank’s central office, with clerks and customers alike taking note of the poor country turnip come to plead his case, or so Adam felt, standing with a battered satchel between his scuffed boots. His welcome was even colder in Mr. Beasdale’s private office.
“What’s that? An extension until spring? Impossible, I say. This is a bank, sir, not a philanthropic foundation. We are a lending institution, which means we need our money returned, in order to lend it out again.” The man’s fleshy jowls shook with indignation over Adam’s apparent incomprehension of elementary finances. “Why, I have to answer to my partners.”
And Mr. Beasdale would have to answer to his Maker, Adam thought, for the lack of Christian charity at this of all seasons. He did not say his thoughts out loud, of course. He stood and bowed slightly, ready to leave.
“It’s nothing personal, mind,” the portly banker said, holding him in the richly carpeted room. “By all accounts you are a hardworking young man with no apparent vices. You do not gamble, like so many of your peers, or throw good money after bad, like your parent before you.”
How could he, with no funds to stake?
Beasdale lowered his thick eyebrows to study Adam’s appearance. “Nor do you seem to be a slave to fashion, spending your fortune in tailors’ bills.”
Adam had no reply to that obvious comment. “Whatever money I earn goes back into the land.”
The banker nodded, sausage-shaped fingers straightening the papers in front of him. “Not enough, though, is it? Mayhaps you’d best consider another avenue.”
Adam smiled, but it was more of a grimace. “I suppose you are going to advise me to find a wealthy female to marry. That is what my servants and tenants recommend. Even the vicar suggested I use my time in town to find a well-dowered lady to pull Standings out of River Tick. Of course we both know that no noble family is going to give its daughter’s hand to a down-at-heels baronet. What is your counsel, then, that I find a rich merchant who wants to raise his daughter’s standing in society?” Adam had no intention of taking such advice, but he did go on, not trying to hide the scorn in his voice: “I suppose you have an unwed daughter, a niece, godchild, or, heaven forfend, a spinster sister, an ambitious female who cannot find a husband on her own.”
Now the banker lumbered to his feet. His jowls flapped and his cheeks turned red. He pounded a meaty fist onto his desk. “I, sir, am a merchant. A Cit, a tradesman, and a rich one, with my sister’s only child in my care. And I would sooner see my niece, nay, any girl of mine, wed to the Fiend himself than a feckless fortune hunter. Raise her social standing? Why, you could not afford to pay your wife’s subscription fees at Almack’s, if you could guarantee her vouchers, which I doubt. You have no entrée to the polite world, no lofty peerage, no vast ancestral holdings. You have nothing but an empty stable, a rundown farmstead, and a ha’penny baronetcy. And even if you had something to offer—not that I put great value on titles and society tripe—I would not want any female under my protection to be bartered off to pay your puny way.”
Spent, Mr. Beasdale sank back in his seat, mopping at his damp brow. “What I was going to suggest, you arrogant, impertinent pup, was that you find yourself a job. The world of commerce could use diligent, honest workers. But I see that, like so many others of your useless ilk, you would rather wed your fortune than earn it. So good day.”
What could Adam say? That he had no intention of spending the rest of his life with a woman he did not love, not even to save his ramshackle estate? That Mr. Beasdale would be fortunate to find a coal-heaver to wed his niece, if she resembled the puff-guts in looks or temperament? That he had thought of taking a position, or taking up arms for the king, but too many people were relying on him at home? No, he could not say any of that, deuce take it, because Mr. Beasdale had only spoken the truth. He wished he could make the beef-faced banker eat his words, but Adam was, when all was said and done, worth less than that penny in his pocket.
2
Lucky coin? Hah! Sir Adam took the pence out of his coat. The only thing it might be good for was to purchase a peppermint to get the bad taste of Beasdale’s conversation out of his mouth. He had promised to send the payment on the due date, and Beasdale had not looked up again from his papers, saying merely, “See that you do.”