Page 35 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

As Friedlander rose to the window, to his bellpull, she glanced at her three friends. Their eyes were clear upon her, their expressions confident.

She inhaled their assurance and waited in silence for the solicitor.

When his colleague was finally seated with them, Friedlander narrowed his gaze at Zeph. “Let us begin.”

“Do.”

“In what year were you born?”

“Seventeen eighty-three. October tenth.”

“Where?”

“In my mother’s bed in our home with my father in their townhouse in Alexandria, Virginia.”

“What was your maternal grandfather’s occupation?”

She recalled her mother’s father with a grin. “A spry old fellow, he owned a tobacco plantation in southern Maryland. A fine gentleman who loved to work beside his black field hands. Paid them, too, he did. Ten dollars a year. Hired a teacher to school them in reading and arithmetic. Yes, outrageous acts for which his neighbors hated him. Burned a cross on his front lawn. And one Christmas, set fire to his house—which, of course, he rebuilt.”

“Anything else that the man owned?”

“My maternal grandfather owned a fleet of ships out of the Port of Baltimore. He fought in the First Maryland Regiment during our American Revolution. When he died, he bequeathed his ships to me. My father ran the business for me. That was to be until my majority, when I turned twenty-one.” She took a breath with a grin. “I will turn twenty-three on October tenth.”

He tilted his head, befuddled. Somehow Zeph knew the next question was not on the sheet before him. “Why did you not leave France to come to England to be with your father after you reached your majority?”

Her three friends turned sour, their frowns toward Friedlander nigh unto scowls.

Zeph thought his question shortsighted. “Sir, I lived in Paris. I liked the city and my friends. I might be American, I may be from a neutral country, but to cross the Channel while Britain and France man that perilous strait with most of their warships would be tempting death. I would not go. Not until I had to, when the French threatened my life.”

“Natürlich. Of course, of course. Pardon me to ask such a silly question. Right you are, Miss Butler. One more question.”

She waited.

“What was the reason your mother left your father to return to Baltimore when you were ten years old?”

Zeph knew the value of this question and answer. Her parents and she were the only ones who knew it. “My father had accused my mother of stealing money from his purse.”

“And?”

“And of committing adultery.” Zeph had to tell this tale, even though it was in front of her friends. They would keep it safe, she trusted. “Yes, with his best friend, Joshua Haywood. My mother admitted both were true. She claimed the money she took was reimbursement of part of her dowry.” Zeph remembered the argument well. Shouting, obscenities, a few bits of china flying to and fro. “She left and never returned to Virginia. She died a year later. I never saw her again.”

“Your father kept you at home.”

“With him, yes. And when he left Virginia and came to Europe, he brought me with him. He put me in school in Paris. I rarely saw him. The last time was when he came to bid me adieu before he came here to London. He died soon after arrival.”

Friedlander tapped his finger on the ledger. “I thank you for your prompt answers.”

Zeph did not wish to focus on her parents’ past longer than necessary. “Are there other questions for me, sir?”

“No, Miss Butler.” He sat back, his blue eyes riveted to hers with a certain glee. “Your father did bank with us.” Friedlander checked the book. “Beginning in seventeen ninety-eight, he put his assets with Herr Rothschild. He allowed us to invest his profits. I can tell you what the totals are to the last day of last month for your father’s two accounts.”

“Two?”

He pushed the ledger across his desk toward her. “This is what he deposited that first day he was here for the first account. It reflects the current worth of your grandfather’s Baltimore shipping company.”

A bubble of laughter rose up inside her. “Twelve thousand, four hundred Great British pounds?”

He nodded. “We keep our books in British currency.”