A pang of remorse, for his high-handed approach, hit him square in the chest. “Had my father’s man of business not disappeared along with half the silver, I would have had him attend to this sorry task.”
“Mr Burrows did not disappear,” Mr Wild said. “Your father dismissed him months before his death. The man had not been paid for nigh on a year and no doubt thought he’d not see a penny.”
“But my father was not short of funds.” On the contrary, Oliver had inherited a substantial income. Regardless of his father’s disapproval and their subsequent estrangement, continuing the Darby bloodline was the priority — the only thing that mattered. Oliver considered never marrying just to spite the bast—
“From what I gather they were at odds over business.” Mr Wild sat in the chair behind the desk and opened the first file. “The refusal to pay Burrows was simply an act of defiance.”
Oliver gave a snort of contempt. “My father liked to make a point.”
Mr Wild’s resigned nod spoke of personal experience. “So, other than Stanton House and Bridewell, there’s the shooting lodge on Loch Broom.” He turned to his clerk. “Are you writing this down, Andrews?”
The clerk nodded from the small desk in the corner of the room.
“There’s the house on St James’ Street,” Wild continued, “one on Mount Street, and the house bequeathed to your late mother in Acton, Shropshire.”
Scotland! Shropshire! The list went on.
Bloody hell!
He’d been the earl of almost a week, missed the funeral but made it home for the reading of the will. In light of Rose’s disappearance, the finer details had seemed unimportant. Hearing the vast extent of his father’s estate filled Oliver with dread. Despite
searching Bridewell — their family seat in Sussex — and finding nothing, the accompanying eight thousand acres would take months to search.
The more the list grew, the more Oliver’s temple throbbed. All the other houses mentioned were leased to tenants. It would mean investigating every one — a mammoth task for a man on his own. And while he plodded about from one county to the next, heaven knows what predicament Rose was in.
“What about derelict buildings?” Oliver said, his tone more subdued now.
Mr Wild frowned. “Surely you can’t think your father would have sent Lady Rose to a place unbefitting her station.”
Oh, his father would have sent them both to the devil. Thankfully, Oliver possessed the Darby family traits: slightly crooked little fingers, a v-shaped hairline and a Roman nose with an aristocratic bump on the bridge. Indeed, the Darby’s were deemed ugly men. But Oliver had inherited his mother’s striking blue eyes, full lips and evenly spaced features. The old earl’s obsession with his wife’s beauty led to suspicions of infidelity and was the cause of his distant relationship with Rose. While Oliver had hair as black as his father’s soul, Rose was the only Darby ever to boast honey-gold tresses.
But to send her away, to ignore her absence and pretend she’d never existed.
“My father was prepared to go to any lengths to prove a point.” Numerous times he had demanded Oliver return home. Had Oliver known Rose was to be used as a pawn in the game, he would have employed different tactics.
“The list is extensive,” Mr Wild said as tied the string on the last file and placed it with the others. “Perhaps an enquiry agent might help you investigate those properties further afield.”
“I shall consider it an option.” Oliver wouldn’t rest until he checked each property himself, though hiring an agent in Scotland might save him weeks of unnecessary hours on the road.
“A gentleman of your status and position requires someone to manage your investments. Should you need such a man I am happy to make a recommendation.”
After what he’d learnt upon his return home, Oliver trusted no one. “I prefer to attend to my own accounts.” And he would dedicate his life to seeing his estate prosper — once he’d found Rose.
“As you wish,” Wild nodded. “And so does that conclude our business for today, my lord?”
“It does,” Oliver replied as the clerk approached the desk and handed him the written list of assets. His stomach churned at the monumental task ahead. “And you’re certain that’s everything?”
“Indeed.” Wild shuffled in his chair, a ploy to encourage Oliver to stand.
In the small musty office the job of finding his sister seemed achievable. Everything he needed was on the single piece of paper in his hand. Hope blossomed in his chest if only for a fleeting moment. But the world was a vast place when someone was missing.
The clerks persistent cough and constant shuffling dragged Oliver from his reverie.
“What is it, Andrews?” Mr Wild said, a smile hiding his gritted teeth.
“It’s just that the late earl also did business with Mr Jameson.” The clerk shrank back as soon as the words left his mouth.
“Jameson?” Wild repeated. “But I was the earl’s solicitor. What need had he to visit with Jameson?”