Kitt asked, thinking of how that would change the current loan system. Right now, private merchants were primarily responsible for advancing the planters loans against the upcoming harvest so planters could buy supplies. It was what he’d done for Ren, or had tried to do for Ren before the bandits had upended the rum sale yesterday. A bank would reduce the opportunity for single merchants to finance planters. For those not on the board it would eliminate an avenue of income. No wonder there was competition for these spots.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Bryn reaching for something under her skeins of threads. No, not reaching. Writing. She was writing on a notebook. She’d been taking notes the entire time. Like Selby, he’d got so caught up in the discussion, in assessing Rutherford’s assets, he’d not taken time to notice. Her part in all this was growing more interesting by the moment.
‘It would depend,’ Rutherford explained, ‘on their collateral. Property cannot be taken as security.’
Kitt was thoughtful for a moment. Rutherford knew his banking vocabulary. That was reassuring. ‘What do we mean by property, exactly?’ Property, was a pretty wide term.
‘It means the obvious, of course; homes and farms cannot be used as security.’ Rutherford paused for a long moment and Bryn looked up, neatly inserting herself into the conversation.
‘But it also means the less obvious, too, doesn’t it, Father? That merchandise like rum or sugar can’t be used as security either?’ Kitt recognised immediately it wasn’t a question as much as a prompt.
‘It’s not really a question of collateral then, is it?’ Kitt surmised, flashing Bryn an inquisitive glance. ‘We’re to invest and hope there’s profit. If there isn’t, we’re unlucky. There’s no recouping of funds.’ There would be no collateral. The charter had just couched it in different terms.
‘Yes. Certainly, we can invest in the plantations, we just can’t expect anything in return beyond a piece of the profits,’ Rutherford said, regaining his confidence. ‘Still, there’s money to be made here.’
Kitt raised his eyebrows, encouraging the man to say more about what that money might be. Rum certainly, sugar and even tobacco in places were good cash crops. Then there was the merchandising end of things if a man acted quickly enough and knew when to get out. There was a boom going on currently, riding the wave of emancipation. Freed slaves meant more wage-earning consumers and that meant more demand for goods. Kitt knew that boom would not last, but for now it was spawning a retail layer that had originally been focused only on wholesale to large plantations.
‘There’s land, for starters,’ Rutherford offered, looking pleased with himself.
‘There’s some,’ Kitt said evenly, but he found the choice odd. It wouldn’t have been his first option. But a non-native Englishman would. A newcomer wouldn’t understand. ‘Most of the land in Barbados is already under cultivation.’ He’d been here for six years and knew first-hand there wasn’t much left to claim unless it was bought from a previous owner. It was something the freedmen were struggling with. They wanted to be their own farmers, but there wasn’t any land. This was an area where only time could teach a newcomer the realities of property ownership on an island where land was definitely a finite commodity.
Sneed entered to announce the next appointment was waiting. Rutherford nodded and turned to Kitt. ‘I will be assembling the board of directors over the next few weeks. I hope we’ll have a chance to talk further. I hear you’re a successful businessman in these parts. You come recommended. Your expertise of the area would be useful in determining the right investments for us.’
‘Quite possibly.’ Kitt rose and shook the man’s hand. The veiled invitation was progress enough for today. It confirmed he had not been ruled out. He also appreciated he wasn’t being asked to commit today. The bank was going to happen. It was already a fait accompli. That was assured. What wasn’t assured was the bank’s success. If the bank was going to do well, it would need someone knowledgeable and strong at its helm. A weaker man might easily be led astray and subsequently Rutherford, too.
Selby rose as well. ‘I was hoping I might have a private word with you before I go?’ he said to Rutherford, shooting a pointed look in Kitt’s direction. In general, Selby didn’t like him. He was too reckless for the young man’s more conservative tastes. A plainer plea for privacy could not have been made. Kitt might have been offended over the dismissal if it hadn’t suited his purposes.
Kitt glanced over at Bryn. ‘Perhaps you could show me the gardens? You mentioned them last night and I’m eager to see them.’ He turned towards Rutherford. ‘If it’s all right with you, of course?’
Rutherford beamed and nodded. ‘Absolutely. Bryn dear, show our guest the gardens. I didn’t know you were a botanist, Captain?’
Kitt gave a short nod of his head. ‘I’m a man of diverse interests, Mr Rutherford.’ He offered Bryn his arm, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction at the disapproving frown on Selby’s face. It served him right for coming early and then asking for a private audience on top of that. ‘Shall we, Miss Rutherford? I want to see the trellis you’ve told me so much about. It’s a climbing trellis, if I remember correctly?’
‘You’re a wicked man to bring up the incident in such company,’ Bryn scolded him as soon as they stepped outside. She wasn’t truly upset with him, at least not about the potential for exposure anyway. She’d reasoned away those concerns last night. He had nothing to gain but an unwanted wife from telling.
Kitt merely grinned. ‘Harmless fun only, I assure you. It means nothing to anyone but us.’ Drat him, he was enjoying teasing her and that grin of his said he wasn’t done yet. ‘But you, miss, are another story entirely. You knew you would be at the meeting. I feel quite taken advantage of.’ He feigned hurt, then added with a wink, ‘I can’t let you have all the surprises.’
Bryn gave him a coy smile to indicate she understood his game. He no more liked losing the upper hand than she did. There was safety in having control. Control meant protection against the unexpected. ‘Ah, it’s to be retribution then?’ She couldn’t resist teasing him in return. His humour was infectious, even if she needed to remember it was deceiving. It would be too easy to forget that his good-natured response veiled something more, as did her own clever answers. They were both after the same thing—to take the other’s measure. What was fact and what was fiction when it came to the faces they showed society?
Bryn slanted him a sideways look as they walked. If she asked, would he give her the answer she wanted? What had he been doing in this same garden yesterday under significantly different circumstances? Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been an uninvited intruder. Today, he was received as a highly sought guest, a man whose favour her father would do well to curry. ‘It hardly seems fair for you to hold me accountable for such a small thing when you were the one who invaded my balcony. If we’re keeping a tally of surprises, you seem well ahead of me in that regard.’
Kitt stopped and turned towards her, his free hand covering hers where it rested on his sleeve. The simple gesture, something countless gentlemen had done on countless walks before, made her keenly sensitive to the intimacy of bare skin on bare skin. It was his eyes that made it different, how they followed his gesture, forcing her gaze to do the same until they rested on the point where his hand met hers. ‘Surprises or secrets, Bryn?’
His voice was a low rumble, his eyes lifting briefly to hers as he said her name. ‘I find the difference between the two to be slim indeed.’ This was how sin started, with a sharp stab of awareness igniting between them over the intimate caress of a name. Oh, he did not play fair! She’d meant to be interrogating him and here he was flirting with her, although flirting was not nearly a strong enough word for what he was doing.
‘Secrets?’ Bryn feigned ignorance of his intent.
‘Don’t play coy with me, I much prefer your bold