“No,” Griff answered. “It is not.” He met Sussex’s angry gaze. “We are all Free Fellows and brothers in arms. When you became a Free Fellow doesn’t matter at all. What matters is that you are one of us. Right, Jarrod?”
“Right,” Jarrod agreed.
Sussex stared at Jarrod and then at Griff and back again. “I care more than you think about a great many things, and Colin is one of those things. I admire him,” Sussex told them. “I’ve known far too many peers like Lord McElreath, who drink and gamble and piss away their fortunes and their children’s futures. And I know far too many men in Colin’s position who weep and wail, bemoaning their bad fortunes whilst begging for loans. But Colin does none of those things. He earns his money.”
Jarrod and Griff exchanged glances. “You know about that?”
“I know he doesn’t accept any stipends for his work for the War Office. And I also know that the two of you”—he glanced at Griff and Jarrod—“secretly own a prominent investment firm that earns you handsome profits.” He waved away their protests. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I realized Colin was the genius behind it.”
“How did you find out?” Jarrod asked. “And how long have you known?”
“We share a banker,” Sussex informed Jarrod, “who was eager to assure me that although the investment firm his bank had owned had changed hands, my investments would be entirely safe if I chose to reinvest in the firm at a future date.” Sussex smiled. “Of course, he told me this as he handed me a bank draft for the entire amount because the new owners insisted on refunding all existing accounts. When I refused to take his word for it, he confided that the Marquess of Shepherdston and Viscount Abernathy had purchased the majority shares in the firm shortly after they gained their majority. He also confided that he and his good friend, the Earl of Weymouth, owned the minority shares! He told me you insisted on refunding investments because you refused to speculate with a gentleman’s capital without permission to do so. Several days later, I received a letter informing me that the firm had changed hands and offering me the opportunity to reinvest.”
Griff frowned. “I wonder how many other investors he confided in.”
“None,” Sussex replied. “He’s completely trustworthy. He only confided in me because I threatened to close my accounts in his bank unless he did.”
“He believed you?” Griff was surprised. The banker in question had gone to school with Griff’s father, was a well-respected member of parliament, and had served as an undersecretary of the Treasury during several governments. Griffin had known Lord Mayhew all his life and knew that he was not a man given to accepting threats from young peers.
Sussex shrugged. “I’m a duke. And a very good customer. Besides, he’s my godfather. He knows me well.”
“He knows you very well. Well enough to assure me that you were completely trustworthy,” Jarrod said.
Sussex’s eyes sparkled. “It seems we’re sharing sources.”
“Yes, it does,” Jarrod agreed. “But I suppose that’s only natural, since we seem to share a godfather.”
Lord Mayhew was a widower. His wife had died at a very young age from complications of a pregnancy, and Mayhew had never remarried. Most people in the ton had forgotten that his late wife was the older sister of the late Marchioness of Shepherdston. Jarrod had been able to purchase the majority shares in Mayhew’s investment firm because unless Mayhew remarried and sired a son, Jarrod was his closest male relative and would one day inherit all his holdings.
Sussex was clearly surprised. “I know he has three or four godsons he sees regularly, but I didn’t know you were one of them.”
“I’m his heir.” Jarrod explained the connection.
“He and my father were good friends. Since he was the only man my father trusted to invest his money, he was the perfect choice for my godfather. We have dinner together twice a month when I’m in town—generally on Tuesday evenings.”
“We ride together along the Row two mornings a week whenever I’m in London,” Jarrod said.
“Make it unanimous,” Griff said. “He and my father were best friends at school. We lunch together here at the club two Thursdays a month when I’m in town.”
“What about Grantham?” Sussex asked. “Is Colin a godson, too?”
Jarrod shook his head. “No.”
“But Colin works with him on investments?” Sussex guessed.
“Not exactly.” Jarrod stopped pacing and raked his fingers through his hair.
“Then how?” Sussex wanted to know.
“Colin is damned prickly about the mention of money,” Griff said. “Or his lack thereof. He has been ever since we met him. And despite the fact that his father can’t gamble worth spit, Colin has a real talent for it. He’s a genius when it comes to cards and numbers.”
“He was always winning money from us and from the other boys at school. And at university, he did even better. Whenever he’d win a wager, he’d keep half and give the rest to me or to Griff to bank for him,” Jarrod continued.
“Colin never wagers more than he can afford and always banks half of it. Jarrod and I were very conscientious about banking his money for him.”
“Why didn’t he invest it?” Sussex asked. “If he has the talent for making it?”
“He was afraid of losing what he had, and he didn’t trust anyone to invest it,” Jarrod told him. “And until he reached his majority, there was the additional problem of keeping his father from learning about it. Because Lord McElreath—”