Bedding The Baron by Alexandra Ivy

bridges as well as a number of roads, but it is true that my interests are widespread. Perhaps too widespread,” he admitted wryly. “I once had a very peaceful business with a handful of staff and now I seem to have acquired several warehouses and dozens of employees. They require an inordinate amount of attention.”
    “These employees are inventors, are they not?” his father demanded, once again surprising him.
    “For the most part they are only hopeful dreamers who someday might see their various ideas become a reality.”
    “And you support them until that reality arrives?”
    Fredrick nodded, not adding that he also assisted the inventors with his own skill when necessary. Dreamers, he had discovered, rarely possessed simple common sense. They might conjure the most fabulous inventions, but failed to realize that their design was far too complex to be replicated, or so ridiculously obscure there was no market for them.
    “I consider them an investment, much like my investments in various patents.”
    His father studied him intently, almost as if he were genuinely interested in Fredrick’s work.
    “So you invest in dreams.”
    Fredrick gave a startled laugh, discovering that he liked the notion. Most considered him a practical man. A man who lived by his lists and schedules and calculated logic. Few were ever allowed to know that deep in his heart a poet lurked.
    “I suppose that is one way of putting it.” He allowed his gaze to study the features that were so painfully similar to his own. “May I inquire how you have come to know so much of my business?”
    “Even so far from town the stories of your business genius manage to circulate,” his father said evasively. “It was written in the Post that you possess the Midas touch.”
    Fredrick gave a short laugh, picturing the endless days of toil he had put in for his famous Midas touch.
    “I could only wish it were that simple.”
    “True.” The smile faded from the lean, elegant features. “There are too few who understand that success is the result of hard work, not just luck. And sacrifice.” His voice lowered, a tinge of sadness threaded through his words. “There is always sacrifice.”
    Sacrifice? An odd choice of words.
    What had he been forced to sacrifice?
    “You seem to understand hard work well enough.” Fredrick waved a hand around the recently refurbished room. “The estate appears quite profitable.”
    “It was not always so.” Lord Graystone drained his sherry and set aside his glass. “Before I inherited the title my father had managed to run the estate into dun territory and my brother promised to follow in his footsteps. They both believed that they could continue to take from the estate without ever bothering to reinvest in the land or the people.”
    “Having traveled a good deal throughout England I must say that it is not at all an uncommon practice among landowners,” Fredrick could not resist pointing out.
    Being a bastard was at times awkward, but it was nothing compared to the lives of too many tenants.
    “You are right,” his father readily agreed. “I attempted to be the voice of reason upon occasion, but as the younger son my opinions were not requested, nor were they at all welcomed. My brother accused me of attempting to undermine his authority with the tenants and forbade me even to speak with them.”
    It was the first true insight his father had ever given into his life and Fredrick discovered himself grudgingly intrigued.
    “That must have been a difficult position.”
    “It was damn well impossible.” Lord Graystone smiled wryly. “In truth I was relieved when I was forced to leave . . .”
    The words were broken off sharply as Lord Graystone abruptly turned to pace toward the windows. It was obvious that he had revealed far more than he had intended and Fredrick was careful to keep his manner casual.
    “That I can well imagine,” he said, setting aside his own glass. “It would be frustrating for