Chapter 67
He had barely taken his seat before the door opened again and Whitmore stepped inside.
There was nothing hurried about his movements, nor any visible sign that his failed wedding had caused him the slightest inconvenience.
Edmund rose to his feet immediately, like a puppy eager to see its master.
"Mr. Whitmore. I’m glad you chose to meet me on such short notice."
Whitmore acknowledged him with that same air of cold indifference he used with everyone.
"You were already in my house, and you left me with very few options." From his tone, it was clear that he hated being backed into a corner. "It was either sending you away or listening to what you had to say. So go on now. Speak."
Edmund faltered.
Whitmore’s less-than-welcoming demeanour was not at all surprising. Given everything that had happened, it was expected. But having to stand before the older man and stare into those cold, unfeeling eyes was an entirely different matter.
For the first time since receiving the letter, Edmund wondered whether coming here had been a mistake.
"I received your letter." Edmund withdrew the folded paper from his coat and held it up as though it were a lifeline. The gesture was more an attempt to steady himself than anything else, for his fingers tightened around the edges of the paper as he spoke.
"I know matters did not proceed as we intended," Edmund continued, sounding no less unsure of himself than he had before. "I regret that deeply. I have spoken with my family, and I intend to speak with Cassandra myself. I believe that if I am given the opportunity, I may be able to—"
"Do you really believe you can convince her to change her mind?" Whitmore cut him off. "Do you truly believe that will work?"
Why would I trust the likes of you with anything?
That was precisely how Edmund’s mind chose to interpret Whitmore’s words, and the thought only heightened the sense of inadequacy that had been festering inside him.
Whitmore, however, remained perfectly composed in the face of Edmund’s inner turmoil. His expression revealed nothing as he regarded the younger man.
"Do you truly believe that whatever explanation you offer now will undo what has already happened?"
Edmund opened his mouth, but no answer immediately came.
"I—" he began uselessly.
Whitmore raised a hand, silencing him before he could gather his thoughts.
"I do not suffer fools, Edmund." There was no anger in his voice, and somehow that was more unnerving than if he had shouted. "I am not a man inclined toward forgiveness, particularly where my time and my trust are concerned. When someone makes a fool of me, I have little reason to invite him to do it a second time."
Edmund remained rooted to the spot, even as Whitmore took several slow steps toward him. Each measured movement seemed purposeful but try as he may, Edmund could not tell what the older man intended, nor could he decipher the man’s thoughts. That uncertainty was unbearable.
Then Whitmore’s steps came to a graceful halt. His face softened incrementally, though his eyes remained inquisitive. "But for you, I am prepared to make an exception. I have known many young men in my time. Men with ambition, intelligence, and capability, yet lacking the opportunity to put those qualities to proper use. You remind me of them."
He allowed Edmund a moment to absorb his words before continuing.
"You have potential, Edmund. More than you seem to realize. What you lack is experience, and perhaps someone willing to show you how to turn that potential into something worthwhile."
Edmund listened, scarcely daring to breathe as Whitmore placed a hand lightly against his shoulder. The touch was reassuring enough to ease some of the tension wound tightly within him, yet there was something about the gesture that also kept him on edge.
"I would like to be that person. I want to help you," Whitmore went on. "But you must help me as well."
Every word, every promise—he was like a hungry spider weaving its web, and Edmund was the malleable, unsuspecting prey caught within it. Yet Edmund could not see the trap. All he could see was the hand being extended toward him when he needed it the most, a guiding light to show him the way.
Edmund nodded eagerly. "Of course."
Whitmore smiled, pleased by the answer.
"Then tell me, Edmund. Are you on my side?"
The question was unassuming. The answer seemed equally simple.
"Yes. We are business partners, after all."
Whitmore’s smile deepened.
"Good." He gave Edmund’s shoulder a reassuring pat. "I am pleased to hear it. I expect there will be many opportunities for us in the future, and I would like to know that I can count on you."
"You can." Edmund said it without hesitating. "You can always count on me."
Whitmore regarded him for a moment, studying his face as though searching for the slightest trace of doubt. Whatever he found there appeared to satisfy him, because he eventually gave an approving nod. "That is a good lad."
Edmund smiled, the weight that had been pressing upon his chest finally beginning to ease. He had been given another chance. Whatever had gone wrong could still be repaired. His position beside Whitmore had not been lost, and neither had the future he had been so desperately trying to secure.
Or so he believed.
Whitmore was not lying when he said Edmund had potential. He genuinely saw it in him. It simply was not the sort of compliment Edmund believed it to be.
Whitmore had always possessed an eye for value, particularly where others failed to see it. It was how he had made his fortune: by examining what was placed before him, recognizing its worth, and determining how best to make use of it.
Whitmore had seen ambition, intelligence in him and most importantly, a eagerness to prove himself— the very thing he wished to exploit.
Edmund had value, and Whitmore intended to make the most of it.
He had never invested in anything without expecting returns, and Edmund would be no exception. He could mould him into something great but it wouldn’t change his true purpose. A toy to be used and discarded.