The Burdens of a Bachelor (Arrangements, Book 5) Page 4

  Tibby hummed a laugh. “I will watch the girls, my dear. I’m having my seamstress come and measure them. Apparently, their clothing is to follow once it is sent for, but they have nothing to wear now.”

  Colin gaped and looked back at the three of them. “What, nothing?” he cried.

  Kit whirled back, his expression aghast. “Colin, you didn’t ask them?”

  “I was a little distracted by their existence, let alone appearance, so luggage may have slipped my mind,” he protested, running a hand through his hair.

  Kit harrumphed and shook his head. “Ridiculous. You never, ever consider the specifics, do you? No, you just ride along as if life is a game. Everything is all creative and fun to you.”

  “Oh, and you should talk?” Colin retorted with a laugh. “You’re so proper and polite and then you randomly disappear, and who has to make your excuses? Oh, yes, your creative, fun, and remarkably loyal younger brother.”

  “Oh, why don’t you…”

  “Boys!” Tibby suddenly thundered.

  They both looked at Tibby in shock, and the girls let out small giggles.

  Tibby shook her head and smiled. “Go elsewhere to fight. The girls and I have fashion to get to.” She winked at the girls, whose giggles turned into full blown laughs.

  Kit held up a warning finger. “Nothing ostentatious, Tibby.”

  Colin nodded in agreement, knowing how Tibby could be.

  Tibby scoffed and tossed her turbaned head. “Please, Christopher. They are children.”

  “That would not stop you,” Colin muttered, drawing another almost-smile from Kit.

  Tibby sniffed once. “They should live up to the Gerrard name, don’t you think?”

  “Which Gerrard?” Rosie muttered from beside her and looking back and forth between her brothers.

  Colin did not have to look at his brother to know he was also struggling to fight laughter. Colin clamped down on his lips hard and tried to look serious.

  It didn’t work.

  Tibby smiled at Rosie far too proudly for comfort.

  Colin shook his head and gestured to the door. “Come on, Kit. If we leave now, we can claim blissful ignorance.”

  Kit followed him with a nod. “Not sure how blissful ignorance is where she is concerned. It rather makes me nervous.”

  Colin smiled and looked over his shoulder at him. “She has actually been surprisingly helpful this morning. She’s offered to help us find a governess for them when they are comfortable and make sure they have everything they need.”

  “That’s good,” Kit murmured as they entered the study. “I haven’t the faintest idea what to do at this point.”

  “Nor I. Boys I could have handled, we basically raised ourselves, but girls?” Colin shook his head and sat down in one of the leather back chairs.

  “Three of them.” Kit ran a hand through his dark hair, which was a sure sign of his turmoil, as his hair was perpetually perfect at all times. “I hate Loughton.”

  Colin smiled without humor. “So do they. You should have heard Rosie going on about him.”

  Kit smirked. “She is you, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Are you sure she’s not yours?”

  Colin gave him a look, and Kit laughed out loud and held up his hands in surrender.

  “All right, all right, I’m sorry.” He sighed and looked at the still open door. “How bad do you think it is if Loughton sent them to us?”

  Colin shook his head. “I don’t want to know. I think they need us, Kit, and badly.”

  “Well, I was not exactly thinking of turning them out,” Kit said with a sigh and a wince. “We are going to be terrible at this.”

  He snorted. “That much is obvious.” He gripped the back of his head and sighed as well. “Well, we are all they’ve got, so we had better figure it out.” Colin let his shoulders drop, suddenly feeling the weight of what they were taking on. He leaned his head back against the wall.

  “At least there’s two of us,” Kit murmured, sounding more resigned than hopeful.

  Colin laughed and brought his hand up as if saluting with a sword. “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers…”

  Kit gave a quirk of his brow and inclined his head in a salute. “Poetic. And original.”

  “Shut up.”

  Chapter Four

  Susannah fidgeted with the lace at her bodice nervously, then remembered that a lady of her station never did such a thing, and jerked her expensively gloved hands away and folded them in her lap. She ought to have protested when she had been asked to wait on the bench in the hall, but it had been so long since she had felt like anyone who could expect cordiality, she had done nothing but nod.

  She felt as though she were wearing a costume, playing a part in some ghastly play with poor writing and even poorer acting. The deep navy dress she wore was a bit faded, but she was in no position to be particular. The entire ensemble she had borrowed from Sasha, who had quite the selection of costumes to choose from. Some were far less respectable than others, but she knew better than to ask any questions. And she did not care enough to. Once, Susannah would have balked at the merest hint of such people, or such tawdry items. Now she was only grateful.

  “Pardon me, madam.”

  The grating voice of the assistant broke her reverie and she turned her head only with a rather imperious look. She had thought such airs long forgotten, yet it was natural with him.

  Whether that spoke of his nature or her desperation, she could not tell.

  “Yes?” she replied in a crisp tone.

  He bowed stiffly. “Mr. Goulding will see you now.”

  She sniffed, but tempered it with a faint smile. “Thank you.”

  The younger man looked a bit taken aback, but pleasantly so.

  Blast. She did not need any such admiring, not from him or anyone. “Will you show me the way or must I find it myself?” she finally snapped when he said nothing.

  His thick brow furrowed and he gestured the way. Feeling once again in control, she swept past him and enjoyed once again hearing the sharp clicks of her heels against the floor. The shoes were torturing her feet, as they were at least one size too small, but Sasha assured her that they were necessary if she wanted to be believed.

  Once, this had all been normal. The click of heels against a polished floor reminded her of that. And made her a trifle sad.

  “Turn left,” ordered the assistant from behind her.

  Her spine stiffened in response, ugly memories rearing their heads at such a tone of command. She swallowed nervously, forced the memories back, and raised her chin higher. She did not need to reply, no one of her station would dare to comment on such behavior to an inferior.

  Once she had made the turn, the office was in plain sight, and was a touch too ornate for a simple solicitor. But when one had the right sort of clientele, she supposed anything was possible. Mr. Goulding had never done her wrong before, in spite of everything else, so she would ignore the finery of his office and not ask where or how he had obtained the funds for such things.

  Even the large mahogany desk at which the older man sat, his full and wavy head of graying hair bowed low to it as he scribbled, was carved and detailed in such an extraordinary away that she could easily have seen such a piece of furniture residing at Pavel House. But, of course, she had never seen her husband’s offices or private rooms, so there was no way to tell if it actually had come from Pavel House. But it had come from somewhere and from someone.

  When Mr. Goulding made no motion in acknowledging her and the assistant made no effort to announce her, she cleared her throat a bit obnoxiously, as her late aunt Harriet used to when she wanted something.

  Mr. Goulding raised his head and his eyes widened at once. He sprang from his chair and bowed. “Lady Hawkins-Dean! What a pleasant surprise!”

  Behind her, the assistant seemed to croak in distress. Ah, so no one had told him her identity. The poor man, he had no idea with whom h
e had been so rude. Pity she was not more powerful.

  “Mr. Goulding,” she replied cordially, taking the seat that the assistant had been quick to pull out for her. “I trust it is no trouble to your schedule to see me on such short notice?”

  “No, no, not at all, my lady!” he replied with a swift shake of his head. “I have all the time in the world for you. Thank you, Reynolds, that will be all.”

  The assistant nodded, bowed to Susannah with a soft and sincere “my lady,” and vacated the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Mr. Goulding hesitated for a long moment, then took his seat. “I did not know that your ladyship would be in London,” he said slowly, folding his hands across the desk.

  Susannah had to force herself not to look down at her gloves. “I have some friends in the area who have invited us to stay for a little while, and we were close to Town today, so I thought I should come by and see what the situation is at present.”

  He nodded in understanding, but his eyes showed a glimmer of disbelief.

  She tilted her chin a bit and forced her superior voice to shine through. “Did you receive the funds I sent last month?”

  “I did,” he said with a hint of a sigh, “but it will not be enough to satisfy them. They want more for settlement. They claim it is not enough for what Sir Martin owed them. It was, after all, a great deal and they did not like our suggestion of portioned payments to make up the difference, but they agreed to it. Now they are increasing the amount demands and claim they will require more interest if you cannot meet it.”

  Susannah touched her brow and fought back a whimper of distress. If only he, or they, knew what she had given up, what she had sacrificed, in order to meet the previous demand. For more to be required… She did not have more to give, and earning it would be harder than ever before.

  “I know it seems a great deal,” Goulding murmured softly, sounding as if he spoke from a very great distance, “but surely it will not be so difficult for a woman in your position?”

  She nearly laughed. A woman in her position? He had no idea what sort of a position she was in. She used a different solicitor for her own affairs and to get the necessary funding to her family, so as to keep Sir Martin as far from her concerns as humanly possible, and thus Mr. Goulding would never know.

  No one would.

  She forced herself to smile tightly, as if she were merely displeased. “Of course not. I shall do what I can. And the other matter?”

  Mr. Goulding now looked very uncomfortable indeed. That did not bode well. He was a good enough man, had always treated her as fairly as Sir Martin allowed him, and since his death, had done all he could to help Susannah to retain as much as was possible, which had been a pitiful amount. He may not have known how bad her situation was, but he knew enough to understand that it was not good by any stretch. Yet he had always maintained a hope about it, sworn to find a way, and his letters to her had been regular and detailed.

  He had not looked this poorly since they had discussed the last will and testament of Sir Martin, and all of its evils revealed.

  “There is nothing I can do about that,” he told her in a rough tone. “I have had the documents examined by a number of lawyers with more power and influence than myself, have searched for every loophole and alternative possible, but there is nothing. However careless and ill-conceived your late husband’s financial affairs were, in this matter he was uncharacteristically thorough and complete. There is no possible reversal of his claim of your son’s illegitimacy. He denied ever siring an heir, provided what appears to be irrefutable proof of this, and went so far as to have a physician declare him impotent. Thus, your son cannot inherit any portion of Pavel House, nor any of the other properties, even if they were in a financial position for him to do so.”

  She closed her eyes in horror. Not that Pavel House had any particular sentimental value to her, but it could have been razed and rebuilt into something fine for Freddie. For his future. But now…

  “And does my word mean nothing?” she asked a broken, hoarse tone.

  Mr. Goulding sighed and she heard his elbows squeak on the gleaming desk surface. “I am afraid not, my lady. What with the sale of all the estates, and with such proof on his side…”

  “They are not inclined to listen to a woman’s side of the story,” she finished with an irritated sigh.

  Mr. Goulding had the good sense to look sympathetic.

  Susannah scowled and muttered, “Does it matter that I could produce a list of the names of several women who have borne his real illegitimate children, and thus disprove his claim? For there were several, I could fill pages, he was perfectly capable…”

  Mr. Goulding surprised her by snorting loudly. “I know, my lady.”

  She gave him a curious look.

  “Who do you think had to arrange all of that and pay those women for their silence at the time?” He sat back in his chair and watched her. “There were several things I had to do, my lady, in the service of your husband, that I would rather not recall. I cannot undo them now, though I have tried. There were no provisions in the will about any of the women, nor the illegitimate children. All that remains for me to do in his service is see the debts repaid, and then it is done. Believe me, had I means, I would help you in this regard, but I have not.”

  “I understand.” And she did, in some respect. No one would wish to deal with such unsavory men as they had to in this business, and he was right to wish out of it. He knew as she did that there was no running or hiding, no way out but to do exactly as they wished.

  Susannah sighed and straightened. “Is there anything else?”

  “Sir Martin’s cousin is demanding we pay for the repairs to Pavel House.”

  “What?” she cried, surging forward in her seat. “That is not possible, he bought it from the creditors, it is not my duty!”

  “He feels that the responsibility is that of the late owners. I have convinced him to consent to half, and he has no plans to live there in the next five years, so time is on our side.” He smiled at her in what was undoubtedly supposed to be a comforting way. “He is not so demanding and unfeeling as the creditors.”

  No, he probably was not. But he was also a relation of her late husband, which meant she could not trust a single word he said. And it still tightened the noose around her neck.

  “We couldn’t convince Sir Martin to make the repairs when he was alive,” she moaned to herself.

  “I know. It is far from an ideal situation, is it not?”

  Susannah gave him a potent look of disbelief. “Far from ideal?” she repeated dangerously. “My son has been declared illegitimate, we have no house, every farthing is spoken for, and more funds are demanded than…” She bit her lip and held the rest back. She again forced the barest hint of a wan smile. “I am afraid, my dear Mr. Goulding, that the phrase ‘far from ideal’ would be a haven compared to what we now face.”

  The solicitor swallowed and shuffled papers on his desk. “As I said,” he began in quick, nervous bursts of words, “I will continue to do what I can. I trust you can continue to send the funds to me so that I might forward them on?”

  She nodded, painfully sliding her cool mask of haughty indifference back into place. “You may expect it, yes. I shall send what I can when I can.”

  “Excellent.” He was all business now, a sure sign that he was vastly uncomfortable. “And should I need to contact you? Where will you be staying in Town?”

  “We are not staying in Town,” she lied easily. “Our friends travel the country and we will be in their party. I cannot say where I will be or when, so contacting me shall be quite difficult. If I can convince my friends to remain in one place for any given amount of time, I shall send you notice of it.”

  He stared at her for another long moment, but when her expression did not change, he nodded and rose. It was a breach of protocol for him to rise before she did so, but she was hardly in the mood to demand propriety now. She rose as well
and inclined her head, before turning towards the door.

  “Lady Hawkins-Dean?”

  She turned back and raised a brow.

  He pressed his lips together in a tight line. “Do be careful. These men to whom you are in debt are not the sort to be trifled with. They will come for you if they are dissatisfied. And they will be neither kind nor courteous about it.”

  She took a moment to process that, then nodded. “Thank you. Good day, Mr. Goulding.”

  And with a heavy heart and numb to all else, Susannah strode from the office, giving neither the assistant nor the butler the courtesy of acknowledgement.

  It was all far worse than she could ever have imagined it to be.

  She had no leads to finding any sort of employment yet, although Mrs. Grovner assured her that patience was needed. Interviews were apparently forthcoming, though none had been set. Every day without possibilities made Susannah nervous. After all, her references were almost entirely falsified, save for the sisters at the hospital near Pavel House, and there was no way for any of her claims to be verified. Anyone who actually wanted to check her references would be grossly disappointed and her secret would be out.

  For the time being, she was working as a laundress and seamstress for the lady who owned and ran the boarding house in which she now resided. She had been forced to do without a maid or any servant to do mending the last few years at Pavel House, so she had learned to do it herself, and had grown quite accomplished at it. It had come in handy when she had worked at the hospital in Milfield in that time as well, and there she had learned the proper way to launder linens. It had quite shocked the sisters and nurses that she, a fine lady in the largest house in the area, would perform so menial of tasks, let alone be willing to actually get her hands dirty in her volunteering. They soon learned, however, that she was not the usual sort of fine lady, and eventually put her to use quite often.

  She was grateful for that now. She might not have all of the attributes or talents that a lady of quality should possess, but she did not need those anymore. All she needed were the skills she had attained in her life, for they were what would enable her to make any sort of living and perhaps one day, provide for her and her son.