Colette ventured softly, “Sara could be just like us . . .”
“That is why I worry. So what are Harrison and I to do about her?” Juliette asked, her voice filled with seriousness. “We can’t keep Sara under lock and key while we’re here either. Which was Harrison’s original intent, by the way. I managed to persuade him not to do so. We can’t lock her up, not if we want her to meet a man she likes better and who makes her forget all about Alexander Drake. I don’t wish to punish Sara, for she didn’t do anything wrong. She simply happened to fall in love with the most dreadful man.”
“Well, we can certainly make sure Phillip and Simon keep a close eye on Sara,” Colette offered. “My boys tend to be protective of her anyway. I’m sure they will watch her as if she were their own little sister.”
“Yes, that would help.” Juliette nodded, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
“Of course, it will.” Colette continued, “And Phillip and Simon both have lots of wonderful young friends to introduce her to, like that Lord Bridgeton that you met yesterday. The Season is just beginning. There is so much for them to do and endless rounds of events for them to attend together. The boys can certainly keep Sara occupied. I’m sure they are all having a lovely time at Lady Abbott’s this evening, even as we speak. Let’s have Sara come to the bookshops while she’s here and really learn the business. It will be good for her. Paulette and I will look after her and Mara will be there too. Sara will forget all about this man before you know it, and New York will seem like a million miles away to her.”
All the sisters agreed that Colette’s suggestion was a good plan.
Juliette eyed Paulette carefully. “Then there’s Mara.”
“Yes,” Paulette said, biting her lip. “That could be tricky. I’m sure Mara knows everything by now, or at least Sara’s version of it. And I’ve no doubt my daughter is highly sympathetic to Sara’s situation and will likely do all she can to support her.”
Ever the hopeful one, Lisette asked, “Can’t you explain the situation to Mara? She’s reasonable enough to want to keep Sara safe. Wouldn’t she tell you if Sara were up to anything dangerous?”
“Oh, no,” Juliette and Paulette both said in unison, knowing the very close bond between the two young girls could not be broken.
Paulette continued, “I couldn’t ask Mara to do that. Besides she would never betray Sara. She’s too devoted to her. Sara was the one who brought Mara out of her silence, remember?”
Sara and Mara had been as thick as thieves since they were four years old and nothing, not even the great span of the Atlantic Ocean, had come between their friendship over the years. When they first met, the fact that their names had rhymed had been an endless source of amusement to them, a marvel that seemed to bind the two little girls together. With two such opposite personalities it was amazing that they were so close. For each of Sara’s outgoing and confident ways, Mara was equally quiet and shy.
“It will be good for Mara to have Sara here,” added Paulette thoughtfully, aware of her stepdaughter’s introverted personality. “Perhaps she can draw Mara out of her shell. Last year’s Season was not what we had hoped. Declan and I worry for Mara and we just want her to be happy. She’s so withdrawn at times.”
“Would it be so terrible if Mara didn’t marry?” Lisette questioned.
“No, not at all . . . Not if that was what she wanted,” Paulette explained. “We were only leaving for Ireland because she didn’t wish to participate in another London Season, which was fine with us. I think she’s simply scared. And that’s why I’m so glad that Sara is here now. Mara trusts her and would do anything for her. With Sara here, Mara will join her in attending parties and balls. Sara’s high-spiritedness has always been a good influence on Mara. They tend to balance each other. I was happy when I heard that Mara agreed to go out with her cousins this evening.”
Colette smiled with confidence. “Well, I believe this could be a wonderful experience for both girls.”
“Yes,” Juliette said quietly. “But we shall have to watch over the two of them carefully.”
“Yes, most assuredly,” Paulette said.
“If you hear of anything—anything at all—you’ll let me know?” Juliette asked her sisters, her eyes filled with worry.
“Yes, of course.” They all agreed to watch over their eldest niece, who was a Hamilton girl, just like them.
5
A Sinking Ship
“So that’s it? Only six more months?” Christopher
Townsend, the Earl of Bridgeton, incredulously questioned his estate manager the next morning.
The balding man slid the open, leather-bound ledger across the wide oak desk to him and pointed to the figure at the bottom of the page. “Yes, but that is only if you are very careful and strictly follow the budget I’ve laid out for you. And that is also providing that no emergencies arise on the estate, either. It’s taken me the better part of the year to sort through the tangle of double accounts, expenses, and debts your father has accrued. It pains me to say it but it has come down to this. You need to sell the estate to pay all the creditors or find a massive influx of cash immediately. But six months is all you have left, my lord.”
The grim news hit Christopher like a violent punch in the gut. As he eyed the meticulously inscribed numbers in the ledger, they seemed to dance a jig across the page, taunting him. There it was. Written documentation of his father’s monumental failings. Proof of the crushing debt he had inherited. Of course, he had been aware that the estate was not in the best of shape, but he thought he would at least be able to get the finances back on track. He thought it would be manageable. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, sighing heavily.
Six months.
The situation was even worse than he’d imagined.
If only his investments would come through. With what little money he’d managed to scrape together, Christopher had invested in a small shipping company last year, but so far he hadn’t reaped any profit and he had no idea exactly when he would. It was a strong company and he believed it would succeed eventually, but apparently not soon enough to save Bridgeton Hall. Or his sisters.
Or himself, for that matter.
“The numbers are not good, my lord. And there is the matter of my own family to consider as well . . .” The man looked quite uncomfortable and his round cheeks reddened. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I have sought out another position, my lord.”
“You have?”
“I have accepted a new post as the estate manager at Green Briar Manor in Yorkshire, starting at the end of the month.”
“Yes, I understand, Griggs.” Christopher tried to hide his disappointment.
“I am sorry, my lord, but I must think of my family. I have six children.”
“Of course you do. And I shall be sad to see you go. You’ve been a great help to me and have served the estate well, given the very difficult circumstances. I wish I could retain your services. But as you see . . .” Christopher held up his hands. He too would more than likely abandon the sinking ship if he were in the manager’s position. It was self-preservation. Unfortunately for Christopher, he couldn’t jump ship when he was the captain.
“I wish you the best of luck, my lord. And if I may say, it’s a terrible shame how your father ruined this estate,” Griggs said. “Bridgeton Hall was always the pride of the county. It is now clear to me why he went through so many managers over the last years of his life. None of them could prevent him from spending unwisely and hiding expenses and the gambling debts. He seemed bent on destroying—”
“Yes, I’m well aware of my father’s destructive nature, thank you,” Christopher interrupted. No one needed to explain to him the carelessly selfish and dangerously reckless ways of his father. He had learned that firsthand at a very early age.
The former Earl of Bridgeton, James Townsend, had been a cruel and vicious man who made the lives of his wife and children a living nightmare. After he died last y
ear, Christopher believed they were finally free of his domineering and abusive ways. Yet his father had left them with a shocking surprise. He’d spent virtually all the money and left his wife and children with a nightmare of a different kind.
In spite of all that Christopher had done in the past year to salvage their financial situation, it wasn’t enough. He had budgeted and cut expenses, his own and that of his mother and sisters. He had sold most of the family’s valuable possessions. But it barely made a dent in the mountain of debt his father had accumulated.
There really was no option left except to sell his family’s ancestral home. Or marry an extremely wealthy woman.
Humiliated and sick to his stomach at being in this position, Christopher thought of his two younger sisters and he knew he had no choice. As much as he hoped to avoid it coming to this, he would have to find a rich wife. And quickly too. Marrying her by the end of the summer.
“Thank you, Griggs. I will miss you. I wish you and your family all the best in your new venture.” Christopher stood and shook the smaller man’s hand. He truly was saddened to see his estate manager leave. Especially since he could not afford to hire a new one. But he now had more pressing business to take care of.
As Christopher watched Griggs leave the office that once belonged to his wastrel of a father, he turned to stare out the tall windows that framed the elegant room. The familiar rolling vista of green lawns spread out before him. Acre upon acre of rich farmland and fertile pastures. This beautiful countryside belonged to him, but for how much longer? Could he manage to save it? He simply had to. He could not be the earl who lost the family estate.
Christopher Townsend, the seventh Earl of Bridgeton, needed to marry well.
Lord, how he hated being in that position.
But he hated his father even more for placing him in this abhorrent situation. Fortunately, Christopher had managed to keep his family’s dire financial straits a secret. For the time being, at least. Everyone thought him an eligible bachelor, the heir to a respected earldom. No one suspected that the massive manor house was mired in debt and on the verge of crumbling to pieces. The vast wealth that the first earl had accumulated and had sustained generations of Townsends was all but gone. Thanks to none other than his father, the sixth earl.
There really was nothing left now.
As Christopher looked out on the lush and verdant acres thick with the green of spring that surrounded the Townsend property, he marveled that no one had guessed his awful secret. At the ball last night he had taken note of the ambitious mothers hovering around him and calculating his worth, while whispering to their debutante daughters about him, “He’s an earl! And a young, handsome one at that. Smile prettily for him now!”
Then there were the young ladies themselves, already smitten with him, waving their fans and batting their eyelashes, trying to get his attention. They preened and fawned to gain his favor and hopefully win a dance with him.
Christopher was used to being thought of as a catch. He’d spent his entire life as the only son of an earl, knowing full well he would inherit everything when his father died, but he’d never really had to consider what that actually meant before. It was simply a fact of his existence. Women wanted to marry him. Being a tall, good-looking man only added to his appeal. But he never thought he’d have to make the mercenary consideration of how much his future bride would be worth. How much she would bring to the marriage.
Now if he could only wed a suitable lady before anyone could discover his bankrupt coffers. How those ambitious mothers would turn up their noses at him if they only knew the truth! Still, he had his title. An earldom was nothing to sniff at, and his earldom was now for sale to the highest bidder, apparently. It was all he had to offer to his future bride. He could make her a countess in exchange for her money.
And she needed to bring quite a lot of that.
His mind started calculating a list of the wealthy women he knew. It was shockingly short. There was a wealthy, pretty widow he was acquainted with. Perhaps she’d be interested in gaining the title of Countess of Bridgeton. But the thought of marrying her left him feeling a little cold inside.
Yet, he desperately needed a rich wife.
The image of Sara Fleming’s beautiful face flashed in his mind.
There was something about that American woman. He felt a connection to her. And she felt it as well. He knew she did. She had confided in him so sweetly last night. And she’d kissed him! On the cheek, but still. It was a stunning gesture.
It was a shame she was planning to return to New York and to the man she loved. That was a woman he wouldn’t mind marrying, whether she was rich or not. Come to think of it, he had no idea if her family even had money, but seeing how her father was merely an American ship’s captain, he doubted it very much.
He knew her cousin Phillip Sinclair’s family had money. One only had to look at Devon House to know that. And Phillip, an eligible earl like himself, would inherit all of that and become the Marquis of Stancliff one day. There was also their other pretty cousin, Lady Mara Reeves, whose father was the Earl of Cashelmore. There was certainly money there, and an estate in Ireland as well.
Christopher’s stomach churned in uneasiness. Thinking of his friends’ net worth was abhorrent to him.
He sighed heavily, and his glance fell back to the accounting ledger on the polished desk. It was this stately desk at which generations of Townsend men had sat and managed the vast Bridgeton Hall estate quite well.
Until his father.
His miserable wretch of a father.
A soft knock on the door drew his attention and he looked up from the ledger as the gentle rustling of skirts accompanied his younger sister into the office.
“Good morning, Christopher,” she said, trying to smile.
His heart constricted at the sight of her. Almost seventeen years old, Evelyn Townsend was pale, thin, and frail. The Townsend family height had skipped over her and her slight frame added to the delicacy about her. Thick brown hair framed her sweet face, accentuating the whiteness of her skin and her large brown eyes. There was a nervousness about her, as if she were a tiny brown bird that would startle and fly away at any moment. Physical appearances aside, Christopher knew his sister had a backbone of steel running through her.
“Evie,” he said, as she stood wringing her hands. With another heavy sigh, he sat down in his chair on the other side of the desk.
“I saw Griggs leave.” She frowned, her brows furrowing. “How bad are things?”
“Not so terrible,” he managed to say with a half smile.
“You’re lying to me, aren’t you?”
He shook his head, hoping to convince her. The last thing he wanted to do was worry her any more than she already was. Her life had been hard enough. He only wanted to make things better for her and for Gwyneth. “No, no, of course not. We definitely have some time to make changes, but the good news is that I don’t think we shall have to sell Bridgeton Hall after all.”
“What are you going to do, Kit?” she asked, her brown eyes narrowing on him, while she called him by his childhood nickname.
“I, my dearest Evelyn, intend to acquire a very rich wife.”
With a defeated air, his sister collapsed onto the wide leather chair behind her. “Oh, Kit, no.”
“Oh, yes. I’m twenty-three years old. It’s high time I married and started a family. Carry on the Townsend line and all that, don’t you agree?” He gave her a wide grin. It was forced and she knew it.
Evie shook her head. “This isn’t right at all.”
“It will be fine, I promise,” he said, wishing he believed his own words. “I’m returning to London tomorrow to go about the business of finding a suitable candidate. Once I’m married and we’ve shored up the family coffers and my shipping investment pays off, we won’t have to worry anymore. I can give you your debut, and then Gwyneth can have her turn.”
“I hate him for this.”
There was
no reason to state whom she hated. They both knew. Christopher shrugged. “I hated him long before this.”
“I did too,” Evie added, somewhat defensively. “You very well know that. But I hate him even more for how he left things. And for what he’s making you do now.”
“I’d marry eventually anyway, you know. I might as well marry now, to someone who can help us. It has to be done.”
“You don’t have to do this, Kit. Let’s just sell Bridgeton Hall. It’s full of painful memories for all of us anyway. We can sell it, pay off everything, and with what’s left over, you and Gwyneth and I can go live somewhere else.” Evie gestured to the house. “Far away from here.”
The intensity in his sister’s words startled him. They also echoed his very own thoughts from the night before. “Is that what you really want, Evie?” he asked softly. “To leave here?”
Her warm brown eyes glinted with unshed tears. Sadly she nodded her head. “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes it’s all I think about. Going far, far away from here.”
Christopher could hardly blame her for wanting to flee. He had at least been able to escape to boarding school for months on end, while in his absence his two defenseless younger sisters had been left to bear the brunt of their father’s abuse. He’d only been able to protect them when he came home for summers and holidays. Then Christopher could target his father’s rage away from the girls and onto himself. He always felt guilty when he returned to school, leaving them to manage on their own, but also relieved to be away from his father. However, when Christopher was gone, poor Evie bore most of the horror herself in an attempt to spare little Gwyneth.
“What about Mother?” he asked, arching an inquisitive brow.
“What about her?” Evie flung at him with more strength than it looked like she possessed.
“Where will she go if we sell the estate?”
“I don’t care,” she said with emphatic malevolence. “I hate her as much as I hate Father. In fact, I almost hate her more because she let him do those things to us.”
The Heiress He's Been Waiting For Page 5
