"What? How can I pay off the entire amount now? You know it is impossible!"
"I admit you just made a payment on your account, and I am willing to be a reasonable man." He paused to study the tip of his walking stick. "I will agree to allow you a two-week extension from today to repay me the balance."
"Only two weeks!"
Wallace looked up directly into Sir Gerard's eyes. The baronet nearly stepped backwards at the coldness in the man's gaze. No mercy or understanding flickered in those dark depths. In their lack of humanity, the man's glare reminded him of the unblinking stare of a snake.
"Yes, two weeks," the money-lender repeated. "It would be wise of you, Sir Gerard, if your payment was not late again. I dislike being required to remind debtors of what is owed. It can become quite ... physical."
With that warning, Wallace bowed and left, leaving Sir Gerard standing in stunned dismay. His breakfast toast weighed heavily in his stomach. With stiff, jerky movements he made his way to a chair and sank into it. He stared out the window at the broad expanse of lawn surrounding Hathaway Hall. Unlike earlier this morning, the sight did not raise his spirits.
His spirits and his future were both shipwrecked. He could not pay the balance. Not in two weeks. Not even in a month. Perhaps with careful managing, he could pay his debt off according to the original agreed upon schedule. But not in two weeks.
He ran his hands through his hair, trying to think of what to do. Briefly he considered the card tables. He had about five pounds upstairs. It would barely provide one
stake. If the cards were not dealt in his favor, he would have nothing left. But still the chance tempted him. Could he parlay five pounds into the seven hundred and fifty he owed within two weeks?
He doubted it, but he would try. And he would continue his campaign to regain his fortune.
Annette found the weekly Wednesday night Assemblies to be far more enjoyable than ever before. She liked the attention paid to her. She liked having a partner for every dance. She even liked wearing the pretty gowns Lucille had insisted upon.
She would not admit, to herself or anyone else, that she liked meeting Baronet Westcourt. Somehow, the evening never sparkled until she spotted his arrival. He seldom missed a week.
Tonight she kept a sharp eye out for him, but without the same sense of breathless anticipation as last week. After the meeting with the money-lender yesterday afternoon, disillusionment weighed her down. She had begun to believe Sir Nigel wrong about his nephew. The old miser had not been a pleasant person, and she had started to like the new heir.
But it appeared the uncle had correctly named Sir Gerard a wastrel.
She flinched at the memory of her realization in the stable. Determined to put it behind her, she plied her fan vigorously and attempted to pay attention to her partner's conversation.
Until she spotted Sir Gerard.
He must have just arrived, for his friend Mr. Robert Linton was still by his side, not yet caught up in the gaiety of the dances. Now that her eyes were opened to Sir
Gerard's true nature, she studied him, looking for those signs of dissipation her previous examinations apparently overlooked.
The baronet appeared magnificent in his London-tailored evening clothes. The black coat and white shirt with its intricate cravat showed none of the wear she would have expected a wastrel to need to conceal. Certainly such a man would not be able to afford to keep up the evening style Sir Gerard displayed. His debts would be too high. Of course, there was always the moneylender.
She sighed, wishing the picture thus presented were the true man and not a facade.
Her partner, Mr. Alfred Deschamps, mistook her sigh. "I knew your tender heart could not resist the appeal of my four children who so need a mother. In fact, I always admired your devotion to your own invalid mother. It showed how strongly you do your duty."
With a start, Annette realized this was the prelude to another marriage proposal. Where once she had longed for even one offer, the current inundation now wearied her. "Speak no further, Mr. Deschamps," she said, tapping her fan on his lips to halt the flow of words. Lately she had become quite practiced at these flirtation techniques. Except she did not care about coquetry and removed the fan.
"But you have not heard what I have to say—"
To herself she thought, / have already heard every other man say it. Aloud, she said, "I will not be able to give you the answer you seek."
Mr. Alfred Deschamps tugged at his graying sideburns. "Is there someone else? I heard no mention of any interest."
Annette took no offense at the fact that her life was a
subject of the local gossip mongering. She had lived in Upper Brampton too long not to know discussion of others' doings was one of the chief entertainments. Lately, her life must have provided much grist for the mill.
"No, there is no one else," she told him. Yet her eyes strayed involuntarily towards where the baronet still stood.
His gaze was focused in the direction of the card room. A sense of trepidation filled Annette. More debt could cause the rents to be raised. She could not be forever rescuing him from the consequences of his folly, or else she might as well hand the whole fortune over to him at once instead of doling it out piecemeal.
With a hastily polite farewell to Mr. Deschamps, Annette disengaged herself from his attentions and headed towards Sir Gerard. With his brows drawn together, a look of concentration filled his face. He directed his gaze towards the card room and did not notice her bearing down upon him.
Mr. Robert Linton did. He stepped forward to greet Annette. "Good evening, Miss Courtney. I am so pleased to see you. If this dance is free, I would like to be your partner."
She feared the direction of the baronet's look and resolved to thwart his plans. "Actually, I had saved it for your friend."
Taken aback, Linton blinked. "I say. Perhaps then you'll join me for a carriage ride tomorrow?"
The request was obviously the first thing that had popped into his head, but Annette did not care. "Certainly, Mr. Linton. I would enjoy it." She waited expectantly for the baronet to speak.
Linton nudged him. With a start, Sir Gerard suddenly
seemed to become aware of her presence and bowed in greeting. "Good evening, Miss Courtney."
She smiled as she curtsied in response.
"Aren't you going to ask her to dance?" Linton suggested.
Sir Gerard cast a quick glance at the card room before offering her his arm. "Of course, I am. May I have the honor of this dance?"
Her smile became fixed as determination filled her. He was not going to play cards that evening. "Certainly, sir."
She placed her hand upon his arm and joined him in the dance. It was a set of lively country dances. Temporarily she forgot his intentions as she gave herself up to partnering a masterful dancer. He never missed a step. If she momentarily stumbled, he smoothly caught her up and kept the rhythm of the dance unabated. Yet, his confidence increased her own. Her mistakes became few, and she matched him step for step. When he grinned at her, she smiled back, ready to laugh at any quip he might speak, but the pace of the dance was too fast for conversation.
All too soon the music ended, and the merriment she felt towards him dispersed. She remembered her purpose.
Fortunately, the lively country dance gave veracity to Annette's breathless request to sit the next one out. Sir Gerard led her to a small alcove where they could speak privately.
Once they were seated, he eyed her with one brow raised. "Now that we are private, perhaps you would wish to tell me what is on your mind."
His directness startled her and then pleased her. She preferred the open approach. "Because of yesterday, I feared you might be tempted into the card room."
His lips curved. "You intended, therefore, to save me from myself?"
This speech was more direct than she expected from him, but Annette responded to it. "Yes, I did."
"Have you ever seen me gambling, Miss Courtney?"
"N
o, but I remember what Sir Nigel said."
Sir Gerard reminded her, "My uncle was not the most accurate judge of character."
'True, but then I met the money-lender."
He stiffened. The last of the camaraderie she felt with him during the dance disappeared. "Wallace's presence changed everything, didn't it?"
"He is evidence that is hard to overlook," she acknowledged carefully.
"Were you looking for evidence?"
Now it was her turn to shift uncomfortably on her chair. "I did not want to find it."
Briefly he studied her. She forced herself to meet his gaze. What he sought from her, she did not know. She had not wanted to find the wastrel in a man she had begun to admire. It hurt to find the flaw.
"Now that you believe my uncle's assessment, what would you have me do?"
She leaned forward and grasped his arm, hardly aware of doing so, until she felt its firmness beneath her fingers. The strength he had so recently used to guide her on the dance floor. A strength not gained through hours of card playing. Again he confused her, but she clung to her purpose.
"Do not go into the card room," she begged. "Do not bet again. You will only end up in that money-lender's clutches again."
Making no move to withdraw his arm, he asked, "Since
you believe me to be a wastrel, why does it bother you so if I gamble?"
"Because your gambling affects more than you. The money you spend is earned by the labor of your tenants."
"Yet it is my money."
"It would be better spent on your estate. For instance, the cottages of your tenants are nearly in ruins. Sir Nigel never kept them up."
"I am well aware that my uncle never spent a farthing unless it worked for his own comfort or wealth. Remember, I lived with the man."
"Then you will forgo the card room tonight?"
Smiling, he placed his hand over hers. She felt its warmth through her glove, and a glow spread to her heart and down to her toes.
"I will not seek the card room," he promised. "But what would you have me do instead?"
"Dance?" she suggested.
"Why, Miss Courtney, how forward of you!"
For one of the first times in her life, she felt the heat of a blush radiate from her cheeks.
"I did not mean with me," she mumbled. Then she spotted the teasing amusement in his eyes.
Standing, he bowed before her. "I would love to dance this next set with you—or do you think the ladies of the village would gossip avidly if you partnered me twice in a row?"
To her surprise, she found she did want to dance with him again. Despite her interference in his life, he had listened to her. She was used to men denouncing her as a meddling old maid, along with other terms. But Baronet Westcourt had agreed with her. She felt greatly in charity
towards him. Besides, lately her life had done nothing but provide entertainment for the gossips of Upper Brampton. "I would love to dance with you," she told him.
During tea the next afternoon, Annette and Lucille discussed the previous night's Assembly.
"He wanted to gamble in that card room," Annette said, "but I just could not allow it."
Lucille shook her head in dismay. "It's that moneylender's fault."
"I wish you were right, but no, he was only trying to collect the money due to him. I fear Sir Gerard is the wastrel his uncle declared."
Sipping her tea, Lucille thought a moment. "You know, Annette, betting is not frowned upon among his class."
"I believe a gentleman always pays his debts of honor first to those of his own class. It is the tradesmen who are delayed and thus suffer." She reached for one of the cakes arranged on the tray. Their cottage now possessed the luxuries of a cook and a maid.
"Sir Gerard must have always paid what he owed, or else he wouldn't still be accepted by society," the other woman pointed out.
"Where on earth would he obtain the funds to bet? Not from Sir Nigel. That must be how he met with the moneylender."
A slight knock announced the arrival of the maid. "Mr. Linton is here."
With a startled gasp, Annette hastily set her cup down. "Oh, dear! I forgot I promised to ride in his carriage today."
Lucille ran a quick assessing look over her friend's wardrobe. "Thank goodness you are not wearing one of
those ugly brown dresses. That dark green will do very well to receive him." To the maid she said, "Please show him in."
Annette cast a fulminating glance at her companion, but could not respond further, since Mr. Linton entered the room. He wore a dark wool coat tailored to show him to an advantage. However, as she stood to greet him, she could not stop the brief thought that expert tailoring displayed better on the baronet.
After greetings, Mr. Linton asked her, "Are you ready?"
"Just let me get my coat and bonnet," she said.
"The day is cool but the sun is warm. Also there is no wind," he informed her. "It is a fine day for a drive."
"I look forward to it."
Very shortly, they were tooling down the road outside the village. Annette savored the brisk air in her lungs, but kept her hands warm inside her fur muff. It had been several days since any fresh snow had fallen. None remained on the bare branches, but wide patches of it lay off the road beneath the trees. Little traffic was out despite being late afternoon, so Mr. Linton's skills as a driver were not in demand. Instead, they passed the drive in conversation.
"Sir Gerard is my best friend," Linton said. "That's why I came with him when his uncle died."
"Your deed bespeaks a generous heart," Annette replied.
He snorted. "I'm not the one who expected to be generous. I thought Sir Gerard could help me out with my financial difficulties."
"Gambling?"
"You needn't freeze up on me that way, Miss Courtney. Betting is fun."
"Not when you bet more than you can afford."
"But that is how men like Sir Gerard and me survive in this world."
"Through gambling and debts?" Her assessment of the baronet's character and that of his friends was getting worse and worse.
Guiding the horse, Linton shook his head. "It's not the way you think."
Since she did not intend to leap from the moving carriage to escape the taint of his apparent wickedness, she said, "Why don't you explain it to me, then?"
"We live by our wits and the social round. There is no other place for us in society."
Annette mulled this statement over as the horse clip-clopped along the wet lane. "I am afraid I still don't understand."
"Society is based upon expectations. It is not only who you are, but whom you will become. Me, I don't have much in the way of expectations. I am the younger son of a younger son. There's not much open to me."
"Nonsense, Mr. Linton. You and I both know that many younger sons make their way in this world through the church, the army, or the law."
He gave a dry laugh devoid of humor. "Do you think I haven't considered those paths? I am not army mad. I like my creature comforts too much, thank you. Nor am I devout enough for the church."
Despite the example of her father, Annette privately agreed that too many of the clergy did not properly lead their flocks. "There remains the law."
His hoarse laugh grated on her nerves. "The law! Somehow I cannot picture myself locked away in a musty old office like your solicitor."
"Mr. Keller is a very fine man," she defended. "And he has helped me greatly."
"Only because you have the money."
Although she disliked his assessment, she privately agreed that it was probably true and dropped her defense.
He continued, "Money and title determine your place in society. I have neither, but Sir Gerard had the expectations of inheriting both when his uncle died."
"It seems a morbid way to live," she remarked. "Spending your whole life waiting for another's death."
He shrugged. "It's the way life is. Sir Gerard used his expectations to support himself. The prospec
tive title of baronet was real enough to society, but he had no allowance to enable him to live among the ton as he deserved."
Annette thought of the baronet's fine clothes, exquisite manners, and magnificent horse. "I am not sure any amount of allowance would have enabled him to live at the standard he preferred. Just look at his clothes and his horse."
"Oh, no, Miss Courtney, you wrong him!" In his earnestness, Mr. Linton loosened the reins, and immediately the horse began to slow. "The clothes and his horse are all that Sir Gerard owns. He earned the horse when a colt in exchange for some training he provided. He could not bear to sell him, despite the price he would bring. The clothes he needs to go about in society."
Shocked, Annette asked, "You mean he has no money of his own?"
"During the Season, he lives by the social round with its dinners and dances, which is why the clothes are so important. At other times he is invited to different country estates where he will help train the owner's horses—but
only in a gentlemanly fashion, you understand. He raised Silver Shadow to be the horse he is today."
Annette sank back against the seat, her mind in a whirl. At last she was beginning to comprehend Sir Gerard's position. "No wonder he wants the fortune so badly."
Linton's face brightened. "Does that mean you will now give it to him?"
She glanced sharply at him. Linton freely proclaimed himself the baronet's friend. Perhaps this tale was only invented to gain her sympathy. Yet, it had the ring of truth. "If Sir Gerard needed money to live on so desperately that he must sponge off others, why did he never visit his uncle?"
"What makes you think he was welcome at Hathaway Hall?" Linton slapped the reins across the horse's back. "You knew the old baronet, Miss Courtney. Would he have taken his nephew in?"
She remembered the thundering lectures about the "wastrel" she had been forced to endure. "His duty ..." she began, but both her voice and argument were weak. She knew Sir Nigel had cared not a fig about his duty. Not to his nephew and not to his tenants. Only her constant persistence had gained the meager amounts she had wrested from him.
The spinster and the wastrel Page 9
