But really,came the remembered voice of his father again, no amusement in it this time,didn’t you see this coming?
Jack shifted in his seat as Blatherstock continued, smooth, polite. Inexorable.
“Your principal has been depleted over the last few years by these and other demands, more significantly by the mining investment, and before that, the investments made in Canada and America. Not that you can be blamed for the disruptions to overseas business caused by the war, but perhaps a more critical scrutiny of world affairs, combined with less reliance on the word of…friends…might lead to more judicious investments in future.”
Jack managed a smile, though his fingers were uncomfortably tight on the glass he held. “And by listening to you?”
The man merely adjusted the papers on his desk.
“The real issue, Lord Orton, is that due to the significant depletion of your principal—taken together with the existence of mortgages on several of your properties, the poor harvests of recent years, and the subsequent reduction in income from your estates—your bank is unwilling to maintain your current interest rate. Bluntly, your current income no longer meets your basic expenditure.”
The muscles of his back were very rigid, a sickly cold feeling sliding down his spine. Consciously, he relaxed his grip on his glass and set it down carefully on the desk before him.
“So I cut costs, retrench a little, sell a few horses, that sort of thing?”
“I believe something more substantial may be required.”
Jack looked at the man. It took him a moment to say, “Sell some properties?”
Blatherstock only looked at him.
“Sell some…” Jack swallowed, his father’s ghost looming. “Sell some land too?”
“Unless you have another way to access a significant sum.”
Blatherstock said it casually, almost as though it was an afterthought, but Jack didn’t miss the implication. Marriage, he meant. Marry a rich enough heiress and the bank would back off, the immediate constrictions on his income would be relaxed.
“No.” Everything inside him rebelled at the idea. To be reduced to a fortune hunter? To use some poor woman like a banker’s draft? “No. I will look at my estates, my properties, and see what can be done.”
Blatherstock gave a small nod. He took a sheet from the neat pile in front of him and slid it across the table. “I took the liberty,my lord, of making some suggestions. With your permission, I’ll instruct my agent to visit your steward in Herefordshire—”
“No,” said Jack again, taking the paper and getting to his feet. “Thank you, Blatherstock, but this is a job I need to do with my own hands. And I need to…to speak with my mother. The news will come from me, and so will the remedy, for it’s my own mess to clear up.”
He bid Blatherstock farewell and left to prepare for his journey, but in the moment of shaking Blatherstock’s hand, he thought he felt the faint pressure of another hand on his shoulder. Heavy, firm, but containing the ghost of approval.
Twenty-One
It was only George who escorted the two ladies to Bond Street that morning, and by some unspoken agreement, no one seemed to want to say Jack’s name.
Lucy told herself it was good he’d not come, because she couldn’t think of seeing him with anything other than a racing heart, damp palms, and an urge to run away. But by the evening, on her way to the theatre and after a whole day hearing nothing of him, the nervous apprehension had morphed into a sort of nervous excitement, though it was hard to tell in the tangled mix of embarrassment and guilt.
She only knew she both wanted and did not want to see him. Wanted to get it over with. Wanted to reassure herself that the odd, intense way he’d looked at her last night was nothing but a mirage, an odd intoxication caused by the whirling dangers of the waltz. And that it had died as quickly as the music.
Because being looked at like that by Jack, as though she were something he would devour the way flame consumes paper… She wasn’t built to cope with looks like that.
A flush scalded her from throat to cheek. She sat back in her corner of the carriage and prayed Caroline would stay absorbed in her observations from the window.
She must have imagined the look anyway. Jack had already made it clear how he felt. The mirage was all her own making.
It was only wishful thinking. The stupidest wish anyone could have.
When they arrived at the theatre they met George, and he showed them to his family’s box. The Sedgewicks couldn’t afford their own, and as well as Lucy, he’d invited both the brother and the sister, too goodhearted to exclude Captain Sedgewick from the party, though it was obvious the men had little enough in common.
“Jack can’t make it.” George addressed himself to Caroline, though his eyes flicked to Lucy. “Sent me a note to apologise. Had to go into Herefordshire on some estate business and mentioned he might go up to Leicestershire too, though I can’t think why, unless it’s to do with that little hunting lodge he has up there. Either way, I suspect he’ll be gone a good week or more.”
How stupid to feel so disappointed! It was for the best. And the fact that the news made it seem someone had just shuttered half the candles in the room showed just how wise some time away from Jack would be.
And at least she wouldn’t have to act the lover with George in front of him.
