Seventy guineas! It was a respectable annual income. It was not even safe to be carrying such an amount, and what on earth could he want with so much?
She feared she knew.
He came home late that night, crestfallen and with empty pockets.
Portia leaped up from the chair in which she had been fretting. “Oliver, how could you? Youstolethat money.”
“How can I steal what is mine?” he blustered, but without conviction.
Portia bit her lip. It was true that it was his money but he simply couldn’t be allowed to throw away seventy guineas a day. And, of course, it had gone on gaming.
“Yes, yes, I played,” he admitted, collapsing onto the faded sofa. “And deeper than I meant to. I thought perhaps I could win enough to redeem the estate, then there would be no debt to tie us all. After last night, and our grand success today, I thought my luck had changed….” He looked up despondently. “I won’t be so foolish again, I promise, my dear.”
Hesoundedsincere.
“I suppose it was Bryght Malloren,” Portia said bitterly. How could she have mellowed toward the man? He was setting up Oliver like the hawk he was, intent on taking every last penny.
Oliver’s eyes widened with surprise. “Malloren? No, I told you I don’t move in those circles. It was a man called Cuthbertson who won most of it. Not a bad sort of fellow. You can’t blame him—the luck was against me. And seventy guineas is nothing. In fact, if I’d had more, I could probably have turned the tide.”
Portia just looked at him, a sick feeling in her stomach. In every other respect Oliver was a good and rational man, but in this one matter, he was mad.
She kept her voice calm as she said, “I hope you mean that, Oliver—that you won’t play again. What little money we have won’t last if you spend it like that.” She remembered Bryght Malloren talking of responsibilities, and added, “And you have to think of the whole family.”
Oliver flushed. “I know, I know. I was doing it for the family. If we’re to have any kind of life at all, we need money.”
“Fort will lend you the money, Oliver. We will be able to pay it back if we live simply and work hard.”
“It’ll be demmed dull for everyone.”
“No one will mind if we have Overstead back.”
He looked up. “You might not—you love the country and harvests and lambing and such—but Pru won’t much like having to turn her dresses and miss the local balls.”
He’d brought in their sister, but Portia knew he spoke for himself. He had no interest in country life or economy. “If we’re careful perhaps we’ll be able to afford some entertainments.” She was offering the sop to him as much as to the absent Prudence.
“Going to parties won’t do her much good without a dowry.”
Portia wanted to snap that he should have thought of such matters before throwing everything away, but she said, “Pru’s pretty enough to marry well without. And if she complains, we’ll remind her that the alternative is Manchester. She’ll learn to count her blessings.”
She hoped he was getting the message, too.
Perhaps he was, for he grimaced wryly. “Aye, that’ll certainly cool her. Anyway, you’ll be pleased to know that when I strolled past the Ware mansion on the way to Watkin’s it looked as if they were readying for an arrival. What’s the odds that Fort will be in Town soon?”
A weight seemed to slide off Portia’s shoulders. “Oh, I do hope so.”
She was convinced that Bryght Malloren had offered one truth. The only way to avoid total ruin was to get Oliver away from London—back in Dorset and drowning in hard work.
The next day, trying not to be obvious about it, Portia guarded her room and the money. Oliver tried various sneaky ways to avoid her vigilance, and then faced her.
“Two guineas? You expect me to go out with a mere two guineas in my pocket?”
“You are going out to see if Fort is in Town yet. Why do you even need two?”
“It’s a pittance. You will make me appear a pauper!”
Portia’s patience snapped. “Youarea pauper!”
“I’m only a pauper because you are sitting on my money like a miser with a hoard.”
