Her niece laughed. “I am much older and wiser these days. And I haven’t even decided if I like him, yet.”
“Really,” the duchess said, unable to keep the skepticism from her voice. “It looked to me as though you’d already made up your mind about that.”
Georgiana’s smile faded. “Do you have something you wish to say to me, Aunt Frederica?”
“Just a few days ago, you were in hysterics over him. I’ll admit he seems to have matured since his father’s death, but do you really think he’s someone to whom you can give your heart, my dear?”
“That is a very good question. I’ll let you know when I have an answer.” Georgiana turned away again, heading off toward her own bedchamber. “I do wish my heart and my head would make the same decisions, though.”
Frederica frowned. This was even worse than she’d thought. “Don’t we all.”
Chapter 20
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her
Shall have the chinks.
—Romeo and Juliet, Act I, Scene v
Tristan wanted to bang his head against something hard. “I know it’s bad,” he grumbled, settling for glaring across the desk at his solicitor. “I see the numbers just as plainly as you do.”
“Yes, my lord, of course you do,” Beacham said in a soothing voice, pushing his spectacles back up to the bridge of his nose. “What I meant to say was, the situation is very bad. Untenable, almost.”
“Almost,” Tristan repeated, springing onto the word and holding on for dear life. “It’s salvageable, then.”
“Eh, well, you see—”
“What?” Tristan hammered his fist against the desk.
The solicitor jumped, his spectacles sliding down his nose again. Swallowing, he shoved them back into place. “The Glauden estate at Dunborough isn’t entailed, my lord. I know of several nobles, and even one or two merchants, looking for a small piece of land in Scotland. For hunting, you know.”
Tristan shook his head. “Glauden’s been in my family for two hundred years. I will not be the one to lose it.” And Robert had spent last winter there. If Bit felt comfortable someplace, he wasn’t about to take it away from him.
“To be honest, my lord, even knowing your…skill at wagering, and even after seeing the resulting figures, I’m not certain how you’ve managed to keep solvent. It’s something of a miracle to me, really.”
“What matters is that I won’t be the one to begin selling off any of the familial properties. Give me another option.”
“You’ve already sold off the majority of your personal possessions. Your stable, with the exception of Charlemagne, your yacht, that hunting lodge in Yorkshire, the—”
“Be helpful, Beacham, for God’s sake,” Tristan interrupted. He knew precisely what he’d given up, and that it wasn’t enough. “What will it take for me to be able to keep paying my taxes, my staff, and my food bills for the next three months, say?”
“Another miracle,” the solicitor mumbled, running a hand over his nearly bald head as though that would stimulate his brain activity.
“Pounds and pence, if you please.”
Beacham sighed, leaning forward to flip open one of his seemingly hundreds of ledger books. “Three hundred pounds a month.”
“That’s steep.”
“Yes. Most of your creditors will continue to honor your papers for another few months, but only if you don’t incur any further debt.”
Tristan supposed that was good news, yet he felt as though someone had just summoned a priest to deliver last rites. “All right. I can manage three hundred quid.” He had no idea how, but he would do it, because it was necessary.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And now for the bad news,” Tristan continued. “Paying off all my creditors, bringing in enough blunt for seed, stock, everything. How much?”
“Everything, my lord? Don’t you wish to set your sights on a more…practical figure?”
