"You have callers, my lady. Mr. Tomley and another gentleman. They're waiting in the drawing room."
Lavinia's grip on the book tightened. Mr. Tomley never brought another gentleman unless said gentleman meant business, and the only sort of business that came calling these days was the sort that involved the swift removal of property or dignity.
"Did he give his name?" she asked.
Mrs. Down hesitated, a sure sign of trouble. "He did not, but I do not believe he is a friend."
"Wonderful," Lavinia muttered, setting the treatise aside. She smoothed her skirts, drew herself to her full height, and schooled her features into a mask of mild, intellectual curiosity. "Let us not keep them waiting, then."
Mrs. Down offered a curtsey and led the way out. At the drawing room door, she paused, composed herself with a single breath, then entered.
The scene within was exactly as she expected. Mr. Tomley, their solicitor since the dawn of time, stood near the fire, looking as though he would quite like to crawl into it and never emerge.Beside him was a stranger of about sixty, his hair a steel brush, his face assembled from angular bones and a pair of heavy, hooded eyes. His overcoat was not quite the latest fashion, but it was expensive, and his boots looked as though they had never seen a puddle.
The stranger held his hat at his side and swept a short, dry bow. "Lady Lavinia. How very good to make your acquaintance."
"Good afternoon," she replied, with just enough warmth to be plausible. She acknowledged Tomley with a nod. "I trust you are well, Mr. Tomley."
"As well as ever, Lady Lavinia," Tomley managed, and she noted the tic in his cheek. Nerves, or guilt.
She turned her gaze back to the stranger, who seemed content to let the silence grow as long and uncomfortable as possible.
"Mr. Tomley, you have not introduced your companion," she prompted.
"Ah. Of course." Tomley blinked, as if waking from a light doze. "This is Mr. Crawley, of Crawley & Sons. Mr. Crawley is the principal creditor for the Pembroke estate."
Mr. Crawley gave another short bow, the movement more perfunctory than polite. "I prefer to conduct these matters directly."
Lavinia’s stomach dropped, but she kept her composure. She gestured to the threadbare settee and said, "Please, do be seated."
Neither man took the seat, so she moved to her father's old armchair and sat, folding her hands in her lap. She could play this game for days.
"Shall we be frank, Lady Lavinia?" Mr. Crawley said, perched on the edge of a chaise. "Your father's obligations to my firm have grown considerably in the last year. The note for one thousand pounds is, as you are aware, quite overdue."
Tomley began rifling through his folio, eager to justify his own existence. "Lady Lavinia has made every payment possible, Mr. Crawley. She has kept the creditors at bay through her own thrift and resourcefulness, but?—"
"But it is not enough," Crawley said, his mouth drawing into a grim half-smile. "Your situation is, as they say, unsustainable."
Lavinia inclined her head, refusing to offer a single unnecessary word.
Crawley surveyed the crumbling plaster and threadbare rug. "It must have once been a fine manor. I would imagine the Fairwick name carries some weight, even in reduced circumstances."
"It does," she said, then allowed herself a thin smile. "Especially with the sort of people who care about names."
Crawley looked at her with interest, the way one might regard a wolfhound at a garden party—unexpected, but not unwelcome. "I am a practical man, Lady Lavinia. I see problems, and I solve them. I believe I can solve your problem."
Lavinia’s jaw tensed. "And what, exactly, is my problem, Mr. Crawley?"
"You are in possession of a property that is worth substantially more than your debts, but you lack the means to keep it," he said. "You are, if you will pardon the frankness, a lady of title without resources."
"And you," she said, not missing a beat, "are a man of resources without a title. I see now why you are so keen to help me."
Tomley coughed, a panicked splutter. Crawley ignored him.
"I propose," Crawley said, and for the first time, a hint of pleasure crept into his voice, "to clear your debts in exchange for your hand in marriage."
Lavinia blinked. For a single, perfect moment, the world seemed to stop moving. Even the grandfather clock in the hall, usually intent on announcing every half minute, fell silent.
"I beg your pardon?" she said, certain she had misunderstood.
