"You are unmarried, are you not?" Crawley pressed. "A suitable match would resolve your obligations and ensure your sister'sfuture. In return, you would secure the preservation of your family's name and estate."
There was a noise from Mr. Tomley that sounded dangerously close to a snort. He coughed again, louder, and when Lavinia glanced at him, she saw his face had gone an alarming shade of red.
"It is an—" She searched for a word that would not be a direct insult, "—unexpected proposal, Mr. Crawley. I had not considered marriage as a solution to financial inconvenience."
That was a lie, for Lavinia had thought of it countless times. It was just that she had not imagined it might be to a man such as Mr. Crawley.
"It is a time-honored solution among the gentry," Crawley replied. "And I assure you, I am a man of means. You would want for nothing."
She was silent for a moment, studying his face for any sign of humor or malice. There was none. The man was as serious as a tomb. Suddenly, a vision of Tristan flashed in her mind, and her brows furrowed.
Why would she be thinking of her employer at a time like this? Was it to further convince her that she ought to marry a man she could bear to sit in the same room with?
Tomley’s mouth was trembling. His lips pressed together, and his cheeks puffed out as if he was suppressing some sort of internal disaster. Lavinia realized with horror that Mr. Tomley was about to laugh.
She cleared her throat, drawing herself to her full, imposing height even from her seat. "It is an absurd notion for us to marry, sir. I beg your pardon."
Crawley did not flinch. "On the contrary, Lady Lavinia, it is the most logical course. I have wealth and no pedigree. You have a name, and the determination to keep it afloat. Surely you see the efficiency of my solution."
"I see only a very direct attempt at social advancement," Lavinia said.
Tomley's laugh erupted, a snuffling, snorting explosion that caught the room off guard. He tried to transform it into a cough, but ended up wheezing into his handkerchief.
Crawley glanced at him with a look of profound disgust, then turned his gaze back to Lavinia. "You may find it unromantic, Lady Lavinia, but your alternatives are few. If you refuse, my next letter to you will be delivered by the bailiffs. I can have the manor seized by Michaelmas."
"Then I suggest you proceed with the paperwork," Lavinia said, forcing herself to remain still. "I will not marry you, sir, and I will not be bullied."
What are you doing, Lavinia?her mind’s voice warned.Would you throw away a very rare opportunity for your whims and desires?
Crawley’s face tightened. "You may wish to reconsider. If you wait for some fortune to arrive, you will find only further disappointment."
"I have never waited for fortune, Mr. Crawley," she said, rising from her chair. "I make my own." Looking at him now, Lavinia was certain she was making the right decision. The man’s character was disagreeable, and she found great difficulty in trusting him.
He stood as well, gathering his hat and gloves with brisk efficiency. "I will allow you a week to reflect. After that, I will instruct my men to begin proceedings."
"That is very generous," Lavinia said, her voice the very soul of cold courtesy. "Good day, Mr. Crawley."
Crawley bowed, not to her but to the notion of himself as a future lord, then left the room like a man who believed he had won something.
Tomley lingered behind, his face still twitching from the aftershocks of barely suppressed laughter. "Lady Lavinia," he said, approaching her in a conspiratorial half-whisper, "I have encountered some unusual proposals in my career, but this?—"
She held up a hand. "Do not, Mr. Tomley. If you laugh again, I will have you thrown into the sheep pasture."
He nodded, still quivering, and did his best to compose himself. "Of course, my lady. But for what it's worth, I do not think Mr. Crawley will follow through with the foreclosure. He lacks the stomach for real confrontation."
"Then why does he threaten it?"
"Because he wants you to be desperate. Desperate people make poor decisions. But you—" Tomley shook his head in wonder, "—I have never seen a lady so absolutely unmoved by such a threat."
Lavinia tried to smile, but the effort came out brittle. "That is because you have never seen a lady so used to threats, Mr. Tomley."
He sobered, then nodded with genuine respect. "If I can be of any further service?—"
"You can," she said. "Ensure that if Crawley returns, I am given warning. I should like to be out when he arrives."
"I will see to it," he said, and with a parting bow, took his leave.
The door shut behind him, and for a while, Lavinia stood in the center of the drawing room, arms folded tightly across her chest. She surveyed the dim space, the threadbare rug and theonce-gleaming, now-dulled silver on the mantle. For all of Mr. Crawley’s logic and Mr. Tomley’s amusement, the truth was as stark as the empty shelves of the library: the Pembroke fortune was gone, and her dignity had been left on the front step to be scavenged by crows.
