Lavinia smiled. “People are generous in different ways, my dear. If I do not marry Dawnford, he will hound you next. Or else he will find a way to make life so unbearable that we will have no choice but to beg for charity from our nearest relation.” She spat the word as if it tasted sour.
A silence fell, and Lavinia pressed the tip of the paper knife against the next invitation, but did not cut. “I have nothing to lose,” she repeated, softer now.
Frances snorted bitterly. “You are lying again. You have everything to lose. You just think you are the only one who must do the losing.”
This time, Lavinia did not reply.
The room seemed to shrink, and Frances, tears running freely now, made for the window. She shoved it open, heedless of the damp morning air, and leaned out as if she might simply vanish.
Lavinia let her. Instead, she set down the knife, pressed her palms together, and stared at her hands until the trembling ceased. She thought of the Duke—not as he had looked at her,but as he had not looked at her; as he had shut every door, every window, every possibility.
He was gone. That was the truth.
She almost welcomed the sharp rap at the door. The sound was brisk, not in the manner of creditors who favored a relentless pounding, nor in the style of Lady Montfort, who never knocked at all, but with a certain respectful insistence.
Mrs. Down entered with a curtsy. “My Lady. Mr. Tomley to see you.”
Lavinia blinked. “Is it not rather early for business?”
Mrs. Down lowered her voice. “He says it is urgent. And private. I have put him in the blue parlor.”
“I will be there shortly,” Lavinia said.
Mrs. Down nodded and retreated. With a sigh, Lavinia stood and made for the door. As she passed, Frances caught at her sleeve. “I am coming with you. I am old enough.”
With a slight smile, Lavinia nodded. Together, they walked to the parlor.
Mr. Tomley was standing near the unlit hearth with his hat in hand and spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. At herentrance, he executed a nervous bow, clutching his hat and a folio.
“Lady Lavinia,” he began, with a tremor of the mustache, “may I offer my sincerest felicitations on your impending nuptials.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tomley,” Lavinia said coolly. “You are here to discuss business?”
He inclined his head, adjusting his spectacles. “Indeed, my lady, though my chief purpose today is to address the status of Pembroke Manor and—ah—the accounts of the late Lord Fairwick.” He fumbled for a sheet of paper and held it before him like a shield. “You see, I have received certain instructions, and I must confess, they were most unexpected.”
Lavinia sank into the nearest chair, smoothing her skirts as if the gesture might also flatten the pit of dread in her stomach. “Unexpected instructions are a luxury we cannot afford, Mr. Tomley. I trust you will be succinct.”
He colored, but soldiered on. “It is my duty to inform you, Lady Lavinia, that all outstanding accounts relating to the Fairwick estate have been satisfied. In full.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending. “What do you mean, satisfied?”
“I mean precisely that, My Lady. All debts, including those owed to Mr. Crawley and his associates, have been paid. Here—” He pushed the papers forward, hands trembling with the effort of not dropping them. “The receipts. The settlements. The accounts. All marked and stamped.”
Lavinia reached for the top sheet. She read it, taking in the official notations and the spidery signatures of men who had haunted her dreams for the past two years. The word ‘settled’ appeared on every page, stamped in red wax or bold black ink.
Her composure threatened to give way. “Who did this?” she managed at last.
Mr. Tomley smiled. “The benefactor wishes to remain anonymous. The instructions came through a reputable London solicitor, but I was assured the benefactor’s interests are wholly aligned with your own.”
Lavinia’s mind reeled. For a split second, she saw the blue of Tristan’s eyes, but the thought was so preposterous she dismissed it instantly. Of course, it was Dawnford. He had, after all, promised to ‘take care of everything’ when she accepted his offer. This was simply a man exercising his property rights before they were legal. It was logical.
She pressed a palm to her brow. “You are absolutely certain?”
“Absolutely, My Lady.” Tomley’s eyes darted to the ledgers, then back to Lavinia, seeking a sign of approval. “I verified each receipt myself. I would not dare report otherwise.”
Frances, who had been standing, let out a noise that was half-laugh, half-sob, and threw herself onto the ottoman beside Lavinia, clutching at her arm. “You are free!” she cried. “You do not have to marry him now, Lavinia. We can be happy again!”
Lavinia, whose world had tilted so many times it now spun on a permanent axis, stared at the ledgers. “This changes nothing,” she said, but the words rang hollow. “Lord Dawnford expects a wife.”
