She made no effort to turn and, instead, I was left with nothing but the image of swirling, sky blue skirts around the corner. I peered warily at the concoction, it was beginning to cool, and the steam was condensing on the sides of the glass. I took an uneasy sniff and once again my insides mutinied.
A brief glance at my plate was all that’s needed to determine that relief was miles away at present. Without giving myself an opportunity to think, or worse smell it, I closed my eyes and held my nose and downed the glass in a few short gulps.
Immediately, I chased it with the entire cup of coffee, burning my throat on the way down. Concoction successfully gone, I waited a full minute for it to make a return. Surprisingly, it stayed put.
A few minutes later, to my immense surprise, my stomach settled, and I could make headway with the toast. In less than an hour, I was bathed and dressed and prepared for Tom’s ledgers.
* * *
I was not preparedfor Tom’s ledgers. Not even the slightest.
Twenty-Five
GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON – MARCH 21, 1814
HUGH
I had takento staring at my father’s portrait in the study. Searching, uselessly, for any sign in his expression of the disaster he left in his wake.
We were desolated when he passed. Months, possibly weeks of creditors coming for us from every available angle. Hell, he could have been thrown in debtor’s prison.
But there was not one single indication of it in his painted countenance. Honestly, his expression was unreadable, except for the mirth in his smirk; as though it was amusing, what he could have done to us.
And Michael, my wretch of an elder brother, had saved us all. He did it without a single word. And I could not reconcile my feelings on that. Guilt warred with wounded pride and suspicion until all that was left was a swirl of indigestion.
Why had he not said anything? Was he waiting for some opportune moment? Should that not have come when I cut ties with him over the club? Or had it truly been a kindness? His pride?
I had not told Tom of my findings, not yet. I did not have the words to explain what I could not countenance. All I knew was that Michael had somehow taken the estate from the brink of ruin to prosperity in only a few years. And, it seemed, he had done it at the gaming tables.
He had left funds set up for everything: estate maintenance and improvements, funds for tenant emergencies, irrigation systems, Mother’s modiste bills, hell—he had set up dowries for Tom’s and my future children. And it was gone. All of it. Every single fund had dwindled to almost nothing.
I was not skilled enough to manage money the way that Michael had, but I wasn’t this bad. I was being cheated, badly. And for the first time, I was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t Mathews, the man Michael hired.
Two Viscount Graysons managed to bring Thornton Hall and Grayson House to ruin. And in under a decade too. It was impressive, really, when one considered it. The one man without the title, seemed to be the only one capable of caring for it. That was just… ironic, bitterly so.
I was in quite the mess, and I hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do about it.
* * *
“I forgotto tell you Juliet will be joining us in the country,” Katherine informed me at one of our, now weekly, dinners, handing me the potatoes as she did so. For the life of me I could not recall which of her friends that was. The one with the overwrought brows? Or the one with the bird’s nest hair? A different one I could not recollect at all?
“Who?” I asked distractedly, only half listening. My mind was still in my study, still buried in the decades of ledgers. Still absorbing the apparent truths they held.
“Lady Juliet.” Unhelpful.
“Have I met her?”
Instead of a response, I received the grinding of a wooden chair on a wooden floor. That sound penetrated my contemplation. Silverware clattered when the table shuddered with the motion of my wife’s abrupt rise.
She strode out of the room in a flurry of skirts with little more than an “excuse me, gentlemen.” Such rudeness, and in front of my family too.
Tom and Michael were openly gaping at me, seeking an explanation for her sudden departure. “Must be feeling poorly.” I answered their unasked question with a shrug. Who could say why women did the things they did?
“Hugh…” Tom responded, somewhat exasperated in his tone.
“What?”
Tom and Michael were now exchanging significant glances and head nods. Before Michael stood and followed Katherine’s exit.
