Percy sat across the grimy table from her older sibling, trying to digest what he had just told her. Despite the four year age difference, the two of them had always enjoyed a close connection. Some had even mistaken them for twins due to their shared coloring of golden hair and clear azure eyes. At the moment, however, Percy felt as if she was facing a stranger. This disheveled creature bore no resemblance to her rakishly elegant brother, nor would her brother ever utter such an appalling piece of news.
"I don't understand," she repeated. "What do you mean youlostthe company?"
Instead of answering, Paul poured himself a drink and shrugged. It was meant as a casual gesture, yet she could see the rigid set of his shoulders.
"If I must be precise, 'twas a game of faro," he said. "I'd lost all my blunt that night, and in a foolhardy attempt to regain it, I wagered the only thing I had left. Unfortunately, I chose the losing card and, ergo, Gavin Hunt, illustrious owner of The Underworld, now holds my vowels promising him my shares of Fines & Co."
Percy's mind reeled. Though a gentleman gaming away his fortune was commonplace, she could not believe her own flesh and blood would do such a thing. "You risked all that Papa worked for on a game of cards? Have you gone mad?" she cried. "How could you be so dashed reckless?"
Dark emotion flickered in Paul's eyes, the muscles of his neck cording with tension. He downed the contents of his glass and poured another shot. Before Percy had time to regret her accusatory tone, he retaliated with his trademark wit.
"Strange that you of all people should ask that question, sis. As I recollect, I am not the only Fines with a propensity for wild behavior." He paused, letting the barb strike home. "Considering your own less than sterling record, I'd venture to say recklessness runs in the blood."
Percy flushed; she couldn't deny that she'd had a few escapades in the past. In the middling class circle of her youth, her behavior had been described as "lively" and "spirited". Thanks to her family's friendship with the new Marquess and Marchioness of Harteford, however, she now frequented the higher echelons of society, and thetonwas proving less accepting of unorthodox conduct.
Thinking of her dismal first Season, she winced. Her tendencies to speak her mind and act on impulse had planted her in the field of wallflowers at every fashionable ball. Only the Hartefords' patronage had saved her from complete social failure. This Season, however, she was determined to redeem herself and prove her worth. Papa's dying wish had been for her to make a brilliant match, and she intended to fulfill both his dream—and her own.
For as luck would have it, she'd found her heart's desire at long last. Charles Effington Mansfield, Viscount Portland, was handsome, titled, and apoet: ergo, perfect in every respect. Even Mama approved of him (and she and her mother rarely agreed upon anything). To win his affections, Percy had vowed to reform her hoydenish ways. No more getting into scrapes. No more silly notions of writing a novel. No more unconventionalanything… today's activities being a minor exception.
"That was the old me," she informed her brother, "and I've turned over a new leaf. I'm a paragon of virtue these days."
"Is that what you call it?" One golden brow lifted. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but aren't you the chit who nearly burned down old Southbridge's Finishing School?"
Percy's cheeks flamed. "That was ages ago andnotmy fault. Mrs. Southbridge put me in charge of decorations and told me to do as I wished. I thought fireworks would give the graduation ceremony a bit of dash."
"As in guestsdashingfor their lives," her sibling said with a snicker.
Drawing a deep breath, she told herself not to get drawn into one of her brother's infamous bantering matches. "This is not about my behavior, Paul, so stick to the matter at hand," she said. "I still do not understand how you could have risked the company."
"How? Why, with a flick of the wrist," he drawled. "When one stops to think, 'tis ironic, really. Papa retained this cesspit of a building to remind us of his origins and how far he'd come up in the world. How many times did we hear,Hard work, children, that's the key to success?"
She frowned. "You ought to show respect for Papa and all he accomplished. I see no irony in his dedication and fortitude."
"I'm getting to that. Our father devoted his life to amassing a shipping empire to the detriment of everything else … including us."
Bittersweet longing bubbled in Percy's breast, the same feeling she'd had as a girl waiting for Papa to come home. She'd had a habit of posting herself at the front window, her latest story clutched in hand. By night's end, the unread pages would invariably end up crumpled. Mama would scold Percy for getting ink on herself and send her upstairs to wash up for bed.
Percy pushed aside the memories. "Papa did everythingforus, don't you see? He had to make sacrifices in order to give our family a future."
"Which I managed to squander. In mere minutes." Her brother tipped his head to one side. "So it begs the question: in the end, what is more powerful, perseverance... or prodigality?"
"What is the matter with you?" she said in bewildered tones. "Losing your inheritance is no laughing matter. We must think of a solution immediately. Have you written to Nicholas—"
"No, and I won't have you doing so either." Despite the fact that his eyes were bloodshot, Paul managed a steely look. "I want your word, Percy. You're not to tell a soul about my losses. The last thing I want you to do is interrupt Nicholas on the first vacation he's ever taken, and if Mama were to learn of this..." His mouth flattened. "She'd expire on the spot."
Percy chewed on her lower lip. Nicholas Morgan, also known as the Marquess of Harteford, was the co-owner of Fines & Company Shipping. He was practically an older brother to Paul and Percy, and after Papa's death, he'd become the unofficial head of the family. Recently, Nicholas had taken his wife Helena and their twins abroad for a vacation, and he'd invited Mama to join them. To Percy's surprise, her mother, who'd never set foot outside of London, had agreed to go. Now Mama and the Hartefords were God-knows-where on the Continent; it might take weeks for a post to reach them.
"Your word," her brother repeated. "You're not to betray my secrets, Percy."
Not wishing to alienate her brother, she gave a reluctant nod. "What about summoning the magistrate... or Nick's acquaintance at The Thames River Police. Mr. Kent, wasn't it?"
"What can they do? I gave Hunt my promissory note; he has the right to call it in. Alerting the authorities will only draw attention and lead Hunt straight to me."
"Perhaps Mr. Hunt can be persuaded to relinquish your debt. If you were too in your cups to know what you were doing—"
Her brother gave a harsh laugh. "That's what the hells count on, sis. Pleading with Hunt? Useless as trying to draw blood from a stone. Believe me, I've seen him put babes to work at his club. Children slaving away to pay off their parents' debts, no doubt."
"Why, that isdespicable." Her outrage found a target. What kind of man was this Gavin Hunt? How could he take such advantage of innocents? "He sounds like an utter villain!"
