“Am I?” Anger began to build, and it felt so much better than the pain. “Then why is her dowry so important that she would throw away all that I offered her? Why would she deny her own feelings for me which I thought she had? There is no reason.”
“I can tell you the reason, but you aren’t willing to hear it.”
The prevarication just riled him the more. “Come, Harewood. You’ve seen me angrier than this. Is it that you think I don’t want to know, or that you don’t want to tell? By Lady Amelia’s standards, I should be throwing you over for not telling me all this before.”
“Fine.” Harewood put his glass down and strode to within feet of him. “Listen carefully.”
“I always do.”
Harewood shook his head then sighed. “Lady Beaumont.”
“Lady Beaumont?” He stared, his fury lost for the moment.
“Yes, Lady Beaumont. She married so the Mabrys could keep the lifestyle they were accustomed to.”
He’d forgotten that Amelia had told him about her sister’s sacrifice. “But how do you know about that?”
“As I said, our parents are close. Lady Beaumont sacrificed herself for her family’s comfort. But that was only after the man she’d originally intended to marry died. I’m quite sure part of her died with him.”
“Yes, Lady Amelia told me. Lady Beaumont did what many women do, sacrificed her virginity so her family could live in comfort. It is horrendous, but what does that have to do with Lady Amelia?”
Harewood threw his hands up in disgust and walked away. Turning, he faced him. “Don’t you see? Amelia now sees herself as a sacrifice, only this time for your family.”
He frowned, not at all convinced by that logic. “That makes no sense.”
“Since when do women make sense?”
Something about Harewood’s assumption didn’t sit right. It was just as well. It was easier to believe Amelia heartless. His hopes for a future of loyalty and happiness had been dashed. Now all he was left with was to figure out how to save his family from poverty. He covered his face with his hands before running them through his hair. Arguing with Harewood wasn’t going to solve that dilemma and he had to focus on doing that immediately.
He started for the door.
“Where are you going?”
He halted and looked at Harewood over his shoulder. “Home. I have to try to save it somehow.”
“My offer is still—”
“No. I mean, thank you. I promise if I have no other choice but to sell Lyonsmere, I will come to you.”
“There’s always other women.”
He continued out the door, his friend’s suggestion causing his stomach to roil with a vengeance. The last thing he needed now was a woman.
—
Andrew added the columns up again. He would have to sell something. He stared at the figure. No, he’d have to sell more than just something. The question was what? The house in London would solve their problems, but how to explain that to his mother? Every authentic painting he owned might get them through the winter, but what then?
He rose from his desk, the need to take a walk urging him beyond his study, but it was frigid outside. Still, he found himself walking to the large window and staring out at the snow-covered ground. After three days of drinking and three days of sleeping, he’d finally woken up to a partially sunny morning ready to take on his responsibilities again.
He rubbed his chest. The ache remained, but he was powerless to make it stop. Would it ever go away? It was hard to imagine not loving Amelia. Maybe when she married. He shook his head, grimacing. Maybe when he married. The thought, as it had for the past sennight, made him physically sick. He just needed to stay focused on saving the Caufield estate without his mother any the wiser. For the hundredth time, a new anger at his father surfaced. It was selfish to blame everything on the former Lord Sommerset, especially because that was the reason he’d met Amelia in the first place. Then again, he’d be better off now if he’d never met her.
Turning back to his desk, he strode across the hardwood floor, his boots sounding a death knell in the room. When had he become so morbid? Sitting once again, he turned the pages of his ledger to review their assets. Unfortunately, there was little he could sell without it affecting his mother. He itched to tell her the truth, but her health, which had improved somewhat after he hired Mrs. Bolton for her, had slowly worsened again. He didn’t want to lose her so soon. It was times like this when he missed his father’s counsel. Harewood’s father still ran their estates, so Harewood would be of little help.
The Duke of Northwick had offered to share his plans, but that hadn’t happened and wouldn’t now. He should probably have a meeting with his solicitor to determine what could bring the most funds, what was easiest to sell, and then decide at that point. He looked up at the portrait of his father above the fireplace. “Why do I think you wouldn’t have changed your life even if you’d known what would happen?”
The portrait wasn’t even well done, so selling it would be of no use, but he definitely needed to move it. That might—
The door to his study opened and his mother strode in full of nervous energy. Nonchalantly, he closed the ledger and folded his hands on top of it. “Good afternoon, Mother.”
