A prickle of alarm raced through her.Was he married? Did he have children he’d abandoned? Or was it something worse? A fatal disease he’d picked up in France perhaps?
“I amnotas wealthy as people believe,” he said quietly.
She waited.Was that all?
When nothing more was forthcoming, and he held her fixed by his keen gaze, she nodded thoughtfully, which was far better than laughing with relief as she had nearly done.
Finally, she asked, “You’re not?” It was a tepid reply, but she could think of no other.
“I can tell you do not understand the import,” he told her.
Lifting a shoulder in a slight shrug, she said, “Fewer gold coins here or there hardly seems of great significance.”
“Brandy, Lord Mercer?” came her uncle’s voice from across the room.
Philip startled, his eyes widening for a second. Then he turned to his host.
“Yes, please. I would like that very much.”
In a minute, Philip held a glass of brandy, which first he sniffed before placing it before the lamp and inspecting the color as if were a fine jewel. Miranda accepted a glass of her aunt’s delicious ratafia, and they were left alone again.
“I am not speaking of a few gold coins,” he continued, and finally took a sip of the amber liquid. “It’s very good, thank you, sir,” he called over to his host.
“But not as good as mine,” he muttered to Miranda. “Regardless, if no one ever gets to taste it, then what is the point?” he asked, seemingly to himself.
Miranda could see he was battling with words. Then he looked at her again. “If I cannot bring my brandy over to Britain, I will lose my family’s estate. Is that of great enough significance?”
She gasped softly.
“I have already put everything I can into the brandy, its production, the casks, and a deposit with Waltham’s shipping company. I need to bring it over and sell it before I find myself on the rocks with pockets to let.”
Nearly bankrupt?Miranda could scarcely believe it.
“How did this happen?” she asked. After all, the Mercer barony was known to be a wealthy one.
“I left the wrong person in charge of my finances while I was away.”
“That’s terrible!” Suddenly a few things made sense, like Philip balking over the cost of her clothing and accessories for the Season.
“What’s terrible?” asked Helen coming upon them unexpectedly. “Was it my singing or your piano playing?”
“Neither,” Philip said, rising as a perfect gentleman. “Is it my turn to partner for cards? I believe Peter and I can beat anyone.”
Miranda watched him go. The notion that Miss Waltham could bring him down by stopping her family from honoring their shipping arrangement was disturbing, and knowing she also had a hand in it by aggravating her father did not sit well.
PHILIP FELT BETTER for having told someone his troubles. Having done it once, he almost wanted to unburden himself to Miranda’s cousin Peter, too, for the young man had good sense as well as clever ideas. From what Philip gathered, Peter had taken small money and grew it to where he could afford to move into his own home if he chose, all the while incapacitated in the country.
But keeping his own counsel, Philip went to bed like a well-behaved guest without attempting to find Miranda’s room at midnight. However, in the morning, he was happy to find her alone in the dining room with a book on the table where there was nothing yet laid out except a pot of tea and some toast in a rack.
“I was thinking...,” he began.
“I wanted to tell you...,” she said at the same time.
Philip smiled.
“Go ahead, Miss Bright, while I eat this delicious breakfast of cold toast.”
She laughed, a sound he’d missed and of which he was extremely fond.
