“This is quite serious,” said Frederick, drawing their attention back to him. “Before his passing, Father made a number of poor investments and left us in a difficult position. If we have any hope of saving Dunsby Hall, drastic changes need to be made to the household accounts—”
Mother swiped a dismissive hand, her handkerchief fluttering. “Do not speak of finances, dearheart. It is ill-mannered.”
“I fear we must risk a bit of impropriety,” said Frederick, holding up the papers. “Our bills far outweigh our savings and income, and we must seize control of our spending if we hope to weather this. I consulted with Mr. Gleason—”
“You told someone of our troubles?” asked Timothy, straightening as his arms fell limp at his side.
Frederick sighed. “The steward is hardly ‘someone.’ And he already knew much of it—”
“But notallof it. You are making us fodder for the gossips,” he argued.
“Hush, Timothy,” said Phoebe with a frown. “Frederick requires Mr. Gleason’s guidance, and the fellow shan’t broadcast it about that the estate he manages is struggling.”
“Bankrupt,” corrected Frederick. That word rang through the room like a gong, and his family froze in place, their eyes fixed upon him. “There is nothing left in our accounts, and our debts are mounting higher each day. Since our income cannot be increased, we must cut our expenditures.”
No one said a word. Their gazes conveyed their shock and horror as clearly as any words, and Frederick supposed he ought to have delivered the news with more tact, but if it allowed him to speak without being interrupted every other word, then thank the heavens. It took long enough to explain the plan he and Mr. Gleason had concocted without their commentary.
“We still have a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, so we will be comfortable enough, but we must stop entertaining and keep our expenses to a minimum. We cannot waste a farthing on anything but the necessities,” said Frederick.
“But dinner parties are a necessity,” said Mama, her brows raising as she broke free of her stupor. “Once our mourning is completed, we will be expected to host events. People will notice if we do not. And if our gowns fall out of fashion, it shan’t be long before everyone will know the truth. We will be a laughingstock.”
“So be it,” he replied.
Glancing at her mother, Phoebe added, “I will happily give up my pin money and rework my gowns, but surely Mama has earned the right to live as she wishes. At her age… After all she has done… Should she go without?”
Forcing his tongue into obedience, Frederick refused to argue that Mother’s spending had contributed to this situation. Never in her life had she gone without, nor could anyone claim that she’d suffered greatly whilst in the care of her father or husband, as both had allowed her to spend to her heart’s delight.
“Everyone must work together if we are to weather this,” said Frederick in a heavy tone. “Even if all our grand plans and schemes come to fruition and fortune smiles upon us, ourdebts are still more than we can manage without significant alterations. Retrenching isn’t being overly cautious. It is necessary, and this is not a negotiation.”
Silence followed that pronouncement, and Frederick fought against the urge to break it. There was nothing more for him to say. There was no other option. No other course of action to take. Pretending otherwise would only extend their troubles and add to their burdens.
Mother abandoned her handkerchief in her lap, and her expression was vacant as though his words held no meaning, though Timothy and Phoebe’s complexions grew ashen. Her mouth hung slightly ajar, and there was a gleam in his brother’s eyes that said the fellow was furiously thinking through the matter.
“Surely it isn’t as bad as all that,” said Phoebe in a weak voice. “A bit of economy is wise, to be certain, but you speak as though we are on the verge of being destitute.”
Tucking his hands behind him, Frederick’s stomach clenched as he met his elder sister’s pleading gaze. “It is. And we are.”
Phoebe’s hand flew to her mouth, her pallor growing worse with each heartbeat.
“There is no need to be dramatic,” said Mother with a wave of her handkerchief. “We can take out a mortgage. Such things are common enough.”
“Father did so already—one that will take decades to pay off—and even if we wished to compound our troubles, I doubt anyone would give us another.” Turning his eyes to each of the three in turn, he added, “Mr. Gleason and I have exhausted all avenues, considered every option, and we cannot go on as we have. Our circumstances are greatly reduced.”
Another flutter of lace, and Mother rose to her feet, striding over to pat him on the cheek. “You’ll sort it out. I am certain of it.”
“I am trying,” he said, motioning to the list of expenditures. “And if we take these steps, we may weather these troubles—”
“There’s no need to keep speaking of money, my boy,” said Mother with a shake of her head, as though dismissing the whole discussion without further ado.
“Is it really that dire?” repeated Phoebe, her eyes fixed on her hands, which were clenched tight in her lap.
Mother huffed. “We needn’t borrow worry—”
“It is,” interrupted Frederick. “For all that I have a plan in place, the majority of our success rests on providence, and it has not been kind to our family of late.”
Rising with a curt nod, Phoebe strode from the room without looking at the others, her footsteps sharp and quick. For his part, Timothy remained draped across the armchair in a manner that ought to be impossible with the tight cut of men’s coats; he sat there for a long moment, considering his older brother, before getting to his feet and following after their sister.
Rubbing his forehead, Frederick turned to the parlor window. This view was finer than the study (or at least it was to his eye) for it opened to the pastures and rolling hills that surrounded Dunsby Hall. His family’s legacy. Generations of Vosses had lived on this land.
