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Was she supposed to say something?

What had he said?

Ah, yes. Something about getting straight to the point.

“Of course, my lord.”

“Lieutenant Masterson’s estate is bankrupt,” he announced succinctly.

Mercy couldn’t prevent the small, startled gasp that slipped past her lips, which had parted at his blunt statement.

Bankrupt?

How was that possible?

“This house, its contents, any livestock or cattle, everything will need to be sold to pay his creditors.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mercy managed on a croak.

“Masterson mortgaged this house to its stately dormers,” Lord Ronan said as smoothly as if he was discussing the weather. “Due to several unwise investments, he was insolvent at the time of his death.”

Tappity-tap. Tappity-tap. Tappity-tap.

He drummed his fingertips atop the desk, little finger to index to forefinger in quick succession.

A nasty thought wiggled its way into her mind. Had his lordship hoped to be the guardian of a wealthy, flourishing estate so he might prosper from his new position?

Many guardians did just that.

Oh, merciful heavens.

Why hadn’t that thought occurred to Mercy before?

She hadn’t known the lieutenant’s financial status was so dire. She’d presumed he had funds in a bank and that Lord Ronan would utilize those monies to settle the debts she wasn’t authorized to pay.

But Ronan had admitted to accepting the official appointment of guardianship. Now he acknowledged he was being saddled with the financial responsibility of Arabelle and Bellamy as well.

Did he resent the added obligation?

At last, she summoned her fortitude. “I see.”

What did he expect her to say or do?

Would the girls’ possessions also be sold?

She’d heard of such cases. Every item was carefully recorded in a ledger along with its worth right down to children’s toys and undergarments.

A bit of the starch went out of her spine at the next unwanted thought.

Would Lord Ronan have the funds to repay her wages?

In truth, she was willing to forgo compensation for a time until Arabelle and Bellamy settled into their new lives. After that, depending on the circumstances, she’d look at her options.

His lordship leaned back, one hand on the desk, idly playing with the quill’s feather. He ran his callused thumb back and forth, back and forth across the stiff barbs. “I understand that there are five staff remaining in addition to yourself?”

“No, my lord.” Mercy met his gaze without cringing. “Three more resigned their positions last week. All who remain are the cook, Mrs. Deborah Stanley, and the estate gardener who is also acting as a stable hand at present, Felix Norman. They are of an age where it will be difficult for them to find new positions.”

Mercy had presented that fact as delicately as possible. She’d fretted about the elderly servants too. They weren’t likely to find new positions at their age, and if Lieutenant Masterson’s estate was bankrupt, there were no monies for pensions.