Elizabeth Mansfield (7 page)

The one good thing about one’s life being all to pieces was that it couldn’t become much worse. It was with that sense of having struck rock bottom that Lord Kittridge presented himself at Mr. Jennings’s office on Monday morning. He’d dressed himself in one of his new shirts and a coat just delivered from Nugee’s (all purchased in the few happy days before he’d discovered what his situation was), and he’d stiffened himself for the interview to come by taking a swig of rum, something he’d never before done in the morning. His valet, Loesby, who’d been his batman in service, came upon him while he was in the act and didn’t hesitate to voice his disapproval. “Since when, Cap’n, was ye in the ’abit of tipplin’ in secret? An’ in the a.m., too!”

“Stubble it, Loesby,” his lordship had snapped. “You’ll be tippling, too, I’ll be bound, when I have to give you notice.”

The valet had ignored the threat and merely brushed off the lapel of his lordship’s new coat. “Ye kin gi’ me all the notice ye want. Do ye think I’d be lettin’ ye send me off when yer swimmin’ in low tide? But we was speakin’ of
ye
, not me. I was about t’ say, Cap’n, that this is the worst time fer ye t’ take t’ drink, if ye was t’ ask me.”

“I’m not asking you, you muckworm. One swallow of rum doesn’t mean I’m taking to drink. And you’d better start thinking about finding yourself a new post. You can’t stay with me if I can’t pay you.”

“I kin stay so long as ye ’ave a kitchen where I kin scrounge a meal, so there ain’t no use in threatenin’ me,” the valet had retorted, throwing his lordship’s greatcoat on his shoulders and pushing him through the door. “Good luck with yer man of business. I’ll tell ’er ladyship ye’ll be back in time fer tea, so don’t dawdle.”

Lord Kittridge was ushered into Mr. Jennings’ office by an obsequious clerk who took his greatcoat and immediately withdrew. Kittridge, in the act of placing his hat, gloves and cane on a side chair, suddenly noticed that his man of business was not alone. Sitting on a high-backed leather chair at the right of Jennings’ massive desk was a small-boned, thin-faced, bespectacled little man with a mass of curly auburn hair. Kittridge started in surprise. “I beg your pardon, Jennings,” he said. “I seem to have intruded. Your clerk didn’t tell me you were engaged.”

“No, no, my lord,” Jennings said, rising, “you don’t intrude. This is Mr. Oliver Chivers, whom I’ve taken the liberty to consult on your behalf. He is a renowned expert in investments and financial dealings. With your permission, I’d like to invite him to sit in on this meeting. I can assure you that he will be as discreet about your situation as a clergyman, and he may have some useful advice for us.”

“Of course he can sit in,” Lord Kittridge agreed as Mr. Chivers rose. “If Mr. Chivers is acquainted with my situation, he must know that I can use all the advice I can get.”

The two men shook hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet ye, my lord,” Chivers said, presenting Kittridge with his card. “I’ve ’eard ye spoken of for many years, and always in the most admirin’ of terms.”

“Thank you,” Lord Kittridge said as the three men took seats, “but as you’ll soon discover, I deserve very little admiration in matters of finance.”

“Well, a man can’t be expected to be expert in everythin’,” Chivers said pleasantly. “And since this muddle ain’t of yer makin’, my lord, there’s no blamin’ ye.”

Mr. Jennings, meanwhile, leafed through a pile of papers and folders in front of him. “I’m afraid we must begin with some additional bad news, my lord,” he murmured, “for I’ve discovered some other debts. Your load of troubles has been augmented, I’m sorry to say, by your sister’s situation. It appears that Lord Yarrow left some debts of his own. He dabbled in stocks, you see, and the timing of his death was particularly unfortunate. There was a large drop at the Exchange at just that time, and—”

“Good God!” Kittridge exclaimed, his mouth going tense. “What does that mean for Lady Yarrow, exactly?”

“It means that the new Lord Yarrow has used the fact of the debts as an excuse to cut Lady Yarrow’s already meager income even further. Leaving you that much less with which to support the family.”

Lord Kittridge put his hand to his forehead. Would this series of blows never end, he wondered? This last blow seemed like the back-breaking straw. The total of the family’s indebtedness was more than twenty thousand pounds. And with the estates encumbered, there was no income with which he could even start to pay them. Meanwhile, current expenses were accumulating at what seemed to him a staggering rate, with only his army half-pay coming in. Kittridge had no idea what to do or where to turn. He found himself at a complete loss. Even this meeting was turning out to be a disaster. What good was it to learn that he was even deeper in a hole than he’d thought?

He dropped his hand and looked from Mr. Chivers to Mr. Jennings in bewilderment. “Under these circumstances, Jennings, I don’t see why you’ve brought in Mr. Chivers. What good is an expert on investments when there isn’t anything to invest?”

“Come, come, my lord, don’t lose ’eart so soon,” Mr. Chivers urged, leaning back in his chair. He propped his elbows on the arms and pressed the fingers of his two hands together. He was silent for a moment while he examined Lord Kittridge from over the tops of his spectacles. “I’ve gone over the figures with Mr. Jennings quite carefully, an’ I ’ave some suggestions. A very few, I admit, for I’ll tell ye without roundaboutation that y’re in a devil of a coil.”

“Yes,” his lordship said dryly, “I’ve gathered that. So you
have
some suggestions?”

“A few. But you won’t like any of ’em.”

“If they can help me dig my way out of this hole, I’ll like them well enough,” the impoverished viscount assured him.

“Then let’s see.” Chivers took a pad from the desk alongside him and studied the figures jotted down on it. “If ye sell out everythin’, the Suffolk property, the Lincolnshire estate an’ the London ’ouse, ye’ll come out with a small balance. Enough to provide ye with a modest income.”

“How modest? Where could we live?”

“Not in London, I fear. A country cottage somewhere in the north, per’aps. But the family wouldn’t starve.”

“A country cottage, out of all society? That would be a drastic adjustment for my family to make. My mother and sister would be miserable in such straitened circumstances. It would be too radical a change for them, I fear. Have I any other options?”

“The other suggestion I ’ave is more risky, but the results could be, in time, a bit more promising. If ye sold the Suffolk lands an’ the London ’ouse, ye could pay off some of the encumbrances on the Lincolnshire property. It’s not as vast an estate as the Suffolk lands, from what I see ’ere, but it could begin to bring in an income if ye managed it well. Ye’d not be able to clear yerself of debt all at once, but with economical living, in a few years it could be done, and at least that one estate’d be yours once
more. At first, ’owever, there’d be very little income remainin’ after the existin’ mortgage payments. Less, even, than the income would be if ye sold everythin’. ’Ere, these are my projections, based on Jennings’s estimate of the estate’s worth.”

Kittridge looked them over, his brow furrowed with worry. “I would like to earn back Highlands more than anything. But I know nothing of estate management. Do you think I could learn—?”

“I don’t see why not. If ye ’ired a proper land agent, studied land use and enclosure methods, worked ’ard and kept yer womenfolk from spending the profits on fripperies—”

Kittridge sighed. “Aye, there’s the rub. How can one teach economy to women who’ve never thought about it in all their lives?”

“Necessity is a good teacher, my lord. If they ’ave to learn it, they will.”

His lordship bit his lip thoughtfully. His sister and brother might learn, but his mother, never. And how would they manage during the early years, before the encumbrances were paid off? The family would be forced to live in even greater straits than in a cottage, for there would be less income available. It was a gloomy future he had to offer his family. His heart lay heavy in his breast. Neither of the two choices gave him much hope. “Thank you, Mr. Chivers, Mr. Jennings,” he said glumly. “I shall think over what you’ve told me.”

Mr. Jennings leaned across the desk toward the consultant. “Don’t you think, Mr. Chivers, that you should tell his lordship about the third option you mentioned?” he asked.

Chivers shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know, Jennings. It’s a bit awkward. And ’is lordship doesn’t seem to be the sort who—”

Kittridge, who was already pulling on a glove, looked at the financier curiously. “How can you tell what sort I am, Mr. Chivers? I don’t even know myself. What is it you’re hesitating to suggest to me?”

Mr. Chivers peered at the fellow from over his spectacles. “It’s not a pretty suggestion, I fear,” he ventured.

“I am not in a pretty situation. Go ahead, man. Say what is on your mind.”

“Very well.” Mr. Chivers lowered his eyes to his fingers. “I take it ye ain’t married, my lord?”

“No. Why do you ask? What has my marital status to say to anything?”

Mr. Chivers removed his spectacles and began to polish the lenses with his pocket handkerchief with great deliberation. “Because the fact that y’re a bachelor gives ye one more option.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“Marriage, my lord. There’s a great many wealthy men of industry who’d provide very ’andsome dowries for their daughters if those dowries brought—forgive my bluntness, my lord—a title into the family.”

Kittridge stared at him. “Let me make sure I understand you, Chivers. Are you saying that any nobleman whose pockets are to let can arrange a lucrative marriage just on the basis of his
title
!”

“Exactly so. It’s been done a number of times. Ye must surely ’ave ’eard of such alliances.”

“No. I’ve been away for years. And even before my soldiering days I didn’t pay much heed to social gossip.”

“Well, ye may take my word that such marriages ain’t uncommon. The cases I’m familiar with seemed to ’ave worked out well enough. The Staffords of Lancashire, for example, restored their entire estate by this very sort of an arrangement.”

“Indeed?” Kittridge’s eyebrows lifted sardonically. “What a mercenary time we seem to be living in, to be sure.” He drew on his other glove and rose proudly from his seat. “I appreciate your advice, Mr. Chivers, but as far as this last option is concerned, I’m not interested. My title is the only thing I have left that is unencumbered. I don’t think I care to put it up for sale.” He picked up the papers from
Jennings’s desk and walked swiftly to the door. “Good day, gentlemen. Thank you for your time. When I make up my mind about what to do, Jennings, I’ll call on you again.”

Mr. Jennings, his mouth pursed in perturbation, jumped to his feet. “No offense meant, your lordship,” he muttered, hurrying to see his client out.

“None taken,” his lordship replied generously, although a wrinkle of annoyance still creased his brow.

The clerk came in with his lordship’s greatcoat, and an awkward silence filled the room as he helped Kittridge on with it.

“Some titles,” Mr. Chivers remarked just as his lordship stepped over the threshold, “‘ave brought their owners a veritable fortune.”

Lord Kittridge stopped short. “Oh?” he asked coldly over his shoulder, his curiosity warring with his pride. “And how much do you think
my
title would be worth?”

“Enough to pay off yer debts and clear the encumbrances from yer Lincolnshire estate, at least.”

The sardonic expression on Kittridge’s face changed to sincere surprise. He turned round slowly. “As much as
that
?” he asked.

“As much as that,” Chivers said firmly.

Kittridge stared at him for a long moment. Then he came in and closed the door behind him. “Good God, man,” he exclaimed, “we’re speaking of a dowry that would have to be in the neighborhood of
forty thousand pounds
!”

“Yes, I know.” Chivers gave an indifferent shrug. “I think I can assure ye of forty thousand.”

Kittridge blinked. “I can’t believe that someone would pay such a sum just so that his daughter could call herself a viscountess.”

“You gentlemen who’re born to the purple take yer titles lightly,” Mr. Chivers answered calmly. “Only those for whom a title is inaccessible know its real value. Like ice in the tropics, if ye catch my meanin’.”

“Mr. Chivers is right, my lord,” Jennings put in earnestly. “There’s many a captain of industry who would pay handsomely to have a nobleman grace his family tree. And many a needy nobleman has made the bargain. It isn’t at all a new idea. And not necessarily a bad one, either.”

Kittridge slowly removed his gloves and walked back toward the desk where the little financier was still sitting. “Are you saying, Chivers, that you have a definite offer for me?” He leaned against the desk and bent toward Chivers challengingly. “That you have someone specific in mind?”

Chivers couldn’t meet that level look. “I ’ave several wealthy clients who’d be interested,” he equivocated, shoving his glasses up on his nose and dropping his eyes.

“But no one in particular?” Kittridge pressed, his curiosity aroused.

“Well,” Chivers murmured, “I suppose I may as well be partic’lar. After all, that’s the real reason I’m ’ere.” He stood up, took a deep breath and looked the viscount squarely in the eye. “Y’ see, yer lordship, I myself ’ave a daughter …”

Chapter Eight

Lord Kittridge, though he’d listened to Mr. Chivers’ impertinent suggestion with fascination, did not for a moment give that suggestion serious consideration. The idea of selling himself and his title in exchange for a dowry—no matter how large—filled him with repugnance. Such a solution to his problem struck him as not only too easy and too vulgar but almost corrupt. There was something debauched, he felt, about any man who would consider such a plan.

Thus, having rejected that idea out of hand, he was left with only two choices for his family’s future: either to sell everything and live in unaccustomed modesty on the income of the sale for the rest of their lives; or to sell all but the Lincolnshire estate and try to endure near-poverty for a few years in the hope that he could eventually coax a profit from that encumbered and thus far unproductive property. Neither of the two plans offered him anything pleasant to tell his family.