The spinster and the wastrel (11 page)

"What about you?" she asked.

Wallace interposed. "Yes, what about my money?"

"I will think of something."

"You are already past due," the money-lender reminded him with menace in his voice.

"I know that."

"I will pay it," Annette said.

"What!" Both men stared at her in astonishment.

She, too, was astonished at her words. Why she had come to Sir Gerard's rescue, Annette did not know. Maybe it was because she always wanted to solve problems. Now was not the time to ponder her reasons.

With firmness in her voice, she repeated, "I will pay it. How much is the payment?"

"Miss Courtney, I cannot let you do this!" Sir Gerard exclaimed.

Wallace rubbed his hands together. "You are a most generous woman, Miss Courtney."

She ignored his flattery. "What is the payment amount?"

"Miss Courtney, these are my debts. They were debts of honor. I incurred them, and I borrowed the funds to repay them. You cannot pay them for me."

She lifted her eyebrows at him. "Betting, Sir Gerard?"

"Yes, if it matters."

"It only matters if you do not oppress your people to repay them."

His lips curled. "You always have the right answer, don't you, Miss Courtney?"

"In this case, I also happen to have the money," she replied. There was a tightness about her chest as if her lungs were clamped in a carpenter's vise. Sadness overlay her soul. It hurt to realize he was the wastrel his uncle had named him, but practicalities summoned her attention.

She turned to the money-lender. With her back to the baronet, she arranged to send Wallace to the solicitor's office for the draft of the payment owed.

"Thank you, Miss Courtney. It has been a pleasure doing business with you." Wallace bowed low in farewell to her. Then he strolled away, obviously well pleased with himself.

"I hope I need never encounter that unpleasant man again," Annette said, watching him go to make certain he truly departed.

In the ensuing silence, Silver Shadow stamped his hoof, as if recalling his master to the grooming that was not finished.

"I will pay you back," Sir Gerard promised.

"I expect you to do so." She looked him straight in the face. "But not on the backs of your tenants. Those rent increases must be dropped."

He nodded. "They will be. I can live on the regular quarter rents."

"And repay me?"

His fingers played with the horse's mane. "Yes. It just will not be the life I expected as Baronet Westcourt."

She bit back the words, telling him that life seldom was lived as expected. Her purpose was accomplished; she did not need to moralize to him. "Shall I spread the word that the rents will not be increased?"

"I will do it."

"The news will ease their worries."

His voice was quiet. "You are quite the ministering angel, aren't you, Miss Courtney?"

"I only try to do what is right." Although never before had duty brought with it such a sense of dragging disappointment. She shook herself free from her melancholy thoughts. "Thank you for reducing the rents. I must leave to instruct Mr. Keller to write that draft."

"Actually, it is I who thank you—from the bottom of my heart."

The sincerity and embarrassed gratitude she heard in his voice tugged at her heart. He stood before her with one hand resting on his horse's back. His white shirt was open at the neck, and bits of straw clung to his knees. Even with his hair in disarray, he was a well-favored man in appearance. But only in looks. Today's encounter showed he was, in fact, a wastrel.

With a deepening sense of disappointment, she wrenched her gaze away from him and hurried out into the stable yard, heading for home. At her speed, the ruts in the road staggered her balance, but she pressed on. She had kept searching and searching for proof that the baronet was the profligate his uncle had named him, and now she had found it. The fact brought her no joy.

A money-lender. That was what Wallace was despite calling himself a financier. Further, Sir Gerard's gambling had brought him into the man's clutches.

The baronet was a very clever man, Annette had to grant him that. He disguised his proclivity well. Although she had watched sharply, she had never spotted him at the Assembly card rooms nor heard a whisper of any bets placed by him in Upper Brampton village.

She had even begun to believe Sir Nigel had wronged his nephew. No longer! Her eyes were opened. Sir Nigel had done the right thing when he bequeathed the fortune to her. She shuddered at how it would have been wasted in his nephew's hands.

She must never let him get his hands on it. She knew her duty.

Ghaptei (SigAt

The feeling of relief, of disaster averted, still pervaded Sir Gerard the next morning. He knew his debt to the money-lender continued to be owed, yet such a heavy weight of worry had lifted that the sharp edge of reality was banished to the boundaries of fantasy. He now had the luxury of time.

Out for his morning ride, he felt truly master of his future. That the future remained uncertain did not encroach upon his light heart. With exhilaration he raced Silver Shadow down the roads, periodically whooping just to hear his voice among the trees and across the meadows.

Then he leisurely dined alone at a late breakfast, exuding goodwill toward the world in general. Linton had left after requesting the use of the carriage. Sir Gerard presumed he meant to call upon some of the neighbors, but he did not concern himself overmuch about it.

The butler entered with a card upon his silver salver. "A man here to see you, sir."

Sir Gerard had the first inkling of trouble at the sight of that white paper and at Newton's lack of reference to a gentleman. He picked up the card. Mortimer Wallace, fin-

ancier. Instantly his pleasant illusions shattered before living reality. He would have to receive the man.

Setting down his suddenly tasteless jam-covered toast, he asked, "Where is he?"

"I put him in the drawing room, sir."

This time when Sir Gerard entered the formal receiving room, he noticed the money-lender had not made himself at home. Instead, the man stood in the center of the Oriental rug, impatiently tapping a walking stick against his leg.

"I am surprised to see you here," Sir Gerard said. "I thought our business was settled."

"Yes, the spinster paid the first installment of your loan, but you still owe the balance."

A chill filled Sir Gerard. "I am aware of that."

"Are you aware that it is the full amount which is due?"

"The payment was made!" Sir Gerard exclaimed. "The next one is not due until the end of February."

Wallace stopped tapping his stick. "I see I was wise to stop here on my way back to London. You are under a serious misapprehension, sir."

One eyebrow raised in silent question as inwardly Sir Gerard waited for the blow to fall. "Explain yourself."

"Indeed." Wallace nodded slightly. "When I last visited you, I told you the whole loan amount was due."

"That was only because you feared the first payment would be missed."

"It was missed. It was late by a couple of weeks." The man shook his head. "I cannot allow such delays in my business. Time is money."

Sir Gerard kept his temper in check. Through clenched teeth, he said, "I regret the wait."

"I do, too. I am calling the entire loan due. You are too great of a credit risk for me."

"What? How can I pay off the entire amount now? You know it is impossible!"

"I admit you just made a payment on your account, and I am willing to be a reasonable man." He paused to study the tip of his walking stick. "I will agree to allow you a two-week extension from today to repay me the balance."

"Only two weeks!"

Wallace looked up directly into Sir Gerard's eyes. The baronet nearly stepped backwards at the coldness in the man's gaze. No mercy or understanding flickered in those dark depths. In their lack of humanity, the man's glare reminded him of the unblinking stare of a snake.

"Yes, two weeks," the money-lender repeated. "It would be wise of you, Sir Gerard, if your payment was not late again. I dislike being required to remind debtors of what is owed. It can become quite ... physical."

With that warning, Wallace bowed and left, leaving Sir Gerard standing in stunned dismay. His breakfast toast weighed heavily in his stomach. With stiff, jerky movements he made his way to a chair and sank into it. He stared out the window at the broad expanse of lawn surrounding Hathaway Hall. Unlike earlier this morning, the sight did not raise his spirits.

His spirits and his future were both shipwrecked. He could not pay the balance. Not in two weeks. Not even in a month. Perhaps with careful managing, he could pay his debt off according to the original agreed upon schedule. But not in two weeks.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to think of what to do. Briefly he considered the card tables. He had about five pounds upstairs. It would barely provide one

stake. If the cards were not dealt in his favor, he would have nothing left. But still the chance tempted him. Could he parlay five pounds into the seven hundred and fifty he owed within two weeks?

He doubted it, but he would try. And he would continue his campaign to regain his fortune.

Annette found the weekly Wednesday night Assemblies to be far more enjoyable than ever before. She liked the attention paid to her. She liked having a partner for every dance. She even liked wearing the pretty gowns Lucille had insisted upon.

She would not admit, to herself or anyone else, that she liked meeting Baronet Westcourt. Somehow, the evening never sparkled until she spotted his arrival. He seldom missed a week.

Tonight she kept a sharp eye out for him, but without the same sense of breathless anticipation as last week. After the meeting with the money-lender yesterday afternoon, disillusionment weighed her down. She had begun to believe Sir Nigel wrong about his nephew. The old miser had not been a pleasant person, and she had started to like the new heir.

But it appeared the uncle had correctly named Sir Gerard a wastrel.

She flinched at the memory of her realization in the stable. Determined to put it behind her, she plied her fan vigorously and attempted to pay attention to her partner's conversation.

Until she spotted Sir Gerard.

He must have just arrived, for his friend Mr. Robert Linton was still by his side, not yet caught up in the gaiety of the dances. Now that her eyes were opened to Sir

Gerard's true nature, she studied him, looking for those signs of dissipation her previous examinations apparently overlooked.

The baronet appeared magnificent in his London-tailored evening clothes. The black coat and white shirt with its intricate cravat showed none of the wear she would have expected a wastrel to need to conceal. Certainly such a man would not be able to afford to keep up the evening style Sir Gerard displayed. His debts would be too high. Of course, there was always the moneylender.

She sighed, wishing the picture thus presented were the true man and not a facade.

Her partner, Mr. Alfred Deschamps, mistook her sigh. "I knew your tender heart could not resist the appeal of my four children who so need a mother. In fact, I always admired your devotion to your own invalid mother. It showed how strongly you do your duty."

With a start, Annette realized this was the prelude to another marriage proposal. Where once she had longed for even one offer, the current inundation now wearied her. "Speak no further, Mr. Deschamps," she said, tapping her fan on his lips to halt the flow of words. Lately she had become quite practiced at these flirtation techniques. Except she did not care about coquetry and removed the fan.

"But you have not heard what I have to say—"

To herself she thought, / have already heard every other man say it. Aloud, she said, "I will not be able to give you the answer you seek."

Mr. Alfred Deschamps tugged at his graying sideburns. "Is there someone else? I heard no mention of any interest."

Annette took no offense at the fact that her life was a

subject of the local gossip mongering. She had lived in Upper Brampton too long not to know discussion of others' doings was one of the chief entertainments. Lately, her life must have provided much grist for the mill.

"No, there is no one else," she told him. Yet her eyes strayed involuntarily towards where the baronet still stood.

His gaze was focused in the direction of the card room. A sense of trepidation filled Annette. More debt could cause the rents to be raised. She could not be forever rescuing him from the consequences of his folly, or else she might as well hand the whole fortune over to him at once instead of doling it out piecemeal.

With a hastily polite farewell to Mr. Deschamps, Annette disengaged herself from his attentions and headed towards Sir Gerard. With his brows drawn together, a look of concentration filled his face. He directed his gaze towards the card room and did not notice her bearing down upon him.

Mr. Robert Linton did. He stepped forward to greet Annette. "Good evening, Miss Courtney. I am so pleased to see you. If this dance is free, I would like to be your partner."

She feared the direction of the baronet's look and resolved to thwart his plans. "Actually, I had saved it for your friend."

Taken aback, Linton blinked. "I say. Perhaps then you'll join me for a carriage ride tomorrow?"

The request was obviously the first thing that had popped into his head, but Annette did not care. "Certainly, Mr. Linton. I would enjoy it." She waited expectantly for the baronet to speak.

Linton nudged him. With a start, Sir Gerard suddenly

seemed to become aware of her presence and bowed in greeting. "Good evening, Miss Courtney."

She smiled as she curtsied in response.

"Aren't you going to ask her to dance?" Linton suggested.

Sir Gerard cast a quick glance at the card room before offering her his arm. "Of course, I am. May I have the honor of this dance?"

Her smile became fixed as determination filled her. He was not going to play cards that evening. "Certainly, sir."

She placed her hand upon his arm and joined him in the dance. It was a set of lively country dances. Temporarily she forgot his intentions as she gave herself up to partnering a masterful dancer. He never missed a step. If she momentarily stumbled, he smoothly caught her up and kept the rhythm of the dance unabated. Yet, his confidence increased her own. Her mistakes became few, and she matched him step for step. When he grinned at her, she smiled back, ready to laugh at any quip he might speak, but the pace of the dance was too fast for conversation.

All too soon the music ended, and the merriment she felt towards him dispersed. She remembered her purpose.

Fortunately, the lively country dance gave veracity to Annette's breathless request to sit the next one out. Sir Gerard led her to a small alcove where they could speak privately.

Once they were seated, he eyed her with one brow raised. "Now that we are private, perhaps you would wish to tell me what is on your mind."

His directness startled her and then pleased her. She preferred the open approach. "Because of yesterday, I feared you might be tempted into the card room."

His lips curved. "You intended, therefore, to save me from myself?"

This speech was more direct than she expected from him, but Annette responded to it. "Yes, I did."

"Have you ever seen me gambling, Miss Courtney?"

"No, but I remember what Sir Nigel said."

Sir Gerard reminded her, "My uncle was not the most accurate judge of character."

'True, but then I met the money-lender."

He stiffened. The last of the camaraderie she felt with him during the dance disappeared. "Wallace's presence changed everything, didn't it?"

"He is evidence that is hard to overlook," she acknowledged carefully.

"Were you looking for evidence?"

Now it was her turn to shift uncomfortably on her chair. "I did not want to find it."

Briefly he studied her. She forced herself to meet his gaze. What he sought from her, she did not know. She had not wanted to find the wastrel in a man she had begun to admire. It hurt to find the flaw.

"Now that you believe my uncle's assessment, what would you have me do?"

She leaned forward and grasped his arm, hardly aware of doing so, until she felt its firmness beneath her fingers. The strength he had so recently used to guide her on the dance floor. A strength not gained through hours of card playing. Again he confused her, but she clung to her purpose.

"Do not go into the card room," she begged. "Do not bet again. You will only end up in that money-lender's clutches again."

Making no move to withdraw his arm, he asked, "Since

you believe me to be a wastrel, why does it bother you so if I gamble?"