Kate looked at her aunt with real amusement. “Your brother? Oh, really. In all the past thirty-odd years, he never once even wrote to my mother, no less came to see her or invite her to stay with him. Nor have you heard anything from him, have you?”
Franny shook her head ruefully.
“Then do not be foolish. If he never had the courage to stand up to your father, or the energy to find you after your father was dead, where do you think he would find the strength to defy my brother or Farnsworth?”
“You may be right,” Franny conceded, “but then we could simply wait. It is only a matter of months before you are twenty-one. And once you are of age, once your brother can no longer touch you, I am sure Alice or Miranda would be pleased to take you to London, introduce you to the society you belong in.”
“The society I belong in?” Kate shook her head again, still laughing. “And what society is that, pray tell? My father was a viscount and my mother the daughter of a baronet, but I have never lived the life of the aristocracy, the life of the ton. I have not even lived the life of a gentlewoman. By a twist of fate, I can translate Greek and Latin, but I cannot speak French or play an instrument. I have mended many a sheet and darned stockings by the dozen, but I cannot embroider or do any sort of fancywork.” She held out her hands. “Look. Are these the hands of a lady?” They were not as rough and red as they had been when she arrived, but neither were they soft and lily white.
Franny held her niece’s hands and looked at her sadly. “But my dear, once you begin working in a shop, you will never be able to marry the sort of man you should wed, the sort of man you could love. Do you not want that?”
“I would not mind marrying if I could find someone like your Andrew, someone who loves me and whom I love. But I do not wish to be in a position where I must marry to have someone to support me, to protect me, to keep me safe. I want to be able to do that myself. Since I have inherited no fortune, I will be safe only if can support myself. Otherwise, I must always be at some man’s mercy. Now, Mr. Prufrock has said he will take me on as an assistant and teach me the business. Next January, when I am of age, he will sell me the shop, the stock and goodwill, for £500. Do you think we can sell the pearls for that much?”
“The pearls?”
“The necklace my mother gave me, the one your father sent her.”
“Ah.” Franny nodded, but she was not happy. “Kate, are you certain this is what you want to do?”
They both knew what she was asking. Did Kate really want to put an end to any possibility of a marriage with Ashleigh? Franny thought her heart would break at the look of pain that crossed Kate’s face.
“It is for the best. I am sure of it.” She sounded quite calm, but when Franny put a hand on her shoulder, she collapsed with her head on Franny’s shoulder, heaving heartbroken sobs. “Why does it have to be so hard?”
Franny led the girl to the settee and held her while she cried herself out. Eventually, Kate sat up, wiped her eyes with the handkerchief Franny handed her, and blew her nose.
“I must say, it would have been easier if I had never met him. Or if he had a wart on his nose.” Kate managed a wobbly smile.
“That’s my girl,” said Franny.
*
That evening, the two women sat across from each other at a small table in the parlor, the pearls spread out on a cloth between them. One might have expected them to view the necklace with delight, to try it on or to hold it up to see the way the pearls glowed in the candlelight. Instead, they seemed to view it with gloom.
Kate poked a finger at the loops of the necklace with as much trepidation as if she had been prodding a snake. Franny spread the double strand out into a circle. It was a large circle.
“Have you any idea how much they are worth?” asked Kate.
Franny shook her head. “No idea at all. Do you?”
Kate shook her head in turn. Then she laughed. “A fine lady I would make. I can put a price on a milk cow, or a fine fat pig, but I could not tell you if these things are worth £10 or £10,000. What are we to do?”
Franny frowned. “If we try to sell them ourselves, we will almost certainly be cheated. A jeweler will suspect right away that we do not know the true value, and he will be perfectly correct. Under ordinary circumstances, I would ask the duke for assistance.” She looked up and smiled wryly. “That would not, I collect, be a good idea in this instance.”
“No, it would not.” Kate gave a crooked grin.
“But I think a London jeweler is almost certain to give us a better price than a jeweler here in Lewes. Besides, I would not want the neighbors to be speculating on why we are suddenly selling jewelry.” She chewed on her lip as she considered options. “I really would not care to ask anyone in town for help. They are gossips, one and all.” Then she smiled. “But Mr. Bancroft has returned. I saw him in town yesterday. I’m sure he would be willing to help, and he frequently goes in to London.”
“He will not mind?” Kate looked uncertain.
“I am certain he will not. But…” She hesitated. “I think it would be best if we do not go to Kelswick. I will send a note and ask him to call on us here.”
*
Stephen Bancroft sat in his office next to the library at Kelswick staring out the window. It was raining, but he did not notice the drops blowing against the panes. It had been raining when he came in, but he had not noticed that his coat was damp. Sooner or later, he would notice that his feet were wet, but that had not happened yet. He was simply staring at nothing in particular.
He did not know what to do.
A year ago, this would have been an unusual state of affairs.
Now, it seemed almost chronic.
The trip to Longwood had left him in turmoil. It had been wonderful. It had been agony. He had seen Alice every day, been with her almost constantly. They had not simply done well together. There had been ease and comfort between them. She had no notion of his feelings, of course. He was certain he had given no hint. But traveling with her and Clara, dining with them—it was as if they were a family.
He had not thought he missed being part of a family. It was, after all, some twenty years since his parents had died and he had been deposited at Kelswick. No one had quite known what to do with him, so he had been handed over to the old steward to be his assistant. Yet he was still a cousin, and so had been on easy terms with Peter and Alice. They had all been friends.
They still viewed him as a friend, he thought. Or an older brother. The problem was that he found it impossible to think of Alice as a friend. Even more impossible to think of her as a sister.
He had brought them back to Kelswick, and he had helped her place advertisements for a new steward. She had asked him to help her with the interviews. She was planning to live there, and she needed a steward she could both talk to and trust. They needed to find someone quickly because the estate couldn’t be left with no one in charge for too long.
Then Alice and Clara would be moving to Longwood, leaving him behind.
Alone.
It was all impossible, of course. She was the daughter of a duke, the widow of an earl. He was, at most, the distant connection of a duke. Alice’s fourth cousin. He had worked it out one day. They shared a great-great-grandfather.
It was not that he was poor. He could easily afford to buy an estate of his own, though he had never felt it necessary to do so. Nothing like Kelswick—that was quite out of the question. But he could buy something like Longwood, and Alice had seemed as if she would be perfectly content on an estate like that.
Still, she had spent the years of her marriage moving in the highest circles of society, among people he did not know, people who would not be at all desirous of making his acquaintance. He could not ask her to turn her back on that world, or worse, to have that world turn its back on her. To have people pity her.
And now, there was this blasted necklace snaking along on his desk.
What was he supposed to do with it?
Why had they asked him to do this and not Peter? He would have thought Peter the logical one to ask—surely a jeweler would offer a far better price to a duke than to a steward, especially a wealthy duke who might be a future customer. Was there some reason? Yet they had not mentioned any need for secrecy. Should he discuss it with Peter?
He glared at the necklace as if it were the source of all his confusion.
Ashleigh came in just then, holding a sheaf of papers. Bancroft stood up and transferred his glare to the duke. He knew things had piled up a bit while he was away, but he had no wish to deal with his elegant cousin at the moment. His glare faded as he realized that Peter did not look his usual immaculate, assured self. In fact, he looked remarkably, unducally uncertain.
Before Bancroft could say anything about the duke’s mood, Ashleigh noticed the necklace and frowned. “You are buying pearls, Stephen? Who is the lady?”
Bancroft flushed and produced a slightly twisted smile. He did not care to think about Ashleigh’s reaction if he knew that the only lady he would wish to purchase jewels for was Ashleigh’s sister, who doubtless already owned far more jewels than he could ever offer. “No,” he said. “I have been asked to arrange for the sale of this necklace.”
Ashleigh’s frown deepened. “Alice is not selling her jewels, is she?”
“No, no,” Bancroft assured him. “Franny Darling and her niece asked me for assistance. This necklace belongs to Miss Darling, and she wishes to turn it into cash.”
“It belongs to Kate—Miss Darling?” Ashleigh picked it up and ran the pearls through his fingers. “It is very fine.”
Bancroft shrugged. “I am afraid I would not know. I thought I would take it to Rundell, Bridge & Rundell. It would have made more sense for them to ask you to take care of this. After all, you know the jewelers. I know you have made some purchases there, and they reset some of Alice’s jewels for her. Bridge will give me an honest price, will he not?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, yes. Honest enough, I am sure.” Ashleigh was still fingering the necklace. “Was she distressed at selling it? Miss Darling, I mean. Is it an heirloom perhaps?”
Bancroft looked at him curiously. “Distressed? Rather the opposite I would say. She said something about it representing so many mistakes. Then Franny said all that was in the past and best forgotten—that they needed to concentrate on the future.”
“She didn’t say why she wanted to sell?”
“No, and I did not care to ask. I wondered, of course. I was afraid perhaps Franny was in some sort of financial difficulties that she did not want anyone to know about. But Miss Darling would doubtless be willing to help her. Have you heard anything that might suggest Franny is in need of money?”
“No, not at all.”
“Or perhaps it is Miss Darling who needs the money. She may have inherited debts that she feels obliged to pay.”
Ashleigh was standing there, lost in thought, still holding the necklace.
Bancroft frowned at him. “Peter?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. I will come with you, I think. Yes. We can go into London tomorrow.”
“If you like. But Peter, why didn’t she just ask you to sell it for her? I don’t understand.”
The duke shook his head and walked away, still holding the necklace. Bancroft sat down again, with one more puzzle to fret over.
*
Ashleigh shut himself into the library and sat down behind the vast mahogany desk. He did not like the thoughts that were running through his head. The pearls continued to slither through his fingers. They represented mistakes to her, but whose mistakes? Hers? Her mother’s? Had this been the price of her mother’s honor? Or had it been the price of hers? She would never have sold herself, not knowingly, not Kate. But she was young, her mother had been ill for years, she was without a father to protect her. It would have been too easy for some villain to seduce her with lying words.
His hands tightened, strangling the pearls. Had the villain given her these to salve his conscience? Someday, he would discover his name, the blackguard who had stolen her future. He was a dead man.
She had not sold the pearls for luxuries, she had not even sold them when she was in need, yet she had no sentimental attachment to them. If anything, Stephen said, she seemed to have an aversion to them.
Because they were, for her, a reminder of shame?
Why was she selling them now?
The bookshop. Of course. That was it.
She wanted to buy Prufrock’s bookshop. She was selling them to provide her with a way to support herself in the future.
That was impossible, of course. It could not be permitted. Even if she simply owned the shop and did not work in it herself.
He realized that he was holding the pearls so tightly that he was in danger of breaking the thread. He slowly loosened his grip and laid the necklace carefully on the desktop. After all, it was not the necklace he wanted to strangle. It was the man who fathered her and then deserted her. It was the man who had stolen her innocence.
He had to find some way to make life easier for her, to give her the future she deserved.
The best way would be to find her a husband. He knew this was the best solution for her. There was no way to deny that. She needed a husband who would protect her, who could provide her with a secure position in the world. Her poverty did not matter. He could see to it that she had a dowry.
Alice would help him. If Kate appeared in London sponsored by the Duke of Ashleigh and the Countess of Talmadge—no, that would not work. He could not sponsor her. It would be far too awkward for both of them. She would never accept that. But Miranda…she liked Miranda and might accept her help.
If Kate were sponsored by the Countess of Talmadge and the Countess of Merton, suitors would be falling all over themselves in an effort to win her. She could not marry a title, of course, not with her questionable birth, but the world was full of younger sons, gentlemen, any of whom would be honored to have her for a wife. Honored? They would be delighted, eager. He could picture them slavering over her.
He was strangling the pearls again.
Chapter Thirteen
They left Kelswick early in the morning for the ride into London and made a brief stop at Ashleigh House to clean up and refresh themselves. In most establishments, an unexpected arrival of this sort would have sent the servants into paroxysms of accommodation, but not at Ashleigh House. True, the stable grooms were not entirely prepared for visitors, and there were some slight adjustments to be made. The straw in Hector’s stall was several days old and had to be replaced; a stall for Pippin, Bancroft’s gray, had to be prepared; and John Coachman was not perfectly satisfied with the gloss on the town carriage. Nonetheless, its team of four matched blacks had been exercised regularly and soon stood patiently in the square, awaiting the duke and his cousin.
Within, of course, under the watchful eye of Gregson, who had been butler at Ashleigh House for decades, everything was always prepared for all eventualities. Hot water was whisked to the duke’s room within minutes of his arrival, and a light collation soon followed. Since the duke’s own valet was still in Kelswick, Tompkins, a footman with aspirations who often valeted for visitors, was on hand to make sure the duke’s appearance was immaculate before he left the house. He gave Bancroft a good brushing as well.
As they walked down the stairs, Bancroft watched his cousin almost glide along, quickly yet without any hint of hurry, not hesitating as he approached the carriage, knowing that the steps would be lowered in time for him to ascend. He smiled slightly and wondered if Ashleigh had any idea how unusual his life was.
Probably not.
*
A short time later, they were ushered into a private room at Rundell, Bridge & Rundell by Mr. Bridge, a thin, self-effacing but sharp-eyed man, and offered a glass of Madeira. The heavy
velvet drapes over the windows muffled any noises from the street and the solid door shut out the front of the shop most effectively.
When the wine had been poured and biscuits offered and refused, Mr. Bridge felt it permissible to inquire, “How may I help you, Your Grace?” Although he usually knew what was in the offing when one of his customers requested a private interview, in this case, he was uncertain. The usual reason was a sudden need for money—gambling debts as often as not. But he had never heard any whispers about the Duke of Ashleigh’s gambling, nor any other hint that the duke might be having financial difficulties, and this was the sort of thing Mr. Bridge made it his business to know.
A request for privacy might also mean that the duke wished to purchase something for a lady and did not want anyone to know the identity of her benefactor. However, the duke was unmarried and buying gifts for a mistress would hardly qualify as scandalous. In addition, he had Mr. Bancroft with him. In Mr. Bridge’s experience, people who sought secrecy for embarrassing reasons did not bring along a witness.
Mr. Bridge was curious but managed to display no surprise when the duke drew a velvet bag from his pocket and poured a necklace of pearls onto the desk. He nodded and reached out with a finger to touch the pearls. He nodded again and looked up. “You wish to sell these, Your Grace?”
A slight smile lifted the corners of Ashleigh’s mouth. “No, at the moment, I merely wished to have the necklace valued.”
Mr. Bridge looked sharply at the duke, then nodded again. He picked up the two strands and let them slither through his fingers. They were large pearls, beautifully matched. The luster seemed excellent, but he needed a glass to examine them for flaws. “May I take this into my workshop, Your Grace?”
The duke waved a smiling permission.
It did not take long. Neither Ashleigh nor Bancroft had taken more than a sip or two of the wine before the jeweler returned and placed the necklace before the duke. “It is, as I am sure you know, of excellent quality. The pearls are remarkably large, well-matched and almost flawless. You inherited them?”
A Debt of Dishonor Page 15