There it was again—the excuse that the upper class lived by different rules. Different needs. Different choices.
Not better, Gordon noted. Just different. “I can appreciate that you take financial matters into account when you marry, Robbie.” Indeed, he’d written enough marriage settlements to know that he certainly wasn’t alone in that. “But what I don’t understand is why a man as wealthy as you feels the need to get more money by such means.”
Robbie’s shoulders slumped as he let out his breath in a long sigh and sank wearily onto the sofa.
“Then I’ll explain so that you can,” he said, all pretence of pride or vanity gone. He was much more like the Robbie Gordon remembered as he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I’m not rich. My family hasn’t been rich for years and I’m in debt up to my ears.”
Gordon simply couldn’t believe it. “But your family…this house… How is that possible?”
“I wasted my fair share of the family purse in my youth,” Robbie admitted, “because like you and everybody else, I thought my family had plenty of money. Then my father died and I discovered he’d lost most of our family fortune gambling—cards and investments that were bound to fail. The pater clearly had no head for business and could be talked into almost anything. While my mother was alive, she managed to save him from total ruin, but after her death…” He shrugged. “My father had no one to stop him, so this estate and all our other property is mortgaged to the hilt, and we owe a fortune in other debts, too.”
This wasn’t the first time Gordon had heard of a family discovering that they’d been left deeply in debt. Widows especially were often shocked and dismayed to learn the extent of their husband’s debts and financial obligations.
And when he considered how freely Robbie had spent money in their youth, it became easier to believe that things could be as grim as he described.
Gordon got up and walked to the window. Out in the garden, three men were trimming a hedge. Another was weeding one of the beds.
This huge house, the town houses, the servants, Robbie’s clothes, food and drink… “How are you paying for everything now?” he asked as he turned toward his friend again.
“Credit. Most of my creditors think they’re the only one I’ve borrowed from.” His elbows on his knees, he covered his face with his hands. “It’s a nightmare keeping everything straight in my head because I don’t dare write it down. How much I’ve borrowed from this one, how much from another. And when, and when they’re due.” He raised haunted eyes to look at Gordon. “I can’t sleep, can barely eat. I’m desperate, Gordo—so desperate I’ve even thought of running off to America.”
“Instead you decided to marry Lady Moira?”
Despite Robbie’s obvious distress, it shouldn’t have fallen to Lady Moira or her father or anyone else to repay the debts of the McStuarts, even if marrying for money wasn’t exactly a new or innovative way for men of any class to recover from a financial loss.
His head hanging like that of a defeated general who sees his troops marching to slaughter, Robbie clasped his hands. “God, no. Not exactly, or I would have proposed to that horse-faced daughter of Lord Renfield after my father died.”
He rose and came to stand in front of Gordon. “While I don’t deny I was pleased Moira’s dowry was considerable, that wasn’t the only reason I wanted to marry her. I truly cared for her, Gordon. She’s a rather remarkable woman—but stubborn and biased and too straitlaced, obviously. If only she’d been born into the title, instead of having it thrust upon her when she was already grown, she wouldn’t have been so upset when she heard about those girls and we’d still be getting married and all my problems would be solved.”
While Lady Moira’s would be just beginning.
“There must be something else you can do,” Gordon said, trying to come up with solutions that didn’t involve the sacrifice of a woman’s happiness.
“If there is, I’m damned if I know what it might be,” Robbie replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “The only people who will make a loan to me now are the kind who charge exorbitant rates and hurt you if you miss a payment.”
“I have some money put away that I could—” Gordon began.
“I’d rather marry an actual horse than take your money,” Robbie interrupted. “I know how hard you work for it.”
“I’m your friend, Rob, and friends help each other.”
Robbie went back to the whiskey decanter and poured himself another drink. “You are helping, by representing me.” He glanced sharply at Gordon as he lifted the glass. “Or are you saying you won’t do that anymore?”
“No, that’s not what I’m proposing,” Gordon swiftly replied. Not exactly. Even though he would rather not take on such a suit as this, he wasn’t going to abandon his friend. “Given that Lady Moira isn’t willing to settle, this case could drag on for quite some time. We can continue the suit if you like, but surely it would be better to find another way to raise the necessary funds in a swifter fashion.”
“I suppose I could propose to Lord Renfield’s daughter,” Robbie said with a frown after taking a sip of whiskey. “She’d accept, I’m sure, in spite of the fact that Moira jilted me.” He gave Gordon a sardonic grin. “The last time her family visited here, when my father was still alive and I was a mere stripling of seventeen, I found her waiting in my bed, naked.” He gave a dramatic shiver. “I’ve never been less tempted by a woman in my life. I covered her up in a blanket and sent her back to her room.”
He owed it to Robbie as a client, as well as a friend, to give him the best advice he could. “Marrying for money is never wise. In my experience, a man or woman pays a steep price in misery and unhappiness if they do.”
“Then I have no choice but to sue and hope Lady Moira’s very wealthy father is forced to pay, or settle out of court for a substantial amount. I don’t want to, Gordon, but…”
Robbie’s gaze faltered and when he next raised his eyes, Gordon saw a vestige of the boy he’d known, or thought he had. “I’m not proud of having to resort to such measures, but what else can I do? Sir Robert Mc Stuart can hardly advertise for a job.”
“There’s the law,” Gordon suggested, glad he had broached the subject. “You could be a barrister.”
“Are you forgetting I was never much for study? Besides, that would take more time than I have. I need money now, not years from now, or I’ll have already lost the estate and town houses and what would be the point?”
Gordon surveyed the walls of the drawing room. “You could sell some of the art.”
“I’ve borrowed against most of the good pieces,” Robbie replied, “and if I were to try to sell all the rest, I might as well advertise in the Times that I’m bankrupt. I can just imagine what my creditors will do then.”
“Perhaps I could contact your creditors on your behalf—discreetly, of course—and try to negotiate different terms for repayment or an extension. In my experience, lenders are often willing to receive something rather than nothing.”
Robbie’s face brightened, and he looked better than he had since Gordon had arrived. “Do you really think they’d do that?”
“It’s certainly worth pursuing,” Gordon assured him.
“That would be a damn sight better than asking Horse-face to marry me,” Robbie said as he grinned and walked toward Gordon to shake his hand. “I swear, Gordo, inviting you here is one of the best ideas I’ve ever had in my life!”
Perhaps it was, but Gordon wished he’d never had it.
“Ouch!”
Sticking her index finger in her mouth before she bled on her embroidery, Moira pushed the frame away with her other hand. This was the third time she’d jabbed herself with the needle since she’d started.
She glanced at the gilded clock on the mantelpiece of the upstairs sitting room. The late-afternoon light was brighter in this part of the house if the day was sunny, so she kept all her needlework here. Today, however, had not been sunny, so there
was another reason she’d chosen this relatively isolated room to spend her time.
She could see the whole long driveway from her vantage point by the window.
It was nearly time for tea, and her father still hadn’t returned from Glasgow, although he should have been back by noon.
Frowning, she wrapped her handkerchief around her finger and put the small scissors, pincushion and yarns in their box, then closed the lid. This delay could mean nothing; he might have had more business to do than she suspected.
Besides, she would have to tell him about Robbie’s lawsuit when he got home, and that was not something she was looking forward to. Still, the dread of telling him about that was less distressing than the dread of learning that her father had broken his vow not to imbibe to excess.
She hoped she wasn’t disappointed. Again.
Sighing, she looked out the window once more, to see her father’s carriage turn onto the long sweeping drive.
Chapter Five
Moira left the room at once and hurried to the top of the stairs, where she could see the foyer and watch her father enter the house.
His clothes were neat and tidy, and his gait straight and firm as he came into view.
With a relieved sigh, she rushed down the stairs and into her father’s open arms.
“Moira, my girl! How I missed you!” he cried as he hugged her.
“I missed you, too, Papa,” she said, holding him close, happy and relieved that he didn’t smell of wine, and his eyes were clear and shining. “Your journey was a success?”
“Aye, better than I expected,” he replied as he moved away to hand his coat and hat to Walters, who was waiting expectantly nearby. “I took some time to visit some of our friends, too. The Misses Jenkins all send their best, and Mrs. McGovern, and the Bruces.”
“I miss them all,” she said with heartfelt sincerity, taking his arm and leading him to the drawing room, where they would have their tea.
Despite her cares and duties as mistress of her father’s house in Glasgow, those days often seemed like a happy, carefree dream, until his drinking had become a worry. “Perhaps we could invite Sally and her sister for a visit soon.”
“Excellent idea,” her father replied as he sat down before the tea table.
In addition to the tea, milk and sugar, there were scones—her father’s favorite—and fresh butter and strawberry jam.
As they sat side by side on the damask-covered sofa and her father regaled her with tales of his dealings, it was almost like having tea back in their much-smaller home in Glasgow.
Almost.
“So I told the old skinflint that he should be delighted I was making such an offer,” her father said with a laugh. “Just because I’ve got a title, I haven’t lost my wits, I said. You should have seen his face, Moira!”
“Then everything went just as you’d hoped?”
“Better! That’s why I was a little late returning. But I had another reason. I stand to make such a tidy profit, I stopped to get a present for a certain young lady of my acquaintance.” He reached into his jacket and produced a small blue velvet box tied with a scarlet satin ribbon that he held out to her. “A trifle for my darling daughter.”
Even the wrapping looked expensive. “Oh, Papa, you shouldn’t have!”
“If I can’t spoil my daughter, who can I spoil, at least until I have grandchildren?” he replied. “Besides, I thought you deserved something after…well, after your recent troubles.”
More grateful for his sympathy, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Enough of that! Just put it on.”
She undid the ribbon and opened the box. “Oh, Papa!” she gasped at the sight of a lovely cameo of a woman’s profile, the background a beautiful periwinkle blue. She lifted it out and held it up to admire against her cream-colored day gown. “It’s lovely!”
“I saw it and immediately thought of you, my dear.”
She pinned it to her bodice and went to look at her reflection in the mirror. It was the perfect size, and pretty and delicate.
“So, my dear, you know how my trip to Glasgow was. What have you been doing in my absence? Not spending all your time on that school, I hope.”
No, she most definitely had not.
But she certainly didn’t want to ruin this moment by telling him about meeting Mr. McHeath in the wood, and especially about that kiss, and surely Robbie’s legal challenge could wait a little while. Too many times in recent months her time with her father had been colored by dread and dismay. “I did have a meeting with Mr. Stamford about the school.”
Her father tilted his head and paused with another scone halfway to his mouth. “And?”
“And he seemed to think he could charge whatever he liked because I wouldn’t be aware of the cost of building materials.”
Her father chuckled before he took a bite of the scone. “More fool him. Speaking of fools, have those three idiot women done anything more to upset you?”
Moira wished her father hadn’t been with her the last time she’d gone into Dunbrachie. He’d been much more disturbed by the way the three young women had given her the cut direct than she had been, in part because she didn’t particularly care for the leader of the cabal, Sarah Taggart. “No, Papa, I haven’t seen them lately.”
He eased himself back on the sofa. “So, you’ve had a peaceful time in Dunbrachie, then.”
Moira laced her fingers in her lap and took a deep breath. Although she would rather wait, he was going to have to hear about Robbie’s lawsuit eventually, so she might as well tell him now, while he was in a good mood. And it would be better here, where all the wine and spirits were under her control. “I’m afraid there’s been some difficulty with Sir Robert.”
When he was sober, her father’s gaze could cut like a knife. “What do you mean, difficulty?”
She swallowed hard before answering, and tried to keep her voice level and calm. “It seems, Papa, that Sir Robert has decided to sue me for breach of promise.”
Her father bolted up from the sofa as if she’d stuck him with a pin, and his face bore the same incredulous expression that had probably been on her face when McHeath had made the same announcement. “What?”
“Because I broke our engagement, he’s suing me for breach of promise.”
“That’s ridiculous!” her father exclaimed, his face turning as red as ripe cherries, a stark contrast to his white hair.
“I quite agree, but ridiculous or not, that’s what he’s doing,” she replied, her hands clasped in her lap, hoping that if she was calm, he would be, too, although it might take a while. “Apparently his attorney thinks he has a case because our engagement was public knowledge, so what can be considered a verbal contract was also public knowledge.”
“Public knowledge?” her father angrily repeated. “Aye, your engagement was public knowledge and so were his liaisons with all those young women—to everybody in Dunbrachie but us!”
“Nevertheless, his solicitor said—”
“Has Gallagher lost his mind?” her father demanded, naming Sir Robert’s usual solicitor, the man who’d been involved in the drafting of her marriage settlement.
“It wasn’t Mr. Gallagher. The solicitor is a friend of Sir Robert’s from Edinburgh, Mr. Gordon McHeath.”
“I don’t give a damn who he is or where he’s from. They’ll never win.”
It was probably better to tell her father everything here and now. “Mr. McHeath said he can argue that it was my duty to find out more about Sir Robert before I accepted his proposal. Since I didn’t, the fault lies with me for breaking the engagement.”
Unfortunately, she had to admit, if only to herself, that Mr. McHeath was right about that one thing, at least. She should have tried to find out more about the handsome, flirtatious Sir Robert before accepting his proposal. If she hadn’t been so flattered by his attention, she might have realized that he didn’t stir her passion, certainly not the way Mr. McHeath did from th
e moment she met him.
But then, nobody had stirred her passion the way Mr. McHeath did.
Her father strode to the windows, turned and marched back again. “That man has the morals and backbone of a worm!” he declared, shaking his fist. “To sue a woman for jilting him! The man is even more of an idiot that those silly women.”
“I don’t think he’s stupid, Papa, or that idea would never have occurred to him. He’s certainly vain, though, and I’ve wounded his pride, enough that he’s seeking five thousand pounds in compensation.”
“Five thousand…?” her father gasped. “The man is mad if he thinks we’ll pay him even a quarter of that.”
“That’s exactly what I told Mr. McHeath, or as good as. Perhaps once Sir Robert realizes we’re not going to surrender easily, he’ll drop the suit,” she said as, relieved the worst of her revelations were over, she poured her father another cup of tea. “Please sit down, Papa, and have some tea.”
“Tea? I can’t think of tea at a time like this!” the earl cried as he stalked to the window again. He faced her once more, glowering. “You should have set the dogs on that lawyer!”
Moira didn’t want to think about Mr. McHeath and dogs, and her father mustn’t get so agitated. She had to find a way to calm him and deal with this problem as quickly and easily as possible, even if it was a way she didn’t like.
She went to him and took his hands in hers, looking up at the man who had always striven to provide for her and make her happy despite his disturbing predilection for strong spirits in the past several months. “I’ve been thinking that perhaps it would be best to rid ourselves of this nuisance as swiftly as possible. It could be that if we offer Sir Robert a lesser sum, he’ll leave us alone.”
“Why on earth should you pay him because we found out the truth?” her father demanded, his hands gripping hers tightly. “If we hadn’t and you’d married that disgraceful, dishonest rogue, he would have broken your heart and ruined your happiness.”
Highland Heiress Page 5