Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (4 page)

Isabel squinted at the windows, where a brilliant blue sky announced that she had slept well into the morning. She looked back at Lara. “I fell asleep.”

“Yes. I see that. Why did you not attempt such a feat in your bed?”

Isabel tilted her head back, the muscles of her neck and shoulders screaming at the movement. “Too much to do.” She placed one hand to her cheek, removing a small slip of paper from where it had become stuck in the night.

Lara set a teacup down on the desk and seated herself across from Isabel. “What could you possibly have had to do that required you to forgo sleep?” She paused, distracted. “You have ink on your face.”

Isabel wiped her palm across her stained cheek, her gaze falling to the paper she had removed from the same location. She considered the list she had drafted the night before.

The
immense
list she had drafted the night before.

Her stomach flipped.

She brushed a stray auburn lock back from her face and returned it to its tight, practical home. Guilt washed over her as she was consumed with the myriad of things that she had meant to do the previous night—after taking a quick nap.

She should have come up with a plan to secure the girls’ safety. She should have drafted a letter to her father’s solicitor to confirm that there were no funds set aside for James’s education. She should have written to the real estate office in Dunscroft to begin the search for a new house. She should have begun reading the book on roof repair that was soon to be an emergency text.

She hadn’t done any of that, however. Instead, she’d slept.

“You need rest.”

“I’ve had plenty of rest.” Isabel started to organize the papers on the desk, taking note of a new pile of envelopes there. “Where did these come from?” She lifted the letters, revealing a ladies’ magazine that had come for the girls. She registered the headline:
Inside! London’s Lords to Land!
and rolled her eyes before returning the envelopes to their place.

“With the post this morning. Before you open them—”

Isabel lifted a letter opener and looked at Lara. “Yes?”

“We should talk about James.”

“What now? ”

“He has been hiding from his lessons.”

“I am not surprised. I shall talk to him. Has he even met the new governess?”

“Not exactly.”

The words were a signal. “How, exactly, Lara? ”

“Well, Kate found him watching her in her bath.”

Isabel leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you mean he was watching Kate in her bath? ”

Lara laughed. “Can you imagine how that would have gone? She would have skinned him.”

“I just might skin him myself! He’s an earl now! He shall have to behave as one! Watching the new girl in her bath? What on earth? What would possess him—”

“He may be an earl, Isabel, but he is a boy first. You think he is not curious? ”

“He grew up in a house full of women. No. I would think he would be entirely disinterested.”

“Well, he isn’t. In fact, I think there’s no question that James is interested. He needs someone with whom to discuss such interests.”

“He can speak to me!”

Lara gave Isabel a disbelieving look. “Isabel.” “He can!”

“You are a marvelous sister. But he cannot discuss such interests with you.”

There was silence as Isabel considered the words. Of course he couldn’t. He was a ten-year-old boy with no one to help him understand his world and he needed a man with whom he could discuss such … male … things.

She sighed. “I must find a way to get James to school. I plan to send a letter to my father’s solicitor about that very thing today. Not that there will be money to arrange it.” She paused. “Alternatively, perhaps the new guardian of the estate will arrive bearing knowledge only those of his gender can impart.”

They had been waiting for word of Oliver, Lord Densmore, the mysterious and missing guardian named in her father’s will, since they had learned of the earl’s death. It had been just over a week now, and every day that went by without news, Isabel breathed a bit easier.

His specter loomed nonetheless, for if the Wastrearl had appointed him, it seemed that Lord Densmore would very likely be precisely the sort of guardian they would all prefer not to have.

“There is something else.”

There always was.

Isabel winced at the thought. “About James?”

“No. About you.” Lara leaned forward in her chair. “I know why you fell asleep here instead of taking yourself to bed. I know you are concerned about our future. About finances. About James. About Minerva House.” Isabel started to shake her head. “Do not insult me by feigning ignorance. I have known you for your entire life. Lived with you for six years. I know you are worried.”

Isabel opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Lara was, of course, right. Isabel was worried. She was worried that the dire financial straits of the estate would keep James from going to school, from learning to be an earl, from restoring some semblance of honor to the earldom. She was terrified that his new guardian would never show his face—and his finances. Almost as terrified as she was that he would arrive and close Minerva House—casting out the women she had worked so hard to keep safe.

The women who needed her.

The roof was leaking, they’d lost seven sheep through the fence at the western edge of the Park that week, and Isabel hadn’t a farthing to her name. She was going to have to send some of the girls away if she could not find a solution.

“I don’t suppose the earl left
any
money,” Lara said softly. It was the first time any of the other residents of the Park had spoken of their combined situation.

Isabel shook her head, feeling frustration surge at the question. “Everything is gone.”

Everything that had not been entailed to the future Earl of Reddich.

Her father had not even cared enough to ensure that his children were cared for—that his
heir
would be cared for. It had taken her half an hour to convince the solicitor who had arrived a day after the news of her father’s death that she could understand the finances of the estate well enough for him to explain their situation to her.

As though being impoverished were a complicated state of affairs.

The Wastrearl had gambled everything away—the house in town, the carriages, the furniture, the horses …
his daughter.
There was nothing left. Nothing but what was now James’s by right…

And what was Isabel’s to sell.

A pang of sadness flared in her chest.

Her brother had not had the father or the mother or the upbringing that the earldom should have promised him but he would have an earldom. And she would do what she could to keep it afloat.

A dead earl.

A child heir.

A crumbling estate.

Two dozen mouths to feed, all of which were required to remain well hidden.

She had never felt so panicked in her life.

If only she hadn’t slept the night before, she might have already devised a plan for them all to be saved.

She just needed time.

Closing her eyes, Isabel took a deep, steadying breath. “It is not your concern, Lara,” she said firmly, refusing to show her thoughts, “I shall make certain that we are well taken care of.”

Lara’s gaze softened. “Of course you shall. None of us have doubted such for a moment.”

Of course they hadn’t.
No one ever doubted Isabel’s strength. Not even when they should. Not even when she was holding the whole thing together by a thread.

She stood and went to the window, looking out at the once-lush and fertile Townsend land. Now the fields were overgrown and untilled, and the livestock had dwindled to a pittance.

“Are the girls worried?”

“No. I do not think that it has crossed their minds that they might all be tossed out on their ears.”

Isabel’s heart raced at the words. “They shan’t be tossed out. Never say such things again.”

Lara had followed her. “Of course they shan’t.”

They might be.
Isabel heard the words as though they had been spoken aloud.

Isabel turned quickly, her skirts swirling around her ankles as she raised a finger, wagging it in front of Lara’s nose. “I shall think of something. We shall find some money. I shall move them all to another house. It is not as though this one is any kind of prize.”

“Minerva House the second,” Lara said.

“Precisely.”

“A capital idea.”

Isabel huffed at her cousin’s tone. “You needn’t agree simply to appease me.”

“Fair enough,” Lara said. “Do you have a stash of money stored somewhere? Because last I’d heard, houses that accommodated two dozen women required funds.”

“Yes. Well. That is the part of the plan that I have not quite worked out.” Isabel crossed the room to the door, then turned back, pacing to her desk. She sat there, staring at the papers strewn across the enormous tabletop, where three generations of Reddich earls had sat. After a long silence, she said, “There is only one way to ensure that we’ve the funds to stay afloat.”

“Which is?”

She took a deep breath.

“I will sell the marbles.” There was a roaring in her ears as she spoke the words—as though, if she did not hear them, they had not been said.

“Isabel …” Lara shook her head.

Please don’t fight this, Lara. I do not have the strength.
“It’s silly to keep them. No one is enjoying them.”

“You
enjoy them.”

“They are a luxury I can no longer afford.”

“No. They are the only luxury you’ve ever had.”

As if she didn’t know that.

“Do you have a better solution?”

“Maybe,” Lara hedged. “Maybe you should consider … maybe you should think about marriage.”

“Are you suggesting that I should have accepted one of the myriad of oafs who has passed through over the years after having won me in a game of chance? ”

Lara’s eyes widened. “Oh, my, no! Not one of them. Never one of them. No one who knew your father. I’m suggesting someone else. Someone … good. And if he is wealthy, well then, all the better.”

Isabel lifted the magazine she had seen earlier. “Are you suggesting I try my hand at landing a lord, cousin? ”

Color flared on Lara’s cheeks. “You cannot deny that a smart match is not the worst thing that could happen to you.”

Isabel shook her head. Marriage was not the answer. She was willing to swallow a bitter pill or two to save this house, and the women in it, but she would not sacrifice her freedom, her sanity, or her person for them. She did not care if it was a solution or not.

Selfish.

The word burned, echoing in her head as though it had been spoken seconds rather than years ago. Isabel knew that if she closed her eyes, she would see her mother, face contorted in anguish, flinging it like a dagger.

You should have let him marry you off, you selfish beast. He would have stayed if you had. And you would have gone.

She shook her head, refusing the image and clearing her throat, suddenly tight and painful.

“Marriage is not the answer, Lara. Do you really think anyone with the means to help us would consider marrying the twenty-four-year-old, never-seen-the-inside-of-a-London-ballroom daughter of the Wastrearl?”

“Of course they would!”

“No. They would not. I’ve no skills, no training, no dowry, nothing but a houseful of women, most of whom are in hiding, a handful of them
illegally.
How do you propose explaining such a thing to a prospective suitor?” Lara opened her mouth to answer, but Isabel pressed on. “I’ll tell you. It’s impossible. No man in his right mind would marry me and take on the burdens that I carry. And, frankly, I am rather thankful for it. No. We shall just have to try a different tack.”

“He would marry you if you told him the truth, Isabel. If you explained it all.”

Silence fell between them and Isabel allowed herself to consider, fleetingly, what it would be like to have someone with whom she could share all her secrets. Someone to help her protect the girls … and rear James. Someone who would help her to shoulder her burden.

She pushed the thought aside, immediately. Sharing the burden of Minerva House would require sharing its secrets. Trusting someone to keep them.

“Must I remind you of the horrid creatures that Minerva House has shown to us? The ham-fisted husbands? The villainous brothers and uncles? The men so deep in their cups they could not find time to put food on the table for their children? And let us not forget my own father—willing to sell his children for funds enough for another night on the town, unable to support his estate, entirely willing to leave it penniless and without reputation for his child-heir.” She shook her head firmly. “If I have learned one thing in my lifetime, Lara, it is that the lion’s share of men are anything but good. And those who are tend not to be out searching the Yorkshire countryside for spinsters like me.”