The spinster and the wastrel (5 page)

"Welcome back, sir." The tall, impassive man took his coat, folding it carefully before setting it down. The servant would brush the dirt away later.

Newton was too dignified to ask about the meeting with the solicitor, and Sir Gerard had no desire to tell of his defeat in breaking the will. Instead, he politely asked, "Did anything happen while I was gone?"

"You have a caller, sir."

"Who is it? Someone local, I presume." He tugged on his jacket.

"The man is not someone I recognize. He insisted on waiting for you, so I put him in the parlor."

From the butler's cold tone, Sir Gerard inferred the man was not a gentleman. "Who is he?"

The servant extended the silver tray with a calling card laying on it. The name read Mortimer Wallace. A sick feeling spread throughout Sir Gerard's stomach. The man was the money-lender to whom he owed thousands of pounds. The butler had correctly pegged him as no gentleman. Mr. Wallace regarded himself as a businessman. The fact that he now sat in Hathaway Hall's parlor did not bode well.

"Shall I tell him you are not at home?" the butler asked.

"No, if he has come all the way from London, he will stay until he speaks with me. Putting him off will do no good."

Squaring his shoulders, Sir Gerard took a deep breath and walked into the parlor. Mortimer Wallace did not immediately look up from the newspaper he was reading.

At such cavalier treatment, and in his own home, a surge of annoyance shot through Sir Gerard. "I am surprised to see you here," he said loudly.

Wallace slowly lowered the paper, and his well-filled face appeared over it. "Not the most welcoming greeting I have ever had," he observed as he carefully folded the Times. "But I will say how do you do, sir."

The man stood, and the chair creaked as his bulk was lifted. The tailored lines of his dark blue coat sought to reduce his waistline with extra padding in the shoulders, but the effect only increased his size. A double chin rested on a very white and very starched cravat. Elegance was not Mortimer Wallace's style, prosperity was. He extended a plump hand to the baronet.

Not wishing to offend the man, Sir Gerard shook it. The hand was as dry as the pound notes the money-lender piled up in his strongbox. "I had not expected to find you here," he said.

Without waiting for the invitation to do so, Wallace sat down again. The chair groaned. "Surely you knew I would keep a close eye on my money."

Dread cracked through Sir Gerard's heart. "Have you come for payment?"

Wallace cast a keen glance at him. "Could you pay me, if I demanded it?"

Sir Gerard swallowed, but sat down on another chair with a bored attitude. He lied, "I would have to sell some things to raise the ready, but it could be done."

The other man beamed at him with vast good will. "I am so very pleased to hear that. Based upon the expecta-

tions of your inheritance, you became my largest client." Sir Gerard bowed his head in acknowledgment, as the money-lender continued, "When all your eggs are in one basket, you watch that chicken. Naturally, I wanted to meet with you after the will had been read. Repayment is always a concern in my business. Can you imagine my surprise when gossip at the inn informed me all the money went to some spinster? You have only the entail left."

Sir Gerard supposed he should have expected the unusual will to become a topic for local gossip, but it angered him anyway that his troubles were discussed so freely. 'Tavern stories are seldom accurate."

'True, but it did heighten my concern. Did you inherit Sir Nigel's fortune?"

There was no avoiding the direct question. "No. Some local adventuress inherited from my uncle."

"Everything?"

"Not the entail, of course!" He examined his fingernails. It was becoming more difficult to maintain a bored air.

The money-lender rubbed his hand along his chin in thought. "This news concerns me greatly."

"I will repay you," Sir Gerard told him, even as he wondered how.

Wallace beamed at him, but the baronet noticed no humor in the man's gray eyes. "I am pleased to hear you can meet your obligation to me."

Sweat began to break out under Sir Gerard's shirt, but he managed to maintain a relaxed air. "The first payment is not due until the end of this month."

"Just like a lord." The money-lender shook his head in mock dismay. "You don't read the papers you sign." The mask of geniality dropped from his fleshy face, and he

leaned forward. "Your note promises to repay the full amount whenever I demand it. I advanced you such a large sum because your uncle was known to be a wealthy miser, and he had just passed away, but I am not foolish with my money. Your prospects appear very poor to me now, and I am withdrawing the loan."

"You cannot do that! We had an agreement."

'True, and you agreed to repay me whenever I demanded it. I want my money back."

Sir Gerard rubbed his hands together to stop the numbness spreading through his body. How could he have signed such a loan? Ruin stared him in the face. "I cannot pay you now," he exclaimed. "Do you think I keep that kind of a sum in my strongbox? It will take time to gather the money together."

Wallace shrugged. "I can be a reasonable man. The first payment is due at the end of the month. I will accept the full amount then, instead."

"That's outrageous!"

The money-lender shrugged again. "That's business. I will forgo the extra interest I could have earned, in my concern to regain my principal. It is nothing personal against you."

In sick silence, Sir Gerard watched Wallace struggle to his feet. Where was he going to find the money to repay his debt? The loan he had so blithely signed now threatened to destroy him. The memories of the celebratory card games and racing bets filled him with bitterness.

The money-lender continued, "I had hoped to share a congenial brandy with you as you laid that rumor to rest. Instead, you only confirmed its accuracy, so I shall forgo the drink. I expect you to bring me your money at the end of the month. I will see you in London, sir."

Instinctively trained in good manners, Sir Gerard stood and responded to the man's farewell bow. When the parlor door had closed on Wallace's bulk and he was alone, the pose of unconcern fell away. His shoulders slumped as his brain scrambled to find a solution to his problem. His friend Linton needed money and so had none to lend. The solicitor had killed any hope of overturning the will. Perhaps the estate's rents could possibly meet the first payment, but he would be left with nothing to live on until the next quarter. Besides, even the rents could not repay his loan. It would take years, with a close eye kept on every expense. He did not have years.

With a groan, he went over to the fireplace and put his head on the mantelpiece. The flames flickering there could not warm the coldness freezing him inside. He had relied too heavily on his uncle's business interests to provide the income to restore Hathaway Hall. With the albatross he had hung around the estate, he could never care for his people. Despite all his hopes for respect and all his waiting, his dreams were finished before they even began.

A knock on the door stirred his attention. "Come in," he said listlessly.

The butler entered. "Miss Courtney has called, sir. Are you at home to her?"

Gkaptez £fom

After leaving the solicitor's office, Annette refused to waste any time to discovering whether the baronet was going to be a trustee on her school board or not. She relied on the principle of doing an unpleasant task immediately.

Accordingly, she at once set off for Hathaway Hall along a path she had trod many times from Upper Brampton village. The trip did not take long. She eyed the darkening clouds in the distance. They threatened a storm, but she could conclude her business with Sir Gerard in a rapid fashion. After all, how long would it take him to refuse to be her school's trustee? It was not until the butler showed her into the parlor that the beginnings of trepidation gripped her.

"Good afternoon, Miss Courtney." The baronet greeted her with a polite smile on his face as he turned from his position by the fire. "It was good of you to call so quickly."

She stared at him in momentary confusion. Then she remembered his suggestion of a proposal, and embarrassment swept through her. Suddenly she was aware of how

disorganized she must appear. The long tramp through the winter air had left her nose and cheeks red, while her hair tumbled down in a disorderly manner. She was in no condition to call on Sir Gerard, especially if he had a proposal to discuss.

Putting up a hand to tuck some of the wisps of her hair under her bonnet, she attempted a smile in return, but within she knew her bold determination had received a check. "It seems we have much to discuss. I saw no reason to wait."

He nodded. "Please sit here by the fire, while I request tea be made."

"Thank you. Tea would be very welcome." She took the wing chair closest to the blaze and remembered the solicitor had warned against listening to the baronet. He had labeled Sir Gerard a charmingly persuasive man. She prepared to hear the baronet's proposal, but she would not lose sight of her goal to build the school.

He settled himself into another chair also close to her and the fire. Crossing his legs at the ankles, he leaned back as if to examine her. She wanted to reach up to further adjust her hair, but resisted the urge. The prospect of a proposal was not going to turn her into a silly schoolgirl.

"Miss Courtney, although we have not known each other previously, my uncle's will has required us to become acquainted."

"That is true," she acknowledged. "I only know of you through your reputation."

His smile tightened, but he continued in a pleasant tone. "I, on the other hand, knew nothing of you until the reading of the will."

"Your uncle was not likely to mention me. Every time

I saw him, I asked for donations to care for the poor in our area."

"And now you have all the money you could ever want." There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

"I am very grateful."

"Yet, I do not have the money I expected."

Guilt at her good fortune inched through her body. "I did not ask for this bequest. It was as much a shock to me as to you."

"But you were the one who benefited," he pointed out. "It would only be fair if I received what was due me."

She eyed him warily. "What did you have in mind?"

No longer leaning back in his chair, he faced her. "I propose we make a settlement between us. You keep a sum of the money for your needs and wants, while I regain control of the rest. It is only justice to do so."

Laughter nearly bubbled from her lips, but she restrained it. How foolish her vanity was to even think he would be proposing marriage! She would always wear the label of spinster. Of course, a man with his wastrel reputation would not be one she would even consider marrying. Setting aside her foolish ideas to deal with practicalities, she asked him, "Why should I give you some of the money when I now have all of it?"

"It is a huge fortune. Much more than a woman like you could even consider handling."

He spoke with the patience she expected to use on her students, and it irritated her. "I would have you know, sir, that I am thirty years of age and long past the era of a giddy girlhood. I am quite capable of handling my affairs."

"Of course you are, but not at this magnitude." He stood and began to pace around the parlor. His strides

wove a path around the chairs and tables arranged for warmth and conversation. "I have waited all my life to manage this estate, and I need the money to do it."

"Would you truly use it for the estate?" she asked. "Your reputation leads one to think otherwise."

He threw up his hands in dismay. "Always you mention my reputation. For a Christian woman, you believe an amazing amount of gossip."

She felt her face flush at this accusation. It was true that all she did know about Sir Gerard came from the rantings of his uncle. Sir Nigel may have been a wizard at making money, but he disliked people. He had even called her a money-grubber, which was not a strictly accurate name. She may have grubbed money from him, but it never benefited herself.

"I am sorry," she said. "I have been judging you based upon hearsay and am glad you want to help the people on the estate. They lead difficult lives. How did you intend to spend the money? I do know about the conditions here, if you would like my advice."

He smiled at her, and she noticed how distinguished he looked. His brown hair was carelessly dressed, but not slovenly. His face was lean with prominent high cheekbones. No fat bunched anywhere on his tall body, leading her to believe it had been gossip she listened to. A life of dissipation would have left some signs on a man of thirty-five years.

"You are a good woman," he said with a sincerity she easily heard in his voice. She had received that compliment many times before, most often from the rector or one of the people she helped, but never before had the words caused such a warm glow to surround her heart.

She smiled back. "Thank you."

A knock on the door signaled the arrival of the tea. She offered to pour, while he again sat in his chair. The tea aroma was pleasantly strong, promising a delicious cup. Apparently under the new master, no longer would reused tea leaves be offered to callers.

When the cups had been filled and the cakes tried, he said, "We will need to meet with the solicitor to transfer the money. I appreciate your generosity, and want the amount of the bequest remaining to you to be ample. Would five hundred pounds be sufficient?"

She nearly choked on her tea. "Five hundred! I need much more than that!"

"More!" He looked in amazement at her. "What on earth for? After you buy some dresses and pay off your bills, the amount left should be ample for your needs for the rest of your life."

Annette thought he had made a noble effort not to glance at her serviceable, but unfashionable dress, when he spoke that statement. Again, she wished she could have worn a pretty dress. Nevertheless, he must be told of her plans. "I want to open a school and called to ask if you would be on the board of trustees."