Chapter Ten #2
For just a moment, Kitty thought her mother’s words were in defense of Oliver Linfield.
Then Mrs. Craughton latched onto the topic.
“Of course, ‘renovations.’” Her mother’s friend spoke with a sickening sense of satisfaction.
“Everyone knows that is the first excuse for keeping visitors away if one wishes to hide missing furnishings and bare walls.”
Lady Fitchett jumped in with another tale of a family who had hidden their financial troubles, and Blackthorne Park was forgotten for the moment. At least by the rest of the party.
Kitty did not like the idea of Oliver hiding his financial situation. Not that she was foolish enough to take the gossip of Priscilla Childs and her friends as absolute truth. But the possibility existed.
Marrying a gentleman who needed her dowry had always been a possibility.
There were younger sons who lacked their own resources, and penniless heirs who were the victims of the mismanagement of previous generations.
But genuine affection and honesty were both required to make the situation palatable.
A sincere suitor who might be in need of funds was one thing; a dishonest fortune hunter was something else entirely.
The question was, which was Oliver Linfield? And perhaps more importantly, when had she begun thinking of him as a true suitor? Their arrangement was meant to be feigned.
Kitty sat in the front sitting room, watching the street out the window.
Oliver had promised to arrive at half-past two, and it was already after three.
If he did not come soon, they would miss their opportunity to walk through the gated garden around the corner before her mother returned from her shopping excursion.
At long last, a hackney pulled up in front of the house, and a familiar figure jumped down and bounded up the stairs. After Edwin admitted him to the house, Oliver kept his hat and gloves but handed the liveried footman a brown leather satchel.
Instead of waiting for him to be announced, Kitty stepped into the foyer. “Good afternoon, Mr. Linfield.”
“Miss Childs,” Oliver bowed. “I apologize for my tardiness. I had a meeting with my man of business, and it took far longer than I expected.”
His man of business? Another meeting about debt, perhaps? Kitty mentally chastised herself. She’d determined not to assume until she could have a frank conversation. “Shall we?”
They walked side-by side with Polly close on their heels until they reached a wrought-iron gate.
Kitty retrieved the key from her reticule and allowed them inside the gated garden.
It was not large, but the trees were in full bloom and flowers ran alongside the gravel walkways.
Next to the gate sat a fine iron bench. Kitty turned to her maid.
“Why don’t you have a seat while Mr. Linfield and I wander?
” The entire garden was visible from the bench, so there really was no need for her to trail behind them. After a long moment, Polly agreed.
Once her maid was situated, Kitty took Oliver’s offered elbow as they set off down the path. She attempted to keep her voice light as she asked, “And how was your meeting with your man of business?”
“It went very well,” Oliver responded without elaborating.
Kitty kept her eyes on the path in front of them as she replied, “I’m so glad to hear it.”
They exchanged several more inane pleasantries before Oliver pulled them to a stop. “What is the matter?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Kitty replied, not quite meeting his eyes.
“You have been very…” he paused as if searching for a word, “proper today. Do I owe you an apology? For the cricket match?”
“I loved the cricket match,” she admitted before turning away and setting off down the garden path.
Oliver scrambled to catch up and then matched her stride for stride. “Please tell me what I’ve done.”
The earnestness in his voice gave Kitty the courage to explain. “There are rumours about you,” she admitted. “About the financial situation of your estate.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Kitty reached the far corner of the garden and turned to continue up the side. “Is there any truth to them?”
“I suppose that depends on exactly what you’ve heard, but there may be some truth,” Oliver acknowledged. Kitty’s stomach fell. She’d been hoping he would deny everything. “However,” Oliver continued, “I hope you’ll allow me to explain.”
Kitty slowed her pace back to a stroll. “Please do.”
“When the crops failed during the rains last year, most of my tenants could not pay their full rent.” Kitty nodded for him to continue. That had been a common story throughout England the previous year. “Then, late into the fall, flour prices rose to unaffordable levels.”
“What happened?” Kitty prodded him to continue.
“Nat and I decided to do something about the flour shortage. We paid to import foreign grain and then arranged with a trustworthy merchant to sell it at a loss so that nobody in the parish would go hungry over the winter.”
“The merchant agreed to lose money?” Kitty asked, somewhat incredulously.
She did not look down on the merchants the way some did.
Her own great-grandfather had been a successful wool merchant before setting up his son as a country gentleman.
But merchants did not agree to intentionally poor business arrangements.
Oliver placed a hand on her arm, encouraging her to come to a stop. “The merchant agreed to only make a reasonable amount of profit, rather than price gouge like so many others. Nat and I absorbed the losses.”
“Not Mr. Warner?” Kitty did not know Oliver’s younger brother-in-law well, but he struck her as a kind soul. And spreading the losses among three estates sounded more manageable than among two.
“Warner Grange is still recovering from the mismanagement of its previous master, Grant’s grandfather. Such a loss could have been crippling.”
Mr. Warner would find it crippling, but Oliver would not. Interesting. “How long will it take you to recoup your losses?” Kitty finally asked.
“The estate will need three to four normal years to fully recover, but it is not at risk of financial ruin,” Oliver explained.
Kitty felt both relief and gratitude at the news that any financial troubles Oliver might face came from an act of charity. She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze before letting it go. “You are a good man, Oliver Linfield.”
“Thank you.” He offered his elbow again, and they returned to their stroll. After they passed Polly, sitting on her bench, he spoke. “Tell me, what was the most interesting rumor you heard?”
Kitty thought of the most ridiculous gossip she’d heard. “Apparently, you have extensive gambling debts and are begging creditors for a reprieve.”
“Hardly.” He let out a deep laugh. “I regularly lose piles of farthings to Tim and our brothers-in-law. All of which end up in the parish charity box. But that is the extent of my gambling losses.” Oliver quickly explained their weekly night of drinks and cards before asking, “Any other colorful gossip about me?”
After considering for a moment, Kitty told him of Mrs. Craughton’s accusation. “Apparently you are claiming to renovate Blackthorne Park as an excuse to keep people away so that nobody notices your bare walls and missing furniture.”
“That would be devious of me,” Oliver’s chuckle sounded strained. “But your mother’s friends will be disappointed to know that every painting and chair in Blackthorne Park is exactly where it should be.”
“Are you not renovating at all, then?” Kitty swore it was Lady Diana who had mentioned the renovations. Perhaps her mother had been mistaken?