Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
“ A bsolutely not,” said Lucius, sending a shower of leaves cascading to the ground as he snipped his shears through the branches of an overgrown box hedge. “Are you insane?”
His father eyed up the growing pile of leaves with apprehension. “You are too harsh with me, Lucius, too harsh by half!” He rubbed his sweating forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of pomade over his glove. The great outdoors, even the primped and pampered version of it to be found in the gardens of Whitby Manor, was not Horace Whitby’s natural habitat. “I happen to think it is a very good idea. Everybody knows there’s no place for romance quite like a ball.”
“Indeed,” said Lucius, decapitating another errant branch with his shears. The under-gardeners who had maintained the topiary’s crisp, even geometry had all been dismissed the week before. With excellent references, and in spite of loud protests from his parents. “Nothing has ever made my heart beat faster than the list of expenditures for the ball we threw in London. Three hundred pounds on fireworks, two hundred and fifty on candles, fresh hothouse flowers at ten shillings a vase!” The latest had particularly stung considering the quality of the flowers provided. Given a suitably large hothouse, Lucius could have provided better for half the price.
“Gracious, but you have such a head for figures, Lucius! You would do better to fill your brain with hunting and fishing, my boy, and leave no space for all this mathematics.”
Lucius’s temperature was rising a good deal faster than the mercury in the thermometer on the garden wall. He set aside his shears before he did the topiary irreparable damage. “Georgiana’s birthday ball was funded with money we did not possess. And the number of wealthy matches it attracted for my sisters was precisely zero. I cannot allow you to take out yet another loan and waste it on this fool’s errand again.”
“But you have not heard the best part of the plan!” his father complained. “It was your mother who thought of it, of course. She is so much cleverer than I. She always knows how to arrange these things.”
Lucius eyed up the shears and wondered if anyone would really blame him if his father’s foolish head was snipped off by mistake. “I am familiar with mother’s way of arranging things,” he said. “I cannot see that it will help us out of our financial predicament.”
“Ah!” cried Mr Whitby. “That is where you are wrong. Women have a way of seeing to the heart of these things, have they not? Your dear mother, you recall, is a frequent attendee of the ladies’ seminars hosted by Lord Henry’s mother, the Duchess of Richmond –”
No jury would ever convict me , Lucius told himself. Any reasonable man would be driven to murder in these circumstances . “Out of the question,” he snapped, so stern that even his oblivious father stopped mid-sentence, blinking with confusion. “I will not tolerate any further mention of Lord Henry or his cursed family money. I warn you, Father, if the Duchess of Richmond is invited to our house, I shall pack Evie into a carriage and take her so far away that you will never see her again. She has decided against Lord Henry. We must respect that.”
“Are you determined to see our family ruined?” Mr Whitby demanded. “Our time is running out! Or have you overlooked, in all your mathematical calculations , that if our girls are not married by the end of the summer, they may very well never marry at all?”
Lucius gritted his teeth to prevent himself from saying something he knew he would regret. “Nothing will sully our family more than forcing Evelina into an unwanted marriage. What good is it to escape financial ruin if in the process we lose ourselves? In any case, Father, what you suggest is impossible. We have no money for a ball. We do not even have the money to see out the summer. I will speak to my mother if you cannot. I have already drawn up a list of measures she can take to improve our household finances.”
“You will do no such thing.” It took a great deal to stir Horace Whitby to anger, but this threat to his wife’s comfort did the job. “Your mother is a delicate creature! You cannot expect her to live the life of a pauper. She will be very upset if you interfere with her household management.”
“If it was your aim to avoid upsetting her, you would have done better to take care of your money when you had it,” snapped Lucius. His father visibly wilted.
Lucius groaned. He had much preferred the anger. It was easier to argue with an unrepentant father than to comfort a guilt-stricken one.
“My poor son,” Mr Whitby moaned, taking out a lace-trimmed handkerchief and dabbing it across his face. “I have failed you…”
“Please, father. It does none of us any good to wail and blame ourselves.”
But Mr Whitby was not listening. “After you have done so much for us. The Balfour girl is not to your taste, I know, but you are performing your role admirably. If only I possessed your capacity for selflessness. Tell me, Lucius, how close are you to closing the deal? I admit that the Midsummer Ball will be much easier on the pocketbook if Lady Isobel is part of the family.”
All of Lucius’s anger turned to ice. “What did you say?”
Mr Whitby smiled, utterly failing to interpret his son’s tone. He gave Lucius a loving clap on the back. “She is half in love with you already – a blind man could see it! When I invited her here, I did not dare to dream of such an outcome. You have always been so headstrong. But now I see that I misjudged you. I really could not admire you more, Lucius.”
Nausea roiled in Lucius’s stomach. “There is nothing to admire, father. Lady Isobel and I…”
He stopped. What was he doing? Wasn’t this exactly the outcome he had hoped for? He had set out deliberately to deceive his father. The more fervently Mr Whitby believed that Lucius was about to land an heiress, the more time Evie had to distance herself from Lord Henry. The more time he had to scrape together the first payment of his father’s debts.
She is half in love with you already . The words were sharp and painful in Lucius’s ears. His father was prone to exaggeration, true, but also utterly oblivious to the nuances of human emotion. If Mr Whitby truly believed that Isobel was falling in love with Lucius, it either meant that she was every bit the excellent actress Lucius had hoped for… or that he had been blind not to see that her feelings were real.
“You are mistaken, father,” he said, and bit his tongue before he ruined the scheme entirely.
Mr Whitby looked alarmed. “Have I said something wrong? Dear boy, the way she looks at you leaves little room for doubt. She is yours for the taking, I know it. Tell me you do not intend to let this chance slip away.”
Lucius swallowed. “No, no. I only meant that… You are mistaken to believe that Lady Isobel is not to my taste.” He breathed out a little of the tension. It was easier to stick to the truth, and only tell part of it. “I enjoy her company very much.”
“Truly?”
Lucius cringed inwardly at the astonishment in his father’s voice.
“Well,” said Mr Whitby, for once lost for words. “That is… That is unexpected.”
“Why should it be?” Lucius trailed his fingers fondly over the newly even shape of the box hedge. He had cut back enough to reveal the healthiest new growth; leaves with a deep green gloss that surpassed any emerald. “Lady Isobel is one of the most accomplished women I have the pleasure to know. Not to mention her kindness, the loving attention she shows her aunt, her utter lack of pride or vanity…” Something tightened deep in his chest, as though a fist had squeezed inside his ribcage. He looked up from his work to find Mr Whitby frowning at him. “My point, Father, is that she is not an investment at the bank. She is a person of passion and feeling. I will not tempt her into marriage under false pretences. She deserves more.”
“It is easier to be sanctimonious about a lady’s finer feelings when one has a fat pocket book,” said Mr Whitby. Lucius stopped himself, with effort, from rolling his eyes at the hypocrisy. “Well, I will not press you about the Midsummer Ball. Don’t worry about your mother – I will put her off the idea. But I must counsel you not to be choosy over Lady Isobel. We are running out of time, and if you do not find another way to replenish our coffers, I shall have nothing to offer my debtors at the end of the month but the prospect of the Duke of Richmond’s generosity.”
Lucius felt physically ill. The early mornings shut up in the study had given him a finer grasp of their situation than his father possessed. And, unlike his father, he could not delude himself that blackmailing a duke could do anything more than add to their troubles. What good would it do to make an enemy of Richmond by twisting Henry’s arm into marriage, then begging him to cover their debts?
Besides, Lucius no longer had any faith that his parents could be trusted to manage their finances in the future. Without a steady source of income, they’d soon find themselves in the same situation – and Richmond’s generosity would not be extended a second time.
But he knew it was pointless to say any more. Mr Whitby had proven time and again that he was immune to reason on the subject. So Lucius was not entirely sure why he called out as his father turned to leave –
“Do you truly mean it?”
Mr Whitby planted his cane on the gravel path and turned back with a quizzical expression. “Mean what, my boy?”
“What you said about Isobel.” That fist in Lucius’s chest tightened even more. It required some effort to keep his breathing even. “Do you genuinely think she feels something for me?”
Mr Whitby’s jowly face broke into an indulgent smile. “Is it so hard to believe, Lucius? What girl in her right mind would not, eh?” The clacking of his cane beat time with his chuckling as he left Lucius alone.
Lucius thumped a fist against his sternum, trying to rid himself of the sensation that his heart was a piece of clockwork that had been wound a turn too many.
He knew exactly why he’d let himself get carried away with Isobel. He was only human, after all! There was no distraction from his troubles more agreeable than a smile from her, bold and suggestive and designed to arouse other men’s jealousy.
It was all too pleasant, too flattering. And what with the late nights and early mornings, the stress of all his secrets and the depressing mess of the accounts, he was more susceptible to flattery than ever before.
He remembered, with a delicious shiver, the way her eyes widened when he kissed her hand at the writing desk. That hadn’t been for Randall, for Evie, or for his foolish father. Lucius had done it to please himself. And he had selfishly forgotten what he risked awakening in Isobel as he did.
He could not risk Isobel forming a real attachment to him. Even if it meant sacrificing Evie – even if it meant his family’s disgrace coming to light.
It was time to bring the game to an end.