A Matter of Honor (The Warrington Bequests #2)

Prologue

“If you have opportunity to be generous, then why would you turn from it?”

The gentleman rolled his eyes. The gesture left Lady Susanna Warrington deeply frustrated, if not a little perplexed.

“He is your friend.” She kept her voice level as he shook his head. “Why would you show such a lack of kindness?”

“Because,” the gentleman replied, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankle, “I would prefer to keep my money.”

Susanna closed her eyes and let out a slow breath, steadying herself against the rage that threatened to engulf her, should she give it permission. This gentleman was family by marriage, not by blood. She did not hold the same sway with him that she might have had with her own kin.

“Both you and Lord Warrington have been very good to many others, I know that,” he continued, with a wave of his hand. “Your heart is inclined towards such a thing, I suppose.”

“If my husband were at home, he would say it is not about one’s heart. It is about one’s awareness of others who are less fortunate.”

“And Lord Tyne is not less fortunate.”

“He is a Viscount and you a Marquess!”

The gentleman snorted and rolled his eyes a second time. Susanna gripped the arms of her chair, her fingers digging into the fabric to quiet the fury desperate to be released.

“He is still highly titled, and there are one or two Viscounts with far greater fortunes than an Earl or even a Marquess. Was not Lord Tetchley among the wealthiest gentlemen in London these last few years? And he only a Viscount.”

“That is beside the point.” Susanna gritted the words out, wishing her husband were present to make his case alongside hers.

It would lend weight to all she said. It might draw a little more respect from this particular gentleman.

“This Viscount is struggling, and it is not through his own foolishness.”

The gentleman sighed. “Yes, yes. Vast investments lost at sea, and a great deal of Lord Tyne’s money along with them. What am I to do about it?”

“Offer a gift?”

The suggestion was laughed away before her words had opportunity to hit the ground. Tears sparked in her eyes — not from upset, but from anger. Anger at being ridiculed when all she had suggested was a little generosity.

“I have worked hard for my money,” the gentleman began, but Susanna rose from her chair in an instant, hand out, finger pointing.

“You have inherited your fortune! You have done nothing to gain it. Lord Tyne’s father did not have in his coffers what yours did.

He has done all he can to improve his situation, but with the recent loss of his wife, and now this money besides, can you not imagine his present state of mind?

And he has two daughters still to provide for. ”

Not a flicker of doubt or concern rose in the gentleman’s eyes. He only shrugged, dismissing all she had said as worth nothing to him. Susanna sank back into her chair, her anger curdling to revulsion.

“You are selfish beyond measure,” she said hoarsely, tears burning. “That gentleman is your friend, and has long been so. You were at Eton together. You enjoyed the Season together. You were married the same year! And now, when he has need of support, you turn your back on him.”

“You may think me selfish if you wish.” The reply came airy and unbothered.

“But I feel no guilt in holding to what is mine. I have no intention of releasing any of it to anyone. His misfortune may very well come of his own folly. I do not think he requires, or even deserves, a single sovereign of mine.”

Susanna closed her eyes, her breathing ragged. She could not comprehend how a man might look upon his friend’s need and pretend it no concern of his at all. “Might I ask you to take your leave.”

The gentleman stuttered, plainly astonished that she should ask it of him — as if he had done nothing to warrant such a dismissal.

“I have no desire for your company any longer,” she said, opening her eyes and meeting his gaze steadily as he rose. “Your wife may call upon me whenever she wishes, but I have no interest in seeing or speaking with you again. I am sure my husband will be of the same mind.”

The gentleman snorted. “You are being quite ridiculous, Lady Warrington. We are family, are we not? One cannot simply push aside family.”

“You are family by marriage, not by blood.” She got to her feet and put one hand towards the door. “Take your leave, sir. I have no time for such selfishness here.”

She watched him stride from the room, his expression black with anger at being so treated. Susanna did not care. She was glad only that the room was free of him. Sitting back, she let out a long breath and drew out her handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

She could not understand such arrogance.

If her life had taught her anything, it was that kindness and generosity mattered far more than wealth and standing, and yet this gentleman would not lift his eyes to his own friend’s struggle.

Her husband, she was certain, would aid Lord Tyne in whatever way he could, though Lord Tyne himself might be unwilling to accept it.

He was a good man. The burden of responsibility simply sat heavily upon his shoulders.

Were a trusted friend to come to his aid, someone he knew, someone before whom he need feel no shame, then he would take the help he so plainly needed.

But it seemed that would not occur.

Her throat ached, her mind going to the two daughters Lord Tyne must now provide for alone. What future did they have? What standing could they hope for, with their father impoverished?

I will help them, she swore, her heart squeezing painfully. Even when those who ought to do so will not.

When her eyes were dry, she rose and went to the little desk by the window. Charity spoken of in drawing rooms was only weather — it blew through and left nothing. If help was to reach that family, it would have to be built, like anything meant to last: quietly, deliberately, and in writing.

She took out a fresh page and set a name at the head of it in strong plain strokes. Tyne. Beneath it, after a moment’s thought, she wrote what she already knew to be true, so that she would never be tempted to forget it: He will not ask. See that it is sent regardless.

She sat back and looked at the page a long while.

It was the first name. She was quite certain, even then, that it would not be the last.