Chapter 8 #2
Lady Gooldwer stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Well, you see, the Season has made staffing quite difficult—many have taken leave, others have sought work elsewhere.” She waved a hand dismissively. “It is a passing inconvenience, nothing more.”
Blanche felt the words coil uneasily in her chest.
Heath merely hummed, watching Lady Gooldwer with an unreadable expression.
“Indeed?” His voice was smooth, nonchalant. “Unfortunate timing, then.”
Lady Gooldwer offered a delicate laugh, pressing forward. “It is no real trouble. We manage just fine.”
Blanche inhaled slowly, fingers tightening subtly against the fabric of her gown. She could not endure the hollow pretense, the carefully crafted illusion her mother insisted upon.
So, with quiet certainty, she spoke. “The staff have not returned because their wages remain unpaid.”
The silence that followed was palpable.
Lady Gooldwer’s breath hitched, eyes darting toward her daughter in barely concealed alarm. Heath, however, showed no such reaction—only quiet contemplation, as though she had merely confirmed something he had already suspected.
Then, with measured care, he shifted, adjusting his cuff before speaking.
“Is there any other financial concern I should know about?”
Lady Gooldwer released a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand delicately to her chest. “You must forgive me, Your Grace. I never intended to burden you with such matters. I only… well, I have always been modest in my requests. It is simply unfortunate that circumstances have worsened as they have.”
Blanche exhaled sharply, biting back her irritation as she exchanged a glance with Fanny.
Modest? Mother had never been modest a day in her life!
Heath observed the exchange, his eyes flickering between mother and daughters before speaking.
“I understand. I intended to arrange the services of a dressmaker for the wedding dress of the future Duchess, but I suppose there are more important matters to be settled first.”
Blanche straightened, already preparing to protest. “That is unnecessary—”
“For example, I will ensure that you have the right easements,” Heath interrupted smoothly, turning his gaze toward her. “Do you require additional staff? Housekeeping? Assistance with meals?”
Blanche hesitated, but only briefly. “Help with cooking and cleaning would be a relief.”
Lady Gooldwer gasped, scandalized. “Blanche!”
She turned to Heath, shaking her head. “New dresses are the priority, Your Grace. We must maintain appearances. A wardrobe befitting our station is imperative.”
Blanche clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to groan aloud.
Rather than addressing necessities—food, debts, staffing—Lady Gooldwer launched into an elaborate, utterly useless list of supposed essentials: a new tea set, proper evening gowns, fashionable accessories, upholstery.
This is absurd!
Blanche barely concealed her frustration as her mother continued listing extravagant, unnecessary purchases—all under the guise of restoring their household’s dignity.
Heath, however, listened in silence, his expression unreadable.
Then, after a measured pause, he spoke.
“From what I understand, this issue would be much more easily resolved if I allocated you a monthly income. As my future wife’s family, you deserve it.”
The words fell smoothly, leaving no room for negotiation. No hesitation, no allowance for protest.
Blanche’s breath caught. “That is not necessary—”
“It is not up for debate.” Heath’s tone was firm, his authority absolute.
Blanche swallowed, stunned. Lady Gooldwer, however, appeared far from horrified. In fact, her entire posture lifted with unmistakable relief.
“Quite right,” she declared, nodding approvingly. “We are entitled to it, after all.”
Blanche exhaled sharply, willing herself not to groan aloud.
“Our household has suffered terribly,” Lady Gooldwer continued, adopting a wounded air. “Even the pugs have been forced into lesser accommodations—why, the poor dears have been utterly miserable.”
Silence stretched between them.
Blanche refused to meet Heath’s gaze, already knowing that his amusement was barely concealed beneath his otherwise composed exterior.
Fanny, meanwhile, pressed a hand to her mouth, masking a laugh.
Blanche inhaled, steadying herself.
But Lady Gooldwer, ever eager to shift the blame for their misfortunes, exhaled dramatically. “If only my husband had not abandoned us to ruin, we would not have to rely on your benevolence, Your Grace.”
The bitterness in her voice was undeniable—resentment, frustration, wounded pride all tangled into one sharp statement.
Blanche’s jaw tightened.
“Father did not abandon us.” The words came swiftly, a quiet but unwavering defense.
Lady Gooldwer scoffed. “He vanished without care, without word, without provisions for our future! What else would you call it?”
Blanche straightened. “Circumstances may have taken him elsewhere, but I refuse to believe he did so without consideration for us. He would never—”
She hesitated, sensing the flicker in Heath’s gaze, the way he studied her with measured intensity. As if…
A realization settled over her. He knew something.
And he was choosing—deliberately, consciously—to say nothing.
For the first time, she wondered if the truth was not as simple as she had always believed.
Heath, however, merely exhaled, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve with casual precision. “Regardless,” he murmured, “I am sure he had his reasons. I do not see a point in discussing this further.”
A quiet finality lingered in his tone.
Blanche swallowed but said nothing more.
With matters settled, Heath rose, adjusting his coat with practiced ease. “If we have agreed on everything, I must take my leave. Other obligations await.”
Lady Gooldwer, ever poised, offered parting pleasantries, while Fanny curtsied with effortless grace.
But when Heath turned to Blanche, something shifted—just slightly, just enough for her to catch the flicker of warmth beneath his otherwise composed exterior.
She met his gaze, exhaling softly. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
There was no hesitation in her words—only quiet sincerity. He had saved them from ruin, from the weight of responsibilities too great for them to bear alone.
Heath studied her, lips curling into something dangerously close to amusement.
“Think nothing of it.” His voice was smooth, teasing. “After all, you’ll have every opportunity to repay me once we are wed.”
Blanche stiffened, heat creeping beneath her skin.
She should have expected it—the effortless charm, the provoking ease with which he made everything seem like a game.
But her pulse still faltered.
She watched as Heath departed, stepping into his carriage with calculated grace, the door closing behind him as the horses stirred forward.
And yet, long after he was gone, she remained standing there.
Her heart pounded—too fast, too uncertain.
Heath unsettled her.
Not only with his words, his touch, or the quiet pull of his presence, but with something deeper.
Something she could not name.
Something whispered that he was hiding something from her.
But what? And why?