The Fortune Hunter (16 page)

“You should not be wasting your time and our money on such a frivolous life.” He whirled and pointed at her. “Annis Ehrlich! She has put ideas into your head that we can't afford.”

“Annis has nothing to do with our situation.” Nerissa locked her fingers together in front of her, so he could not see the fury she struggled to keep from her voice. “Nor does Lord Windham. You should know that I would not indulge in any luxury when we have butcher's meat in the kitchen. If I do not pay for that meat, there will be no more brought to us.”

For a long moment, she feared that he would continue to shout at her. Then he sighed, and his face regained its normal coloring. “Pardon me. This project has become so important that I fear I am losing my perspective. Instead of deriding you, I should be grateful that you have managed to keep this household solvent.”

“I wish I could tell you that I have the wherewithal to take us both on a splendid trip to London, but there is no money beyond what we need to keep the household going.” She did not tell him that the servants had not been paid in more than two months. That news would only disturb him more.

“None at all?”

“None at all.”

“Impossible!”

“No,” she said sadly, “and there shan't be more until Hill's End sells.”

When she shook her head, he dropped into a chair by the largest table. He leaned his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. She put her fingers on his shoulders, but he shrugged them off.

“Begone, Nerissa,” he ordered.

“But, Cole—”

“Just begone!”

Knowing that arguing with him would gain neither of them anything, Nerissa backed toward the door. Pain pierced her as she heard his muffled sobs. He wept not as a child would after learning that a treat would be withheld, but with the anguish of a man who has seen his dreams dashed to dust before he has had a chance to grasp them. Into her memory's ear came the resonance of Hamilton's infuriated voice as he spoke of not being able to succeed at his aspiration of finding the cross-cove who stole his father's money.

Tears blossomed into her eyes. She could not help Hamilton, for he asked for something she must not give him. She wiped her eyes, not wanting anyone to see her pain. Her days were so empty without the anticipation of Hamilton's calls. How many times had she gone to a window to search Laura Place for his carriage or his horse? The number of times she had looked did not matter, for he never had been there.

Even if she could not help Hamilton, there must be a way to aid Cole in reaching past his frustration to find his dream.

Money!
It was impossible to do without when her brother had such grandiose goals, but they were as full of money as a toad was full of feathers. If she had as much as a sixpence that was not accounted for in the household, she would …

Nerissa's eyes widened. There was money that was unaccounted for in the house. She rushed up the stairs at a speed that would have gained her a reprimand from Frye.

Going into her bedroom, she knelt by her dressing table and opened the bottommost drawer. She drew out the small box with fifty guineas in it. They were the ones she had won the first night she played whist with Hamilton and his friends. Her other winnings had been spent to soothe their creditors, but she had saved these for an emergency. Her smile faded as she sat back on her heels. Fifty guineas might as well be a halfpenny, for all the good it did them. They needed much more for a journey to London.

Not only would they require two billets on the eastbound Mail, but Cole's magnificent venture might not be embraced swiftly. While he negotiated with the men he assured her would be interested in bringing the attention of the government onto the project, they must have a place to live in Town. No doubt, entertaining would be part of the contracting of any private financing for the canal. For that, Nerissa must provide food and hire servants, because it would be impossible to take the whole of their household to London.

Fifty guineas would not be enough. She must have more money if she wished to help Cole make his wish come true. There was only one way, although she had tried to avoid thinking of it, but she could deal with the matter on her way to meet Annis at the
couturière's
shop this afternoon. Humiliating herself by begging might be the sole method to get the money they needed. Closing the box, she reached for the bell by the door, wanting to get the horrible call over.

Mr. Broderick Crimmins leaned back in his chair and scanned his office. The walls were of dark oak, which hid any sunshine that might dare to creep through the tall, thin windows. He liked his office, for it smelled of age and respectability. In his opinion, that was what a solicitor should aspire to at all times. Respectability. Even the word had a grand sound that Mr. Crimmins enjoyed hearing connected to his name.

When voices sounded in the antechamber, he remained sitting at his cluttered desk. There would be no intrusion unless his secretary, Mr. Mann, deemed the visitors worthy of the privilege of entering the inner office. A sour man, Mr. Mann, had proven an asset beyond price to his employer on many occasions. Although Mr. Crimmins wished his secretary would wear something other than the funereal black coat and waistcoat and nankeen trousers to the office, he had no other reason to complain about Mr. Mann.

At a hushed knock, Mr. Crimmins rose. Apparently the caller was a personage of enough importance to obtain Mr. Mann's approval. Tugging at his waistcoat, which had a habit of leaving a gap at the waistband of his breeches, he came forward to greet his client.

Amazement could not be kept from his face as his scrutiny settled on a delicate form which was topped by a pretty bonnet and swathed in a brightly dyed Kashmir shawl. When the young woman looked up, he tried to smile. His expression wavered, for, although he had met her steady, blue eyes on many occasions, he had learned he could not batter back Miss Dufresne's gaze. He wondered what trouble she was bringing him now. It was his misfortune that his father had been her stepfather's solicitor. He had inherited Miss Dufresne and her problems along with his father's other business.

“Do come in,” he urged automatically, aware of his secretary standing by the door. He did not want to appear a fool before Mann. “
On dits
suggested that you were injured rather seriously recently. May I say that you look well?”

Nerissa smiled. The solicitor's words were a welcome acknowledgment that her bruises had faded to mere shadows of their former flamboyance. She sat in the chair that Mr. Crimmins indicated, but she wished he had something other than the too soft chairs in his office. She sank into whichever one she chose, threatening to become lost in the leather while she tried to explain to the solicitor her most recent monetary crisis.

“Thank you, sir. I am sure rumor has made the incident far more harrowing than it truly was.”

Returning behind his desk, the young solicitor tried to maintain his cool demeanor while he sat in his chair. Nerissa wondered if he resisted recalling that he had gone to school with her brother for many years. Tales of those earlier times included many escapades that would not fit with the image Mr. Crimmins had created for himself in his darkly paneled cocoon. Or of Cole, she had to own.

“Miss Dufresne, this is a surprise,” he said in the emotionless voice he always assumed.

She suspected he thought that tone made him sound more overmastering, but she usually had to struggle to keep from laughing. Not so today, when she was fighting the blue devils each time Hamilton slipped into her mind. Her hands gripped the strings of her beaded reticule more tightly. Thinking of him was futile, for he clearly had put her from his life as easily as he had the others who had passed through it.

“I did not expect to see you until the quarter's end,” Mr. Crimmins continued. “I trust nothing else is amiss with your household now that you have recovered from your mishap.”

She released her hold on the bag. Folding her gloved hands primly in front of her, Nerissa forced a smile. “Everything is quite wonderful with our household, Mr. Crimmins, if you wish me to own to the truth. I came to inform you that Mr. Pilcher and I are planning an excursion to London.”

“London?” His scowl deepened the ruts along his thin face. “Do you think that is wise?”

“Mr. Crimmins, you know that I am no widgeon. I would not come here to bother you with tales of silly dreams. Mr. Pilcher and I have just decided that furthering his career requires a short sojourn to the Metropolis.” Taking a deep breath to prepare herself for the battle she knew was to come, she said, “Because of that, I would ask you to advance us a portion of the money we would receive from the next quarter's household allowance.”

“Impossible.”

“Mr. Crimmins,” Nerissa said quietly, “on numerous occasions, you have implored me to find Mr. Pilcher something worthwhile to do. On every occasion, I have assured you that my brother was involved in a pursuit that would come to fruition at its own rhythm. The opportunity is here at last to culminate his years of study and work.”

“Impossible, Miss Dufresne. I cannot give you any brass in advance.”

She took another deep breath and slowly expelled it. Flying up to the boughs would gain her nothing from this stolid man. Rational thought worked best with him, as it did with Hamilton.

Begone
, she shouted silently.
I cannot afford to think of you now when I must think of Cole
. At least, Cole asked for something that wasn't impossible to give. No, another part of her mind answered. What Hamilton wanted would be so very, very easy for her to offer him if he had asked in the carriage on the way back from the interview with Mrs. Ehrlich. Far too easy, she owned. Mayhap it was better that he had not returned, for she feared her longings to be in his arms could betray her.

“Miss Dufresne?”

Mr. Crimmins's impatient voice pulled her back to the problem in front of her. Coolly she said, “You have spoken of the need for our household to become self-supporting. Why are you becoming an addle-plot when we stand on the threshold of achieving that very independence?”

“Your mother's bequest was specific. You would be given a set allowance out of the money Mrs. Pilcher left for you each quarter until it was gone.”

And then we will have
nothing
, she thought grimly. Although her stepfather had been as determined to make a fortune as Cole was, he never had made a single effort to do anything but spend her mother's money.

“Mr. Crimmins,” she asked, wondering what other argument she could devise to convince the solicitor, “I would think you might see it wise to invest our money now, so that we might have something to live upon after Cole's birthday.”

“I cannot change the legacy of your loving father and mother.”

Nerissa tried to keep her lips from straightening with loathing. “Loving father” was the last description she would have used for Albert Pilcher. The bruises he had left on her during the few years he lived at Hill's End had been more painful than the ones she suffered when she met Hamilton. Reminding herself that it did no good to lambaste the dead, she raised her gaze to meet Mr. Crimmins's colorless eyes.

“Sir, I implore you to reconsider. This proposition is of utmost importance to my brother.”

“I am sorry, Miss Dufresne. Even if I thought it was in your best interests to advance you the money—and I speculate that further study into the matter would prove that your plans are unwise—I cannot do as you wish.”

Recognizing the finality in his words, Nerissa rose. There was but one more venue to get money for Cole. She did not want to ask the question, but she had no choice. “Have you heard anything from the agent who has Hill's End under the hammer?”

“There has been a query by an interested party. When or if, for I must be honest that it is no more than a query at this point, something becomes more defined, you may be certain that I shall send you such tidings immediately. I collect the price we discussed remains the same.”

“We need to have it sold.” Her voice almost broke.

“Shall we say ten thousand pounds less then?”

She nodded, for she could not speak the words that were sure to ensure the rapid sale of her beloved home. She bid Mr. Crimmins a good day and walked out of his office. She did not acknowledge his secretary, because she did not want him to see the tears that burned in her eyes. As she hurried down the stairs to the street door, she wondered how she could tell Cole that her last hope to help him had failed. If Mr. Crimmins had agreed to advance but fifty guineas to match the fifty she had, she could have …

Nerissa laughed suddenly as she came out into the watery sunshine. A hundred guineas could have provided for both of them, but, if her brother was careful with those limited funds, fifty guineas would get Cole to London and enable him to meet with prospective backers. She must send him alone. It was not
the
perfect solution, but it was
a
solution.

Her smile disappeared as quickly as the sun behind the clouds that were the steely grey of Hamilton's eyes. She blinked back the hot tears. If only she could bridge the differences between her and the stubborn viscount as easily, but she feared that was impossible.

The
modiste
's shop was nearly deserted when Nerissa entered.
Madame
DeLeff did not pause in her explanation of the fashion plates that she was showing Annis to greet Nerissa. Nor did Nerissa expect her to leave one of her best customers to speak to her. She had not ordered a new gown since her arrival in Bath.

As soon as the
modiste
went into the back to gather samples, Annis smiled a greeting. “I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten that we were meeting here today.”

“I had to make a few other stops,” she hedged, not wanting to reveal the truth of their dire financial predicament to Annis. There was no need to down pin her friend, especially now that she had found a way to help Cole. “Annis, I must ask you a favor.”