The Genuine Article (9 page)

Her mother's puzzled exclamation brought Marian's thoughts back to the present. "What is it? Surely we have not been invited to another ducal ball? Those gowns we have ordered will cost the earth as it is."

"Do you think we can cancel the order?" Lady Grace asked in a low voice, staring at the letter.

Alarmed, Marian put down her toast. "What is it? Do we need to return home? Has something happened to the house?"

Her mother handed over the paper with a frown of puzzlement. "I'm not at all certain, dear. What can this mean? I'm quite certain the squire said his man was all that was honest. Surely he would not be asking for such sums without reason. Perhaps he means they are debts that come due when the harvest comes in?"

Marian scanned the letter once with dread, then again to be certain she understood correctly. Squire Oglethorp had always handled the family business dealings. He had a steward to manage the farm. After he had died, the steward and the family solicitor had dealt with the bulk of the family finances, leaving Marian only to manage the day-to-day business of surviving on their meager allowance. She could see that had been a mistake. She should have made more inquiries about the family's state of affairs.

"It says the taxes have not been paid and there is interest coming due on the mortgage," she murmured, more to herself than as explanation to her mother.

"We cannot possibly pay such a sum until the harvest comes in, can we? Why do they send this to us? It is their business to handle the farm, is it not?"

"They say there are no funds for paying the debts. They have spent all on seeds and labor. We must borrow the money to pay the rest. If there is a good harvest, we can pay the loan then."

Lady Grace looked at her blankly. "How does one go about borrowing money? Isn't that what we have the solicitor to do?"

Marian folded the letter slowly. "He has found no one willing to extend such a loan. He thinks we might have better luck among our friends here in London."

Lady Grace picked up her teacup and stared at it in bewilderment. "We are to ask our friends for loans? That does not seem at all proper."

Crushing the letter in her hand, Marian pushed away from the table. "Do not worry about it just yet. Perhaps we can cancel the gowns, as you suggested. I will look into it."

Her mother looked relieved. "And I am certain Lord Darley is at the asking point. He will help us understand what to do once you are betrothed. We must wait until then."

Marian hurried out of the room and toward the study, her favorite hiding place since the town house did not possess a library. Canceling the ball gowns would accomplish little. Their cost was negligible compared to the sum quoted in the letter. She still had a goodly amount of the fifty pounds left after judicious negotiating over materials with the modiste, but even that sum wouldn't come close to touching the amount of taxes and interest due. Why hadn't someone informed them of the debt before? Perhaps if they had not come to London they could have scraped together enough to satisfy their creditors.

But the amounts would only come due again next year, and if the harvest failed again, they would be out of a home. They'd had to come to London to find husbands who could support them. Somehow, she must stall for time until she was safely wed. She had to bring Darley up to scratch soon.

Had she been a man, she could have gone down to her club and found a drinking buddy who would gladly extend a loan for a few months. Women did not have that alternative. She could not very well ask Darley for a loan. Perhaps when they were betrothed she could act helpless and ask his advice, but not before then. It might be weeks or months before Darley summoned the nerve to ask for her hand. This letter seemed to indicate that they didn't have that long.

Marian sat down in the massive chair behind the desk and stared helplessly at her trunk of books. She was certain Mr. Jacobs would be delighted to buy every one of them. If he gave her twice what she had been quoted previously, she might manage most of the sum needed, but she rather thought Mr. Montague was responsible for the earlier extravagant sum. Mr. Jacobs would surely not be so foolish a second time, without the wealthy gentleman looking on.

Thinking of Mr. Montague stirred the germ of another thought, one she wished she could shove aside. He had said the necklace was very valuable, and that there were ways of making copies, that many people did it. Would it be so very awful if her mother possessed only a copy of her precious necklace? It would still look the same, and she would still have the memory of her husband giving it to her. At the same time, they would have the money to save their home.

She didn't know if she could make herself do it. She got up and paced the room, from the glass-encased bookcase of musty tomes to the heavily draped window overlooking the mews. If she should ever be wealthy enough to have a study of her own, she would have it built with windows everywhere and draperies on nary a one. That was a fine thought, she realized, when she was about to lose the one study she occupied.

Her mother had no desire to marry again, yet she needed a home of her own. With the proper care, the farm could produce again. It had made Squire Oglethorp wealthy once. It just hadn't made him wealthy enough for extravagance. By living carefully, her mother could be comfortable in a short time—if she still had the farm to live on. It would provide her an income for the rest of her life. Selling it would leave her subject to the whims of any husbands her daughters might acquire. That did not seem at all a satisfactory solution given the nature of men and the vicissitudes of life.

Perhaps it would be possible to just pawn the necklace for a little while. She had heard of such things. It would be like borrowing money with the necklace as collateral. If it brought enough to pay off the debt and have a copy made, no one would know what she had done. Then when the harvest came in, she could retrieve the original.

That thought brightened the situation considerably. Had the stone been entirely hers, she would have had no qualms about selling it outright. She held no sympathy for a father who had left her a mere pittance and a single heirloom to survive on. She was not in the least sentimental. But her mother was.

She would have to ask Mr. Montague how to go about pawning the necklace and getting a copy made. She hated the thought of speaking to him at all, but he was already aware of their desperate need of funds.

He had apparently said nothing to Lord Darley, and for that she had to be grateful. She simply could not lower herself in the viscount's eyes by admitting their financial desperation. She must seem sweet and unconcerned about such things until she had Darley's ring on her finger. In the meantime, she needed to deal with the obnoxious—but perhaps useful—Mr. Montague.

She wasn't at all certain how to go about it, however. She couldn't very well send a note around to his house explaining the problem, and she couldn't count on finding him at the emporium. She must somehow wait until they met again and find a way to get him alone.

The thought of being alone with Reginald Montague was enough to give her the shivers. He was a tall man of considerable strength, she wagered. She had read enough stories of what happened to foolish young women who trusted themselves alone with such men. She would have to rely on the fact that he despised her. Surely men did not molest women whom they despised?

Fortune smiled on her for a change the very next day. While her mother and Jessica were out making calls, Marian chose to stay at home and read. She knew Darley had been called out of town this morning on some estate business, so she grabbed this opportunity to be alone. She found the social whirl of London quite fatiguing after a lifetime of rural serenity. Her sanity survived on these moments of solitude.

When their manservant announced a gentleman caller, she almost had him say she was not at home. But glancing at the card presented, she took back that hasty thought. Montague.

He had never presented himself here before. She could not imagine why he was doing so now other than out of friendship to Darley. If she were to have him brought up, she ought to have Lily with her. She shouldn't entertain him alone.

But she couldn't very well ask him about pawning the ruby in front of Lily. Fortune had been kind enough to grant her this opportunity. She had to have the courage to grasp it.

"Very well, Simmons, have him brought up, then bring us some tea. I am certain Mama will be home shortly and will wish to see him." She hoped that placated the stiff and proper London servant's disapproval.

Montague looked surprised when he entered to find only Marian present. He hid his momentary consternation well when he accepted the seat offered.

"This is a pleasure, Lady Marian. I did not expect to find you alone. Darley told me he was being called out of town and asked that I look in on all of you upon occasion. Are you already mourning his absence?"

He was twitting her, she was certain. She held her tongue as a maid carried in the tea tray. When the girl was gone, she attempted a pleasant expression. "You are refining upon nothing, sir. Lord Darley is free to come and go as he pleases, as am I. It would be presumptuous of me to mourn his absence under those circumstances."

He nodded approvingly as he sipped his tea. "You do not count your eggs before they are hatched, I see. A wise woman, indeed. Do you set your sights on the duke then?"

Marian's lips tightened and she set her cup carefully on the table. "If you have come to be insulting, sir, I would thank you to leave now."

Montague held his hand up in a gesture of peace. "I thought only to speak with you honestly as we have done in the past. If you wish the usual drivel, so be it. Is not the weather very fine for this time of year? Would you care to go driving this afternoon?"

Marian scowled and handed him a plate of scones. "I cannot fathom what Darley sees in you, sir, but as we are on the subject of honesty, I will admit that there is a reason I allowed you up here unattended."

His expressive eyebrows raised. "I had wondered," he murmured. "I had not thought it was because you wished to seduce me."

She flung a pillow at him. He cleverly managed to divert the pillow while keeping a precarious hold on his teacup, thereby preventing a disastrous spill on his stockinette breeches.

"That could have been uncomfortable," he murmured, setting the china back on the tray. "Do you often indulge in these fits of pique? Is Darley aware of it?"

"You deliberately provoke the worst in me, Mr. Montague. If you tell Lord Darley about this visit, I shall have to inform him of your insult. I thought we were to call a truce."

"Why is it that ladies must turn jests into insults? Is it because they possess no sense of humor?"

"It is because their sense of humor does not rely on the vulgar, sir. I find nothing humorous in being accused of seduction, even if I had any knowledge of such things, which I don't. Your assumption that I do is insulting."

"The fact that you speak of such things with anger instead of fainting dead away tells me you know a great deal more than most ladies. Let us cut the pretense. Lady Marian. You are no young innocent to wear white and pale at the mention of a man's inexpressibles. You are well-read and have a brain behind that pretty face. We will get on vastly better if you admit to it instead of playing the part of sweetness and light as you do with Darley."

So that was it. Entwining her fingers in vexation, Marian sent him a venomous glare. "I try very hard to be what is expected of me, sir. You do me no favors by encouraging me otherwise. But for the moment, let us set aside our differences. I need your help."

Montague looked interested. He even dared to retrieve his teacup. "Please go on, my lady. I am at your service."

She had a good reply to make to that, but she held her tongue. "My mother received a distressing letter from her solicitor today. It seems we are in need of borrowing a serious sum to keep our home. It can be paid back immediately upon the harvest, but apparently the man has been unable to find a lender."

She spoke succinctly, if with considerable distaste at revealing such matters to a relative stranger. "I might conceivably obtain much of it by selling the remains of the library, but you once mentioned the worth of my necklace. Is it possible to in some way use it as collateral for a small loan?" She breathed easier once she had the words out.

Montague considered the question, swirling the tea in his cup. "You would wish to make a copy of it so your mother does not find out?"

Biting her lip, Marian nodded.

"And you do not wish to sell it outright?"

She shook her head. "I feel enough of a thief to consider even this. I know the stone is to come to me, but it is all my mother has."

"It suits your coloring more than hers," he said. "Your father must have been dark."

"I believe so. I was very young when he died. His portrait stayed with the estate, so I have not seen it since Mama married Mr. Oglethorp." She continued to watch him anxiously.

He watched her over the edge of his cup. "The current marquess cannot be called upon for help? Perhaps he would be interested in acquiring the jewel if it is an heirloom."

He wasn't going to help. Trying to hide her despair, Marian glanced at the mantel clock. Her mother and sister would be home soon to put an end to this distressing conversation.