Always the Rival (Never the Bride #7) - Emily E K Murdoch Page 0,50

damned letters, and then he could stretch out on the settee and wait for dinner to be called.

His legs felt heavy as he walked down the corridor. What a day. The damned horse throwing a shoe, that awkward encounter with Priscilla in the coffee shop, then meetings after meetings, appointments with all sorts of dry old crusty gentlemen who had naught but bad news.

It was with relief that he fell into the settee and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the fire on his toes. Finally, some comfort after a long day.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” said Hodges smoothly. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

Charles had not even heard the butler come in, but then, wasn’t that what a finely trained servant was for?

“A drink.”

The butler coughed. “Any particular drink, Your Grace?”

Charles sighed, bringing one of the letters closer to his nose to inspect some of the columns of numbers. “Anything.”

He had not cracked the seemingly mysterious code within the table of numbers before Hodges had appeared once more by his side. In one hand was a glass of port, filled right to the brim. In the other was a plate of cheese and biscuits.

Charles frowned as he dropped the letter into his lap. “You do not think this will spoil my appetite for dinner, Hodges?”

The man cleared his throat. “The dinner gong was rung two hours ago, Your Grace. It was rung thrice, and when you did not appear at the table, we assumed you were too engrossed in matters of the estate.”

Charles blinked. “Goodness, are you sure?”

“It is almost nine o’clock now, Your Grace,” Hodges said politely, gesturing at the clock over the mantelpiece.

Charles glanced at it. It was ten to nine. “My word, you are right. Thank you, Hodges, I had not noticed… I was a little lost in paperwork. The biscuits and cheese are most welcome. You may go.”

Charles looked at the letters scattered across the settee, his lap, and in some cases, where they had slipped onto the floor.

Well, much as he hated to admit it…his mother had been right.

He laughed bitterly in the silence of the empty room as his hands picked over the letters. Why did he even doubt her? She had never been wrong.

What a shame that, of all situations to be right in, it was this one.

Ignore it as much as he wanted, he could not deny the truth in these papers.

His questing fingers found the letter he was looking for, and as Charles brought it up toward his face to read, he sighed deeply. Not what he had wanted to hear from Mr. Green, his personal banker.

To Charles Audley, Duke of Orrinshire, Baronet of Edinburgh,

Your Grace,

I regret to inform you that the Orrinshire Estate continues in dire financial straits, despite the efforts of this bank to inform your mother of the danger of profligate spending and inattention to the mortgage on the property.

The debt to the bank is now at thirty thousand pounds, all placed on the property on the Orrinshire estate, Scotland, and London. Inadvisable borrowing on the part of your grandfather and then father have unfortunately been coupled with poor investments that have not given the return expected by your ancestors.

After conversations with your mother seven years ago, four years ago, and last year, it is the opinion of this bank that a cash injection into the Orrinshire estate by means of matrimony is the only surefire way to prevent reclamation of your assets by the bank.

I must be plain, Your Grace. Unless twenty thousand pounds is found by the end of the year, then it will be impossible for the bank to sit by. We will need to take Orrinspire Park to satisfy the debt upon the estate.

I am at Your Grace’s leisure to discuss this in more detail, should you wish it, and can provide evidence and documentation of the accumulation of these debts.

Should you wish to bring an accountant or advisor to said meeting, that would be most agreeable.

I remain, as ever, your most humble servant,

Mr. Colin Green, Esq.

Charles brushed his fingertips across the carefully ordered letters.

Mortgaged to the hilt. Charles could not understand it – this was what happened to other people, families with gamblers, drinkers, rascals in the family line. Look at poor Axwick. It had taken him years to repay the debts his father and brother had accumulated.

But the Orrinshires? His father had died when he had only been fifteen or so. He had not known him as a man,