Always the Rival (Never the Bride #7) - Emily E K Murdoch Page 0,51

not had some of those more serious conversations.

They had thought there was all the time in the world.

His eyes darted back down to look at the letter once more.

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.

He sighed. So this was what his mother had meant. It was hard to deny that marriage to Miss Frances Lloyd and her twenty thousand pounds would put a huge dent into the mortgage and give the bank reason enough to delay any embarrassing actions.

He could just imagine what the papers would say if the Dukedom of Orrinshire lost its southern estate.

A log cracked in the fire, making him jump. He could almost believe he was completely alone in the house.

Charles rubbed his eyes wearily. How was this possible? Proliferate spending? True, he had happily allowed his mother to manage the estate without ever looking at the numbers. What did a young gentleman just about to enter into society care about percentages, interest rates, and borrowing?

That same disinterest had continued, though, hadn’t it? He thought ruefully of his time at Oxford. He had not cared then either, more interested in leaving home properly for the first time, tasting the first fruits of freedom.

Before he had left for his Grand Tour, he and his mother had not even discussed the financial affairs of the estate. It had just been assumed, by then, that she would continue to take care of everything.

If only he had asked. Charles balled his hands into fists, so furious at himself, he hardly knew what to do. If he had just taken two minutes to ask about…debts, maybe?

Damn and blast it. He did not even know what to ask; he was so ignorant.

He should have found out. He should have known months ago, years ago, perhaps, that bad harvests and even worse investments had brought the Orrinshire estate to its knees.

Something rumbled, deep and low. Charles glanced at the window, curtains pulled together. It had not felt like a thunderstorm earlier today.

The noise grumbled again, and he almost laughed. It was his stomach. Well, he had not eaten for almost ten hours; no wonder he was hungry.

The plate of cheese and biscuits had been placed on the settee by Hodges, and Charles fell upon it, giving his famished stomach some relief.

Marrying for money. Even the thought disgusted him as he drank from the glass of port. He had always looked down on ladies who had done so, even if he had not said anything. It was so vulgar, coarse, even.

And now he was forced into the same position.

What choice did he have? If Mary had lived, bless her, perhaps she could have married well to a gentleman willing to lend him the money.

No, he was faced with absolutely no choice. He would have to marry Miss Lloyd.

Charles felt sick to his stomach. What a cad he was. He was the worst kind of gentleman, throwing promises out that he could never keep to.

What had he done?

“I…I meant what I said. I will break my engagement.”

If he had known then what he knew now…he would certainly never have told her that, let alone made love to Priscilla.

He had to tell her. She could not continue thinking he was going to propose to her once he had broken his engagement to Miss Lloyd. It would be the most difficult conversation of his life.

Perhaps, and his heart twisted at the very thought, he could avoid her for a few more days. Allow distance to grow, emotions to settle…

What was he thinking? Priscilla was hardly going to forget about him.

The wedding – his wedding – was ten days away. She needed to know that he was going through with it, even if it was the end of their friendship.

But how could he live without her?

“That is a rather serious face,” said a voice behind him.

Charles almost spilled port all down himself, ruining a very expensive shirt. He knew that voice.

Priscilla was removing her bonnet and placing the ribbons inside it with a look of cheerful mischief on her face.

“H-How did you – did Hodges not see you?”

“Of course not,” Priscilla said airily, removing her spencer jacket and placing it with her bonnet on an armchair. “I wished to see you, and no butler was going to get in my way to