was a twinkle in the wise, old eyes that did not go unnoticed.
Blaine's face sobered as she continued. "According to the lawyer, everything has been left in trust for Valerian until he is twenty-one. Val is only five now. For the most part the estate is self-supporting. I have gone over the books very carefully with Higgins, the estate manager. With stringent economies, we should all be able to survive but, in actual fact, we will live no better than our tenants for the next sixteen years. Worse, we will have nothing in reserve in case of some unlooked for casualty."
"I cannot believe Cedric arranged things so poorly!" Haydie reached out for the glass of sherry on the table beside her. She took a bracing sip then cocked her steel-gray head to the side as she stared at the portrait of her brother which hung above the fireplace. "On second thought, I can well believe it. At times, my dear, your father was a thundering lackwit. He assumed, like most of us, that he would live to his dotage."
Blaine's eyes rose to the portrait and she smiled. Her father was dressed in his hunting pinks, seated on a low stone wall, his hand on the head of his favorite hunting dog Knolly. In the background was Weathers, the country home of generations of Meriweathers. The warm golden tones of the Cotswold stones shone like a beacon at the end of the narrow, tree-shaded lane. The land around the house was flat, perched as it was on the edge of Salisbury plain in Wiltshire. Tears sheened Blaine's eyes at the thought that they might eventually be forced to sell the house which was Val's patrimony. Never! She vowed silently and pulled herself erect to face her aunt with determination.
"We need money, Aunt Haydie," she announced. "Our tenants depend on us to help them in an emergency. There are no dowries for either Fleur or myself and there is nothing for Val's schooling. Papa wanted him to go to Cambridge and for that he will need tutors. Our governess can hardly prepare him."
"You're right, my dear. Frau Puffentraub has been fine for you and now Fleur, but Val must go off to school," Lady Yates agreed. "I have wondered in the last few days if it might not be a kindness to release the good frau to find another position."
"Let Puff go? Oh Aunt Haydie," Blaine cried, a stricken look on her face as she thought of the sturdy little governess who for so many years had stood as mentor and friend.
"Buck up, child," Haydie said bracingly. "We'll manage. After all, I have my money."
"Oh no! Papa left that allowance to you and you mustn't even consider spending it on us."
"Save it for my golden years? A thoroughly lowering thought." Haydie snorted and took another hearty sip of the sherry. "Wish Ceddie had thought to leave you girls a dowry. That would be more to the point. Despite my allowance, there's not enough to scrape together to interest even a London Cit."
"For myself, I don't mind," Blaine said. "It's Fleur I worry about. She's going to be so beautiful, Aunt Haydie. Even at eleven, one can see her potential. Hair the color of sunshine and those lovely violet eyes, soft and velvety like pansies. With her beauty she could marry anyone and yet, by the time she's eighteen, we won't have enough for a season, let alone a dowry. It's an almighty shame."
Lady Yates smiled at the protectiveness of her niece for her half-sister. Blaine's mother had died when the girl was eight and, a year later, Cedric, anxious for an heir, married Juliette Montclaire, a young French émigrée. The motherless child had welcomed her new stepmother and was overjoyed at the birth of her half-sister Fleur. In the six years that followed, Juliette miscarried time after time and Fleur's care and entertainment fell primarily to Blaine. In Haydie's opinion, Blaine rather spoiled the girl but it was easy to do when faced with the angelic face and sweet temper of the child.
It was not that Blaine Margaret was a dowd. At twenty, Blaine was already a beauty. Her loveliness was far more classical, reminding one of an ancient Celtic princess. Her looks were not in fashion but Haydie suspected she would gain the title of "Incomparable" were she to go to London. She was tall with a gracefully rounded figure. Her skin was tanned instead of the sickly white that most