“Unnerving.”
“Shocking.”
“He can no more hide his true vulgarity than he can pretend he did not assault that young woman like a revolting animal—”
Georgina slammed the table with a fisted fork. Heat blasted her face. A hundred million defenses trampled through her mind, screaming to be heard, though the only thing she said was “None of you know him at all.”
“Surely, Miss Whitmore, you are taking a little harmless spill of gossip beyond reason.” Miss Oswald smiled, unaffected by the outburst. “I think perhaps you are in need of smelling salts yet again.”
“Quite enough, Sister.” Mr. Oswald stood. “Miss Whitmore is right, of course. I could not agree with her more.” He drained the last of his sherry in one quick drink. “There is much about Simon Fancourt, I fathom, that we do not know at all.”
“I wanted to tell you before you heard the news from someone else.” Sir Walter frowned in the Hollyvale drawing room, seated on the edge of a sphinx-armed chair.
“What news?”
“You might as well sit.”
“I’ll stand.”
“As I might have imagined.” Sir Walter scraped at his chin, lines of fatigue under his eyes. “Your mother departed for the hunting lodge this morning. She has taken with her most items of sentiment, the rest is to be handled by you, and anything remaining is to be sold with the estate.”
Simon shoved back a grunt. “I thought I had time.”
“Your mother has many virtues. Patience is not among them.”
“How long do I have?”
“The details will be taken care of with Mr. Oswald this afternoon, if he can make it to my office.” Sir Walter muttered an oath. “Which I have no doubt he will.”
“I thought the will said—”
“This is not the time, I daresay, to be speaking of the will as if you cast any sentimentality or reverence upon it. Up to this point, you have done nothing the will suggested. We both acknowledge the fact that you will not be married and the inheritance will be lost to you. A day or two faster makes very little difference.”
“It only complicates matters.”
“If you are referring to your trifling search of—”
“Such a search almost cost Miss Whitmore and myself our lives.” Simon clenched his teeth. “Hardly trifling.”
“Exactly why you should abandon such nonsense and consider present quandaries, such as housing your children.”
“I will provide.”
“Yes.” Sir Walter stood, patting the watch fob on his waistcoat, as if to be certain he had not misplaced it. “I am certain you will.”
“How long do I have to gather my things?”
“Today. Tomorrow.” Sir Walter shrugged. “As long as Mr. Oswald permits, I imagine.”
“Very well.”
“I had best speak with the man now, as I have to be back in court presently.” He motioned for a servant to send for Mr. Oswald, and only when they were alone did he finally meet Simon’s gaze. “For what it is worth, Fancourt, I did my best to persuade your father against such a stipulation.” He sighed. “I wish things had turned out differently.”
Simon nodded, heaviness sinking his shoulders. “As do I.”
Simon had little to retrieve from his chamber at Hollyvale. He stuffed his clothes into the leather valise, left the room as he’d found it, and headed downstairs. “Pardon, miss.” He hailed a servant in the hallway. “Where can I find Mr. Oswald?”
The gangly housemaid led him through rooms and corridors until she pointed to a green-paneled door. “In there, sir, or likely near so. He always attends to his correspondences this time of morning, he does.”
