Tommy slid open the panel to the driver. “Home, please. We shan’t be going to the ball.”
“No.We have to go.” Chloe’s stomach rebelled against the idea. “I don’twantto watch him propose to Philippa, but I need to see it happen. I have toknow.”
Tommy gave her a tortured look and then nodded. “All right.” She craned her head back toward the driver. “York residence, please.”
Chloe sagged against the back of the carriage. “Tell me you found our Puck.”
Tommy shook her head. “I looked over every inch of that library. I peeked under chairs and even inside books in case they’d been hollowed out to make hiding spaces.Puck & Familyisn’t there.”
Chloe’s skin turned cold. “Notthere?”
“I looked everywhere I could think to look.Twice.The housekeeper almost caught me locking up after myself. I’m sorry, Chloe. It’s somewhere else. We have to go back.”
Back to the house but not back into Lawrence’s arms.
The next time they came to call, he’d be spoken for, and might not be alone. Chloe’s arrival could disrupt private time with his new betrothed.
She wasn’t certain she could bear to witness him with someone else after all.
***
Lawrence retied his cravat for the third time and glared at his reflection.
Chloe had left just moments ago, and here he was primping for her, rather than for the young lady he hoped to make his bride.
Didhe wish to wed Miss York? He turned away from his looking glass. He didn’twantto marry for money, no matter how practical and commonplace it was. But one’s wants did not signify when one must also consider tenants, staff, and a familial estate that would crumble before his eyes without timely renovations.
Even if he were willing to give up his hard-won respectability and accept the scandal and censure an alliance with the Wynchester clan would bring, Chloe still was not an option. She had no dowry.
The unfortunate truth was Lawrence needed an heiress. Miss York did not seem particularly keen to wedhim, but she needed a title. Neither would be getting what he or shereallywanted, but beggars could not be choosers, much as he might wish that were the case.
When he reached the front door, Hastings handed him a letter.
“This came a few minutes ago. It seemed important.”
Lawrence glanced at the seal and handwriting, and his stomach sank. Itwasimportant. Nor was it the first message he’d received from the bank that held the mortgage to the town house.
Father had apparently stopped making payments years before. To repay the debt, Lawrence deposited three months’ worth at a time, with the proceeds from selling items of value from the estate.
The bank had allowed Lawrence to postpone the date by which all overdue funds must be fully repaid with interest, on condition that the exorbitant monthly sum would be received by the first of every month without fail. But there wasn’t enough money. Not yet.
He slid a trembling finger beneath the wax and began to read.
It was the twenty-fifth of April. He had missed this month’s payment and only provided half of the last month’s sum. They were very sorry, but he would not be able to keep the town house through June after all. Unless he balanced his account within the week, the mortgage would be in foreclosure and he would be evicted at the end of May.
Not only would there be no end-of-season gala, there would be no end of season at all. No more House of Lords, no more London, no more Chloe.
Lawrence crumpled the letter in his palm. If the crops had not failed, hewouldhave had the money. But last year had been the Year Without a Summer. Crops had failed all over England—all over Europe. Lawrence wasn’t the only one whose income had suddenly shriveled to nothing.
Which was likely why the bank would allow no more postponements. They knew his fallow fields would not become fertile on the morrow. He had made good progress on his father’s debts—fine progress, exceptional progress—but the balance remained overdue, with no way to pay it.
No way except to secure a healthy dowry as quickly as possible.
He would have to wed Miss York sooner rather than later.
Mrs. York would be pleased. She had strongly suggested to Lawrence that tonight would be a fine night for a proposal. He suspected she’d dropped hints into all of her friends’ ears as well. His fingers dug into his palm, compressing the foreclosure notice into a jagged little pellet.
It was time for the show.
