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“He only meant to help you,” Blake said softly.
“It’s insulting,” she just barely managed to say. “How can I accept this? How could I possibly—”
He placed his hand on her arm. “You’re overwrought. Perhaps if you consider this in the morning—”
“Of course I’m overwrought! I—” Elizabeth caught sight of her siblings’ stricken faces and covered her mouth with her hand, horrified by her outburst.
Three pairs of blue eyes were darting between her face and that of Mr. Ravenscroft, whom they didn’t even know, and—
Mr. Ravenscroft. She should introduce him to the children. They had to be upset enough over her reaction, and at the very least they should know who was standing in their parlor.
“Susan, Jane, Lucas,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, “this is Mr. Ravenscroft. He is a friend of—” She swallowed. She’d almost said “Mr. Siddons,” but that wasn’t even his real name, was it? “He is a friend of Lady Danbury’s,” she finished. “And he was kind enough to see me home.”
Her siblings mumbled their greetings, and Elizabeth turned to Blake and said, “Mr. Ravenscroft, these are—” She broke off, eyes narrowing. “I say, it is Mr. Ravenscroft, isn’t it? You’re not hiding some sort of title as well, are you?”
Blake shook his head, a hint of a smile touching the corners of his lips. “A mere mister, I’m afraid, although if full disclosure is necessary, my father is a viscount.”
Elizabeth wanted to smile, knowing his comments were meant to amuse, but she just couldn’t summon one up. Instead, she turned to her siblings, and with a heavy heart, said, “We can’t accept this.”
“But—”
“We can’t.” Elizabeth didn’t even know which of her siblings had voiced the objection, she jumped in so fast over the protest. “It is too much. We can’t accept that kind of charity.”
Jane apparently disagreed. “But don’t you think whomever gave us the money wanted us to have it?”
Elizabeth swallowed against the lump in her throat. Who knew what James had intended? Was this all part of some grand scheme to mock her? After what he’d already done, who knew how his mind worked?
“I’m sure he did,” she said carefully, “else it wouldn’t be our names at the top of the letter. But that is irrelevant. We cannot accept this sort of money from a stranger.”
“Maybe it’s not a stranger,” Susan said.
“Then that’s even worse!” Elizabeth retorted. “My God, can you imagine? Some horrid person treating us like puppets, pulling our strings, thinking he can control our destiny? It’s sick. Sick.”
There was silence, followed by the most awful sound. Lucas, fighting back tears. He looked up at Elizabeth, his eyes heartbreakingly huge. “Does that mean I won’t get to go to Eton?” he whispered.
Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. She tried to tell Lucas that he couldn’t go, knew she had to tell him that they could not accept James’s money, but the words just wouldn’t come out.
She stood there, looking at her brother’s trembling face. He was trying so hard to keep his upper lip stiff and not show his disappointment. His little arms were rigid sticks at his sides, and his chin was jutted out, as if keeping his jaw still would somehow stem his tears.
Elizabeth looked at him and saw the price of her pride.
“I don’t know about Eton,” she said, leaning down to embrace him. “Maybe we can still make it work.”
But Lucas pulled back. “We can’t afford it. You try so hard to hide it, but I know the truth. I can’t go. I’m never going to be able to go.”
“That’s not true. Maybe this”—she motioned vaguely to the letter—“means something different.” She smiled weakly. Her words were utterly without conviction, and even an eight-year-old—especially an eight-year-old—could tell she was lying.
Lucas’s eyes fixed on hers for the most agonizing, longest moment of her life. And then he just swallowed and said, “I’m going to bed.”
Elizabeth didn’t even try to stop him. There was nothing she could say.
Jane followed without a word, her little blond braid somehow looking decidedly limp.
Elizabeth looked at Susan. “Do you hate me?”
Susan shook her head. “But I don’t understand you.”
“We can’t accept this, Susan. We’d be indebted to our benefactor for the rest of our lives.”
