Her mother gasped, affronted. “How cruel you are to mock my suffering! Your father has abandoned us—vanished without a trace, without a word, without so much as a farewell!”
“I am painfully aware,” Blanche muttered, setting the tray aside. “But mourning will not settle our debts, nor will it keep a roof over our heads.”
Lady Gooldwer waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, what are debts to a lady? It is a matter for men.”
“No doubt Father will return and set everything aright. Until then…”
“That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?” Mother’s tone was dry. “Except for one rather inconvenient detail—he emptied the accounts before vanishing!”
Blanche stiffened, her expression shifting. “Surely, father had a compelling reason to…”
“There is nothing left, Blanche! Nothing,” she wailed. “He even took the dowries! What possible reason could there be to touchthose? We were going to use that money to pay the servants—those ungrateful wretches keep abandoning us without notice!”
How could Father have kept their debts a secret for so long?
Blanche was certain he had only meant to protect them—from worry, from shame—though the uncertainty gnawed at her. He would return. He had to.
But… how much longer can we wait?
“Soon, the creditors shall come knocking. And then what shall we do?” Lady Gooldwer bemoaned.
Blanche straightened, folding her arms. “We shall do what needs to be done. We shall manage.”
Her mother scoffed. “Manage? A lady does not manage, Blanche. A lady is taken care of.”
“Then perhaps it is time for me to be something else. I will not sit idly while our house crumbles. You may surrender to despair if it pleases you, but I intend to fight.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the victorious squeals of the pugs as another cushion met its untimely demise.
Finally, Lady Gooldwer let out a mournful sigh, sinking further into her chaise. “Fine, then. Do as you must.”
Blanche struggled to remain calm. Everything had become so difficult lately.
Each day her father failed to return, their situation grew more dire. The household was spiraling into ruin, and Blanche had begun to accept that only a miracle could save them.
Until then, she had to keep the household running—a task she’d managed so far, though her mother disapproved of most decisions, like selling family jewels to pay debts and put food on the table.
“If only you’d accepted Lord Bromley’s proposal,noneof this would have happened…” Lady Gooldwer continued.
This final complaint exhausted Blanche’s patience. Taking the tray, she retreated from the room.
Blanche barely reached the end of the hallway before Fanny appeared, breathless. “Sister, someone’s at the door. Been knocking for a good minute now.”
A visitor?That was unexpected. The Gooldwer household rarely entertained guests these days—most had abandoned them just as swiftly as her father had.
Suppressing the unease curling in her stomach, Blanche hurried toward the entrance. She pulled the door open—and there he was.
Tall, poised, wearing black, the Duke of Woodrey stood framed in the doorway. His dark hair was perfectly in place, and his deep blue eyes held a slow, knowing smile. Blanche’s pulse quickened.
“We meet again, Wildcat.”
Blanche exhaled slowly, leveling him with a cool stare. “Your Grace.”
“How fortunate I am to find myself at your doorstep,” he continued, unbothered. “Though I confess, I expected a warmer welcome.”
“A guest typically arrives with an invitation,” she returned.
The Duke chuckled. “Formality has always been a tedious obstacle.”
