Page 10 of Debtor’s Daughter

“Then why are you still here?” she asked. “If, like me, you feel the countryside in your soul, the rivers that flow like your own life’s blood, why do you remain in the turmoil and hurly-burly of this vast, brutal landscape?”

Larkin blinked, a little taken aback. “Er… my work,” he said cautiously. “I am an artist, Miss Merrivale, but to further my career, it is better for me to spend time in town. At least for the moment. I hope once my reputation is fully established, I might return to the countryside, especially in the summer months, for London is a trial to the senses in hot weather.”

“And to the soul, Mr Weston,” the lady exclaimed, putting a hand upon her expansive bosom. “And to the soul.”

The door opened and Larkin admitted himself relieved to see Mrs Finchley and Miss Caroline Merrivale enter the room. Once again, his gaze travelled to Miss Caroline automatically, still finding it hard to believe such a beautiful creature was really flesh and blood. The only woman he had ever seen to rival her was Lady Kilbane. Cat was generally acknowledged to be the most beautiful woman in the country, but she was a stunning ice blonde. Miss Caroline, with her raven hair and green eyes, was quite a different prospect.

“Mr Weston. Thank you for coming. I am afraid we are trespassing upon your time quite shamelessly,” Mrs Finchley said with a smile. “And please, do take a seat,” she added, shooting a disbelieving look at her aunt, who seemed oblivious to her error.

“Not at all, and I beg you will remember my promise and not feel in the least uncomfortable. I will help you as best I can. You have my word.”

Once everyone settled, all eyes turned to Mrs Finchley and in that moment, Larkin realised what a burden rested upon her shoulders. For all she was a widow, she looked to be no more than two and twenty. Yet she was mother to a small boy, and responsible for her unmarried sister, and a maiden aunt who was certainly a little eccentric. His heart went out to her, and he understood why she had become tearful upon hearing his offer of help. Looking closer at her now, he saw the shadows under her lovely eyes, the signs of strain upon a face made for smiling. The poor girl was exhausted with worry.

“Well, there is no easy way of saying it, so I shall be frank, Mr Weston. Our father was a wonderful man, kind and generous to a fault, but he had a fatal flaw. Gambling, in short. When he remarried two years ago, the marriage… was not a success.” She spoke carefully, but with a candid air that he appreciated. It was clear she was mortified, her cheeks blazing with colour, but she held his gaze, her chin up. “In his unhappiness, my father lost large sums of money, but it only seemed to spur him on to greater recklessness. One night this summer, he gambled and lost our family estate in Norfolk, and everything we possessed, to a man—I will not say gentleman—who now seems to believe we, too, are his property.”

Larkin stared at her, appalled and sensing there was worse to come. She had said their father was—past tense. “I am so sorry.”

Mrs Finchley inclined her head a little but seemed determined to get the worst over with. “Our father is dead, Mr Weston.” The words hung in the air, the shock of what followed bringing an oppressive silence in its wake. “He could not live with the shame of what he’d done and took his own life.”

Larkin’s breath caught. Hell. Bloody, bloody hell.

“I see,” he said, once he could bring himself to respond.

“We will understand if you feel unable to help us any further,” Mrs Finchley said, her hands clenching and unclenching nervously in the skirts of her dress.

Larkin looked at her, at the dignity of her bearing, at a woman who would do whatever it took to keep her family safe, no matter the cost to herself, he suspected.

“Of course I shall help you,” he said quietly, a dart of pain piercing his heart at the relief that shone in Mrs Finchley’s eyes. “But I must ask you some personal questions, if you can bear it?”

Mrs Finchley nodded, and Miss Caroline, who had been sitting beside her on the sofa, reached over and took her hand.

“Your father’s name?”

“He was John Merrivale, youngest son of Viscount Fothersham.”

“The viscount?” Larkin suggested, only to be met with a fierce shake of her head. “My father fell out with the family many years ago. Our stepmother has already approached the new viscount, my father’s brother, though I warned her it was a mistake. I am afraid they made it very clear they wanted no part of such a scandal. In short, they have disowned us.”

Larkin started at that. Though he knew I happened often enough, he could not help but wonder at the callousness of a family that could wash its hands of the downfall of their own flesh and blood. Larkin remembered hearing of the scandal at the time. Mr Merrivale, or ‘Merry Merrivale’ as he was known, had been a respected fellow and well liked, though he did not move among the higher circles of the ton.

“You are still in mourning,” he observed. “When did your father die?” For it would not be possible for Miss Caroline to make her come out before a year was passed.

“In May. Mr Jenkins appeared three weeks later, and he gave us a month to make up our minds. We ran away in June but were forced to stay in temporary lodgings for a time before we found this house to let. And yes, I know if Caro comes out in February we will only have mourned for ten months, but our father has destroyed our lives by his actions. I will not allow him to ruin my sister’s chance for happiness by missing a season, for our finances are not such that we can afford a second. My husband left me a small sum that would do well enough if it were just myself and Gideon, and Aunt Constance has helped as much as she can, but none of us are independently wealthy, and I have Gideon’s future to think of too. Have I shocked you?” she asked, looking anxious and somewhat defensive.

“I think you have managed a dreadful situation as well as you possibly could, and I agree it would be pointless to keep such a lovely girl hidden away for another year.” He smiled at Miss Caroline, who blushed and looked away. “And what of the man your father lost to?”

“A Mr Jenkins,” she said, the distaste she felt for the man writ large on her face. “In his desperation, it appears my father resorted to the less refined gambling establishments, as his own club would no longer extend him credit.”

Larkin nodded. It was an all too familiar story. He wondered if the lady knew of his involvement in the Sons of Hades, and if she did not, if she would think ill of him.

“Mr Jenkins is not the kind of man a lady would wish to depend upon, Mr Weston,” Mrs Finchley said, and Larkin sensed her growing agitation. “He—He turned up at our house and… and had the temerity to imply that Caro—that she belonged to him, that he had won her, along with the house, and if we did not wish to be thrown into the street, we would do well to agree to her marrying him.”

Larkin swallowed a litany of bad language that would likely have had Miss Caroline and Miss Merrivale swooning, though he suspected Mrs Finchley was made of sterner stuff. As it was, he shot to his feet, raking a hand through his hair in his agitation. He took a moment to calm himself before sitting once more.

“I cannot tell you how very sorry I am that you were forced to endure such… such vile behaviour,” he said, finding it hard to keep a lid on his temper. He reminded himself that these women were strangers to him, not his kin, not his problem, and yet he knew he would do all in his power to see them safe. If he ever came across Mr Jenkins, he’d have a few things to say to him, too, preferably with his hands wrapped about the bastard’s throat.

“Thank you, Mr Weston. I am afraid, however, that our stepmother was of the opinion that Caro ought to sacrifice herself. She is not a kind woman, and I am ashamed to say we have been at odds since the moment Papa brought her home as his wife. I am willing to admit this may have been my fault in part, for I have been mistress of our family estate since Caro’s mama died.”

“Oh, no,” Miss Caroline said fiercely. “That is quite untrue. Maggie did everything she could to make the horrid creature welcome, but nothing pleased her. She’s intolerable, and it’s her fault Papa is d-dead. If not for her, he would not have stayed away so long and got himself into such trouble. He was always a little reckless, but never—never—”