Page 11 of Debtor’s Daughter

With a sob, Miss Caroline got to her feet and ran from the room.

“Oh dear,” Mrs Finchley said, but before she could follow her sister, their aunt had risen and moved to the door.

“I’ll go, Maggie dear. I know how best to soothe her when she’s like this.”

Miss Merrivale went out of the room in pursuit of their niece, closing the door behind her. Larkin glanced at it, about to get to his feet and object but then he noticed the misery on Mrs Finchley’s face. The poor young woman. To have lost her husband and then her father and her home in such a short period, and to have her son, her sister, and her aunt relying upon her to put it right… it must be a heavy burden to bear.

“I did say it was not a pretty story,” she said with a wan smile. “I imagine you rue the day we moved in next door to you, what with Giddy destroying your peace and now—”

“Not at all,” Larkin said, though she was not entirely wrong. Still, if he could get her under the protective wing of Lady Montagu, all would be well. It might also be an idea to discover more about this bastard Jenkins. Perhaps there was more practical help he could offer them. “I believe, from what you’ve told me, that Lady Montagu would be pleased to help you, but I cannot answer for her. If you are willing, I will escort you to Montagu House to pay her a call on Friday. I will arrange for us to go rather earlier than is usually acceptable, and then we may be private with the lady for a while before the world and his wife descends upon her.”

“You are very good, Mr Weston,” she said, gazing at him in wonder. “Like a benevolent angel, come to our rescue.”

He laughed at that, quite unable to do otherwise. “You don’t read the scandal sheets, do you, Mrs Finchley?”

“Actually, I do, or at least, I have in the past,” she admitted, a tinge of colour cresting her cheeks.

“Then I wonder you can say such things with a straight face,” he remarked, trying to cheer her spirits a little.

To his relief, she rallied, a mischievous light dancing in her eyes.

“I confess, when you introduced yourself, I was torn between chagrin and delight. I feared loud parties and many dreadful goings on would entertain us at all hours of the day and night, but I have concluded the scandal sheets got it all wrong. You are a paragon, Mr Weston. It’s very bad of you to pretend such wickedness to impressionable females and not to live up to it.”

He grinned, rather delighted that she dared speak to him so. “Forgive me for disappointing you, Mrs Finchley. The truth is that I have turned over a new leaf and put such… wickedness behind me.”

“Ah, well, a country mouse like myself ought to be content to see this great city at all. I never thought I would, so I must console myself with that.”

“Did you never have a season?” Larkin asked, too curious not to delve a little.

“No. When Caro’s mama died, Papa and the household went to pieces. She was such a dear creature, and so very lovely, and poor Caro was only four. I was eleven, though, and rather precocious, and so I took over the running of the house as best I could and continued to do so thereafter. Poor Papa was an absolute dear, but rather a henwit. Everyone called him Merry Merrivale, and it suited him wonderfully. The sun always shone when Papa was home, but it never even occurred to me that I would come out and Papa never suggested it. By then our finances were feast or famine, depending on his success, and I was used to our way of life.”

“And then you met your husband?”

A wistful smile touched her lips, and she nodded. “I met him at a local assembly. William swept me off my feet, for he was so very handsome in his regimentals. Papa liked him too, and so when he asked me to marry him, I said yes. We’d only known each other two months, and we were married for two weeks before he had to return to India. And that was the extent of my married life.”

Larkin stared at her, aghast. “That’s— My word, Mrs Finchley. I am so very sorry.”

“So am I,” she said softly. “And for a while, I believed my life was over, but then I discovered I had been blessed with a child and everything changed. In truth, after my mourning period was done, I found I was content enough at home with Giddy and Auntie and Caro. Until Papa married again. He needed an heir, he said, before it was too late, but how that dreadful woman got her claws into him—” She coloured, pressing her fingers to her lips, her expression one of shock. “I beg your pardon, Mr Weston. I forgot myself, only it is so nice to speak to someone and—and you are such an excellent listener, I’m afraid you tempt me into speaking a deal too frankly.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “Please, Mrs Finchley, I pray you will count me as a friend and speak without reservation. I much prefer to hear the unvarnished truth. Indeed, the truth has become something I prize rather highly.”

She gave him a piercing look and Larkin realised he had spoken rather too forcefully. He cleared his throat. Mrs Finchley was also far too easy to talk to, and he was in danger of letting his guard down.

“Well, I had better be going. I ought not to have remained once your aunt had left you without a chaperone.”

She laughed at that, looking genuinely amused. “Good heavens do not concern yourself with such trifles. I am a mature lady, a widow, no less, and a mama. I think such days are long behind me.”

Larkin gave her an amused glance, wondering if she had any idea how lovely she was. Besides her stunning sister, she might fade into the background, but she was a beauty in her own right, and she looked to be not very much older than the lovely Miss Caroline. “You speak as if you are in your dotage,” he teased.

“Well, perhaps not that, but past the age of worrying about my reputation,” she told him, smiling as she got to her feet and escorted him to the door.

“You don’t wish to remarry?” he asked, shocked to think this lovely creature would never consider finding love again.

“Oh, no. That’s all done. I have my darling Gideon, and so long as I can see Caro happy, that is enough. Auntie and I shall rub along together quite well, I promise you.”

Larkin thought this most unlikely, having met the aunt, but forbore to say so.

“Well, I shall call for you on Friday and escort you to Montagu House, but do not hesitate to contact me if there is anything you need,” Larkin said, accepting his hat and gloves as she handed them back to him.

“I pray we do nothing to make you regret your kindness to us,” she said, the anxious pucker of frown lines pulling her fine eyebrows closer together.

“I am certain you will not,” Larkin said, and bade her a good day.