Page 32 of Debtor’s Daughter

Montagu sighed and shook his head. “I will make enquiries about the repugnant Mr Jenkins and see what I can discover. But you will do nothing in the meantime. Is that understood?”

“Of course.”

Montagu nodded, regarding Larkin with the unnerving gaze that he was known for throughout the ton. “Why do you wish to do this?”

“Because it is an injustice,” Larkin said with a shrug. “Mrs Finchley lost her husband in the war, and then her fool of a father kills himself. She and her sister and aunt lost their home, as did her son. Gideon will never know his father, or his grandfather, and he won’t even have the security of growing up in the place his family have loved and built up over generations. I cannot help but think how I would feel if someone I despised turned me out of Mitcham Priory and took my place. It’s unbearable. The place that means so much to them all is in the hands of a man unfit to cross its threshold. It’s wrong.”

Montagu’s expression softened, but his words were implacable. “There are many injustices in the world, Larkin. You cannot undo them all.”

Larkin scoffed. “And how many injustices have you resolved in your own inimitable manner? How many times have you interfered when society would have had you turn your back?”

“I know not to what you refer,” Montagu replied coolly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

“That’s what I thought,” Larkin replied, shaking his head.

“Just don’t go doing anything foolish. I’ll help you if the plan is sound, but I won’t help you to ruin yourself for no good reason.”

“I have no intention of doing anything of the sort,” Larkin replied sharply. “I’m not entirely a fool.”

“You are in no way a fool, but you are a romantic soul and are always too quick to go riding in on your white charger, wishing to rescue the damsel in distress. I only ask you to consider your own happiness before you put it at risk. Again,” he added, putting such emphasis on the word that Larkin had to fight a blush.

That was the trouble with going to pieces: people always fretted you’d repeat the error.

“I will,” Larkin said stiffly, too embarrassed to reply with equanimity.

“Very well,” Montagu said. “You may leave it with me.”

“Thank you,” Larkin replied gratefully, but did not rise.

“Was that all?”

“Actually, no, sir. I wondered if you might do one other thing for me. It’s regarding Mrs Finchley’s husband—”