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Behind him, tall windows were framed by climbing roses. Beyond were the South Gardens, becoming overgrown now that the gardening staff had been reduced. Ruth called it a cottage garden, quite the fashion. To Simon, it was another symbol of failing fortunes. Ruth sat opposite, adding names to a list. Her husband, Gordon, was touring the Lindley estate, lending his expertise on turf to find any corner of land that could yield more income.
Three days had passed since Alice had been talked out of delaying her debut. Those three days had been a frenetic bustle of activity, eating into the mammoth task of preparing for the social function.
“What about the Greenford’s?” Ruth asked.
“What?” Simon realized that his mind had wandered, wondering if Gordon would return with information on a patch of land capable of producing a few pounds more per year than it currently was.
Or evidence of coal beneath the Old Tor, or good soil in the East Farthing. Something!
“Simon, dear. We have convinced our feral little sister of the value of having her debut. Now we must make the occasion happen. And that takes work. The right people must attend for it to be a success.”
Simon sat back, rubbing at his forehead. The characteristically black hair of the Hathway family fell over his fingers until he swept it back. Clear blue eyes fixed on his sister who stared back challengingly.
“I am aware, Ruth. There is much to occupy my mind, that’s all.”
“I am also aware Simon. I am occupied by the same problem, together with the additional problem of keeping it secret from Alice.”
“Not quite the same. Your future is secure. Gordon Warmsley of Mattingley Hall is a wealthy man. Simon Hathway of Lindley Manor is not.”
Ruth sighed. “And my husband’s wealth is yours. I have told you. It is mine and therefore it is yours.”
Simon pushed back his chair, its legs scraping against the wooden flooring.
“I will not go cap in hand to your husband for charity, Ruth.”
“Well, then. Let the house fall down and the gardens become a jungle. Or perhaps let it wear you down until you fall into the same trap that caught hold of poor Teddy,” Ruth snapped.
Simon knew that her harsh tone was not intended to wound. Not deliberately. She had a quick temper, as did he. Alice was the only one of the three Hathway siblings not possessed of a mercurial nature. She had always been a good-natured, sweet smiling angel. The apple of everyone’s eye from infancy.
Four siblings! There are four of us! May God strike me down if I forget Edward again. The true Viscount of Lindley.
Ruth’s cheeks were flushed and her breathing came in gasps. Simon bit back on a quick response that had leaped to his tongue. He raised placating hands.
“Ruthie, please take a glass of water. Think of the child.”
She slapped her hand against the table. “Do not tell me to calm down, Simon. I will not allow your pride to doom this house.”
He sat, sinking back into the chair whose leather upholstery was cracked and supple. It had accommodated three generations of Hathway Viscounts. He stroked the elaborately carved armrests, remembering the hours his father had spent in this chair.
Hours spent marshaling ships from all over the world. Shipments carrying our crest and bringing back wealth. Now all gone. All at the stroke of an evil man.
“Let us return to the matter at hand. Our priority is Alice’s debut.”
Ruth looked at him for a long moment as though she would say more. Then she returned to the list in her hand.
“Lady Vickers and her husband.”
“That is the German, is it not? The soldier?” Simon asked.
“Lord Vickers is Austrian. An adviser to Horseguards and a personal friend to the Regent. The royal family are of German origin after all. Quite proper,” Ruth assured him.
“Very well. Though I am told the fellow is a tad boorish.”
“But well connected,” Ruth pointed out.
Simon nodded.
“The Duke of Redwood,” Ruth read out.
