Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen

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      ‘And now you are buying books that you already own. It must stop, Penny. It really must. If we are to share this house in peace, I will have no more of it.’

      She lost count and her temper failed her. ‘Then I do not wish to live with you a moment longer.’

      ‘I fail to see what choice you have.’

      ‘I will marry. Someone more agreeable than you. He will be sensible and understanding, and will not begrudge me a few pounds a month for my studies.’

      Hector was looking at her with pity again, but his tone was sarcastic. ‘And where will you find such a paragon, dear sister? Have you forgotten the disaster of your come-out Season? Even knowing of the substantial fortune attached to it, once you opened your mouth, no one would have you. None of them was good enough for you. You are too opinionated by half. Men want a woman who will follow where they lead, not one who questions her husband’s wisdom and ignores the house and the servants because she is too busy reading.’

      It had been four years, and the sting of embarrassment still rose to the surface at the mention of the utter failure that had been her Season. ‘But surely there is a man who wishes an intelligent wife. Someone with whom he can converse.’

      Hector sniffed in disapproval. ‘At such time as you find him, you are welcome to marry. But I do not see you in pursuit of such a man, nor is he in pursuit of you. Since you show no inclination to leave your desk, unless he comes stumbling into the house by mistake, it is unlikely he will find you. And thus, I am left to make your decisions for you.

      ‘I will not push you into society, for we both know that would be hopeless. But neither will I encourage you to further education, since what you have gathered so far has caused you nothing but trouble. Good day, sister. I suggest you find something to occupy your hands, and you will see no need to busy your mind.’ And he went back to reading his mail.

      She was dismissed. One, two, three … She retreated to the stairs before she could say something that would further solidify her brother’s opinions.

      He was right in one thing, at least. He was entitled to make monetary decisions for her, until she could find another man to take the responsibility from him.

      Not that she needed any man to do so. She was quite smart enough on her own. Smarter, she suspected, than her brother was. His hand with the family business showed none of the mastery that her father had had.

      Her father loved the books he printed and bound, loved everything about the papers, the inks, and the bindings. He turned the printing of even the simplest invitation or calling card into a statement of art. And to her father, a finished volume was a masterwork.

      Four, five, six … To her brother, it would never be more than profit and loss. And so, there was more loss than profit. Given a lifetime, Penny expected to see her own part in the inheritance disappear, pound by pound, to cover the shortages that would occur from his mismanagement.

      Of course, it was her mention of the fact at dinner the evening before that had caused her brother’s sudden interest in bringing her to heel.

      Seven, eight, nine … It was unbearable. She could not live out the rest of her life under Hector’s thumb, sneaking books into the house on the sly and hoping that he did not notice. To live by his rules would be impossible.

      Ten.

      Which left her one choice in the matter: she must marry. Even the thought of her brother’s edict and the lack of books made her throat tighten in panic.

      She must marry quickly.

      She walked to the corner of the room and tugged the bell pull three sharp times, then turned to her wardrobe for a valise, tossing in travelling clothes from the collection of half-mourning that she had never quite managed to leave behind, although her father had been gone for two years.

      In a few moments, there was a discreet knock upon the door.

      ‘Come in, Jem.’

      The senior footman looked uncomfortable, as he always did when summoned to her rooms. He had often expressed a wish that she would find a ladies’ maid, or some other confidant. She had reminded him that she would do so at such time as she needed her hair dressed or a ribbon ironed. But if she needed wise counsel, she would always call upon him.

      ‘Miss?’ He stood uneasily at the door, sensing a change in the air.

      ‘I need you to hire a carriage and prepare for travel.’

      ‘You are going out, miss?’

      She gave him a fish eye. ‘I would not need a carriage, else.’

      ‘Are we going to the book seller’s, miss?’ He had overheard the conversation in the hall, she suspected. And balked at doing something in direct opposition to her brother’s wishes.

      ‘No, Jem. I am not permitted to do so.’

      He sagged with relief.

      ‘So I mean to limit myself to something my brother cannot possibly object to, since he has given me permission. He wishes me to be behave as other young ladies do.’

      ‘Very good, Miss Penny.’

      ‘And so we are going to go and find me a husband.’

      ‘Lost with all hands …’ Adam Felkirk, Seventh Duke of Bellston, stared at the paper in front of him and watched it shake with the trembling of his hands. He tried to remind himself that the loss of almost one hundred lives far outweighed the loss of the cargo. Had the wives and families of the ship’s crew been in some way prepared for the possibility of this tragedy? Perhaps. But he had certainly been foolishly unready for the fact that his investment was a risky one.

      A shipment of tobacco from the Americas had seemed like a sensible plan when he had put down the money for it. The spring lambing had not gone well, and his tenants’ crops were not likely to thrive in the dry weather they had been having. But tobacco was almost guaranteed to bring in more money. It was a valuable commodity, if one could pay to have it brought to England. He could sell it for a healthy profit, and the money would tide him through this year and the next.

      And now, the ship was sunk, and he was ruined.

      He could not help but feel that it was his own fault. God was punishing him for the mistakes of the last year, and punishing those around him as well. The burns on his brother’s arm were continual memories of his faithless actions and the fire he had caused by them.

      Then summer had come and the crops had failed, and he was left with the decision to waive the annual rents or throw his tenants out into the street for non-payment. When they were already hungry, what good did it do to anyone to leave them homeless as well?

      And now, one hundred innocent lives were lost because he had chosen what he thought was a sensible investment.

      He must face facts and tell his brother that there was nothing left. Nothing at all of what their father had left them. The house was mortgaged to the rooftop and in need of repair. There would be no income this year, and he’d gambled what was left in the bank and lost all in a risky investment.

      He was out of ideas, out of money, and afraid to take another step forwards, lest it bring disaster to some unsuspecting soul that might take his side.

      He ordered another whiskey. If his calculations were correct, he had enough left in his purse to get stinking drunk. And not another penny, or a way to get one for at least a year. The innkeeper might allow him credit for the room, assuming by the cut of his coat that he was good for the debt. But soon the bill would come due, and he would have to stack it with the rest, unable to pay it.

      Other than his father’s watch, and the signet on the fob, he had only one thing of value. The insurance on his miserable life.

      His hand stopped shaking as the inevitable solution occurred to him. He was an utter failure as a duke, and a man. He had brought shame and ruin to his family. He had betrayed a friend,