Page 6 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
Evan rubbed the ache that was starting to build between his temples. Their circumstances were impossible.Bankruptcy for him and social ruin for his family lurked on the horizon. Evan had not a damned thing to do with its cause, but he would be the one to shoulder the burden and shame. He could almost feel the weight of his father’s self-righteous glare from the other side. Of course, Evan would be the downfall of their family’s honor. It stood to reason thathewould be the one to fall in disgrace.
“I am deeply sorry the numbers are not better, Your Grace.” Clark kept his eyes lowered as he closed the ledger.
“You have done what you can.” Which amounted to borrowing from Peter to pay Paul. There was no creating coin out of thin air.
“Have you had no luck in finding Lichfield?” His father’s solicitor had promptly disappeared after Evan had begun asking tough questions, leaving more questions than answers behind.
“Not yet, no,” said Clark.
After a moment, Clark cleared his throat and seemed to finally summon the nerve to meet his employer’s gaze. “There are options.” His voice came out a nervous squeak.
Yes. Options. Evan was afraid of those.
His mother set down her cup and saucer on the spindly table next to her with finality. “It is past time that we consider ouroptionsseriously.”
“Ouroptions?” Everyone knew bloody well thathewas the one who would be called on to make the noble sacrifice.
“Very well.” Her blue eyes focused on his intently in that way that had always let him know that the time for arguing had come to an end. “We have tried things your way for a year now. Elizabeth and Louisa must have a coming-out next Season. Their futures depend upon it.”
The fact that she was willing to speak this way with Clark present let him know just how concerned she truly was.
“If I may add, Your Grace, the situation has become even direr than it was a year past. With no signs of the agricultural market improving, Crandall and Mercer are threatening to call their loan if we are not caught up.”
Evan ground his molars together. His father had been a fool to fall in debt to those vultures. “How long?”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed before he said, “If a marriage were announced within a fortnight,” and at Evan’s expression, he hurried to add, “possibly a week more, it might hold them off.”
“A fortnight!” Evan’s voice burst out of him, thundering through the room.
“Come now, Evan, we have spoken of this possibility for months,” his mother said. “ ’Tis hardly a surprise.”
The idea of marriage was no shock, but the haste with which it needed to be accomplished was. The need to pace brought him to his feet, but pain like darts of fire spread through his thigh. Moaning aloud, he fell heavily back into his chair, which groaned in protest.
“Oh, for the love of—” His mother bit off the unladylike curse and forced a smile for the solicitor. Evan had always admired how easily she was able to retain control of her composure. “That will be all for the day, Mr. Clark. We will send word to you tomorrow. I’ll have Hastings show you out.” She rang for the butler, giving Evan time to stew as Clark gathered his things and said his goodbyes.
Once Hastings had wisely pulled the door closed as he led Clark out, Evan’s mother gave him a stern once-over. “What in heavens have you done to your leg? And do not tell me it was a riding accident. You were riding before you could walk.”
Evan stared at her, torn between furthering the lie and telling her the complete truth. As it turned out, he did not have to decide. Her astute gaze took in the cut on his brow line and then dropped to his bruised knuckles. The temptation to hide them like a child caught doing something wrong was strong, but he managed to fight it back.
“You are engaging in fisticuffs again? For money?”
Fisticuffs. The understatement of the word made him smile. He let out the breath he had been holding and flexed his fingers, enjoying the ache that throbbed in his knuckles. Ice had worked wonders for the swelling, but experiencehad taught him that they would be sore for days. Not that the pain mattered. He deserved the small discomforts. It had been over a year since his father had died. Surely, that was long enough to change their fortunes, and yet no matter what Evan did, the family only sank deeper into debt. Evan might not have been the sole reason that worried crease had appeared on his mother’s brow, but he had done nothing to take it away.
“I do instruct on the skill at Montague Club, yes.” He hedged.
“I meant prizefighting. Do not lie to me.”
“The earnings keep us afloat in a sea of debt.”
She winced as if he had wounded her, and he sucked in a sharp breath to hold back the apology on his lips. Hewassorry. Sorry that he was not the son she deserved, that he was not William. When Evan had played pranks on his tutors, William had excelled in every subject. He had been the heir, the one suited to this role, not Evan. The family would have been better off if Evan had been the one to die. An ache swelled like a balloon in his chest, squeezing his lungs and making it momentarily difficult to breathe.
She shook her head, her hands falling to disappear into the black skirts of her mourning gown. “Do you think I want to see another of my children die before his time?”
The question, coupled with the red rim of her eyes, moved him to kneel at her side, heedless of the pull on his thigh injury and the immediate agony. Finding her hand amid the plethora of skirts, he said, “That will not happen. I may get bruised, but I will not die.”
One finely plucked eyebrow shot upward. “Do not patronize me, Evan. I have heard of the dangers. A man could bring a knife in, and there are instances of men being so concussed they never recover. Men have died.”
“What men?”
