Page 37 of My Own True Duchess
While Jonathan stood six yards from his guests, plotting murder. “What is worse than a peer of the realm leaving a woman and child in penury when he’s responsible for them?”
Jonathan’s father had tried to leave him in penury and failed spectacularly.
“Viscount Penweather refused to pay Haviland’s debts of honor. With those being unsecured by a contractual obligation, he reasoned that debts of honor die with the debtor.”
“That is the law on the matter, to the extent a court has opined on it.” Gambling debts failed the criteria a court needed to find that a contractual relationship had been formed. Nothing of substance, no legal consideration, was surrendered in exchange for the money lost. More than a century ago, legislation had been enacted that left those collecting gambling debts without recourse to the courts.
Such debts were thus backed up by only the debtor’s integrity and as a result were referred to as debts of honor.
“Haviland’s creditors would not agree with Penweather’s assessment,” Jonathan said. “Debts of honor pass to the heir if the heir has any self-respect.” Jonathan had paid off his father’s vowels before the coffin had been covered with earth, the better to bury all of Papa’s legacy at one go.
“The viscount is old-fashioned,” Anselm said. “He reasoned that Haviland’s cronies led him astray and failed to intervene as the debts mounted. Let those who gambled with him bear the cost of exploiting a weak man.”
“Because,” Jonathan said, staring at the boy alone in the gilt frame, “how will the weak man learn strength if friends and relations are constantly intervening to save the weakling from his own folly?”
Quimbey had used that argument to persuade Jonathan to leave his father’s situation in life alone. Quimbey’s position had been troubling then. It curdled the drink in Jonathan’s belly now, though Jonathan espoused the same philosophy to allow men like Viscount Lipscomb to gamble away fortunes.
“That reasoning, that a weakling must learn strength, has a certain merit,” Jonathan said, “but Mrs. Haviland was doubtless dunned by her husband’s former friends regardless of the legalities, and she was blameless.”
Dunned, propositioned, gossiped about. Jonathan abruptly needed to see her, to know that she was safe, to know that her aversion to marriage hadn’t been compounded by ill treatment from supposed gentlemen after her husband’s death.
“You look like you’re contemplating cleaning your pistols.”
“Tell me the rest of it, Anselm, and don’t pretty it up.” The bowling had begun, with Grampion setting the pins.
“Mrs. Haviland called upon me, for she’d found her husband’s markers. She assured me I’d be repaid, no matter how long it took. She had a competence from an aunt, a small inheritance from her father, and intended to establish a payment plan with each of her husband’s creditors.”
“And be in debt for the rest of her life? Why? Why not allow a man’s folly to be left in the laps of those stupid enough to trust him?”
Anselm finished his drink. “Who trusts a man more than the woman giving birth to his children? Haviland’s death left a daughter and a sister-in-law without protection, and what chances do you think they would face in polite society if Haviland’s irresponsibility became public?”
No chance at all, because polite society was vicious to those unprotected by wealth or standing.
“How much, Anselm? Tell me the extent of his debts, and I will—”
“You will do nothing, lest some gossip get wind that you are now paying the lady’s bills and draw the wrong inference. The matter has been handled.”
Casriel called to them. Jonathan ignored him. “Handled how?”
“When Mrs. Haviland came to me, I did form an arrangement with her. I saw to the sale of Archimedes’s possessions. His coach and four, his phaeton, his pistol collection, even his clothes. I told Mrs. Haviland the proceeds were sufficient to settle most of the debts, but she knew they could not have also covered the amount Archimedes owed me.”
Relief washed over Jonathan, leaving him in the same state a rare excess of spirits would. “You forgave the debt?”
“Mrs. Haviland would not allow it.” Anselm slung an arm around Jonathan’s shoulders and walked him toward the pitch line. “She insisted on paying back every penny, with modest interest, though it might take her the rest of her life. I’m setting the money aside for the girl, but I haven’t told the widow that.”
“How much?”
Anselm named an obscene figure. “That was the original amount, and Haviland’s tastes were extravagant enough that his effects did take care of all the other debts. The balance remaining to me was paid off earlier this week by a bearer draft from Mrs. Haviland’s banker. I assume the cousin’s conscience bedeviled him into it at last.”
“All neat and tidy, no trace of scandal.” While Theodosia Haviland survived on buffets and determination. A snippet of conversation came back to Jonathan from his exchange with the girl, Diana. Mama says everything is dear.
The single strand of pearls with a clasp Theodosia couldn’t afford to repair.
The fierce loyalty to Lady Canmore, another widow, and the unrelenting protectiveness of all the Dora Louises.
“Smile,” Anselm said, his grasp of Jonathan’s shoulder painfully firm. “The guests will think we’ve quarreled when all we’ve done is chat cordially about your marital prospects. Mrs. Haviland will find you a duchess, Tresham, if such a woman can be found in all of England. How many candidates are you considering?”
Anselm’s duchess had doubtless taught him to change the topic like that.
