Page 23 of How to Ruin a Duke
Lifford raised a thin, long-fingered hand.“No need for refreshment.I apologize for stopping by after hours.I did call earlier, but you were out.”
“I’ve been out a great deal lately,” Rowena explained.“Business has been good.”
“I’m glad to hear it.I would very much like for you to keep this address.”
“As would I.”Rowena took a breath, plunged in.“Mr.Lifford, I have been thinking of how that might be possible.I cannot pay you in one lump sum, but I would be happy to pay you quarterly.Or even weekly, at three guineas per week.That would equal one hundred fifty-six guineas per annum.”
He shook his head.“I’m sorry, Miss Fairweather, that won’t do.I’ve been offered three guineas and a shilling per week for the space.If you can match that, very well.If you can pay me one hundred fifty per annum in a lump sum, now, that saves me the trouble of collecting each week.”
Her heart plummeted.“I see.”
Only an extra shilling each week, but what a difference it would make.A shilling a week represented any number of small luxuries: sweets and a library subscription and clean-burning beeswax candles for the workroom.
Could she afford it, those three guineas and that extra shilling, without cutting her lifestyle to the bone?If she did nothing but tune pianofortes…maybe.Yes, maybe she could.But then she wouldn’t be a luthier anymore.She wouldn’t repair instruments, and she’d certainly never build anything of her own.
She tried again.“Could I let only the ground and first floors?Would you be amenable to splitting the property?”
Lifford frowned.“No, I’ve no desire to run a rooming house, no matter how trustworthy the tenants.I’m afraid this building rents as a single unit.Besides, if I agreed, you’d still need a kitchen, and anyone in the attics would have to walk up through your shop.
“So,” he concluded, “it has to be all or none.”
All or none.All or nothing.Success or failure.
Save the shop.Run it as I’ve taught you, and all will be well.I’m relying on you.We all are.
Her father had entrusted her with his legacy.Surely he hadn’t realized it would become a millstone.
“I will consider the weekly rate,” Rowena said, even as her stomach felt icy and nauseated.Three guineas and a shilling every week; a financial burden every seven days.“Thank you.”
“You’ve till the end of the month, but no longer.That’s a week from now.At that time, I will either need payment or for Fairweather’s to vacate this address.It’s very desirable, and I’ll have no trouble leasing it.”
Yes, Rowena knew.She knew all that.
By the time Alice returned with a tea tray, Lifford had bid Rowena good night and let himself out.“Bring a tankard,” Rowena told the maid.“And the brandy.”
Idly, she wandered back into the workshop.She stroked the satin-smooth ebony fingerboard, the sharp-edged, intricately carved bridge.What if this was the last violoncello she repaired?What if her days never again held the surprise of what—of who—came through the door next?If she owed more than three guineas a week for the address alone, she’d have to accept the highest-paying jobs, not the most interesting ones.Pianofortes, one after another, forever.
Would that truly be saving Fairweather’s?Would that be what her father had wanted—or what she did?
She was glad when Alice returned with a pair of pottery tankards and a bottle of brandy.Nanny took a medicinal nip every night, but Rowena rarely touched it.Tonight, though, why not?She splashed a little brandy into each tankard, then topped them with tea and added sugar.Handing one to the surprised Alice, she clinked their tankards together.
“To Fairweather’s,” she said, “whatever that means.”
“Yes, miss,” Alice said dutifully.
“You don’t have to drink that if you don’t want it.”Rowena stared into the depths of her beverage, then took a sip.“It’s good, though.”
Alice curled protective fingers around the tankard.“I want it well enough, miss.I’ll take it to my room.If that’s all?”
May days were long, and sunset hadn’t yet pulled all the blue from the sky.But morning came early, especially for a maid-of-all-work.“Of course, Alice.Thank you.”
Once Alice bobbed a good-night and left Rowena alone, she sipped idly at her brandy-laced tea for a few minutes.Too tired to work, too busy to permit herself to sleep.It was an awkward in-between.Perhaps she’d try reading some ofThe Necromancerto weary her brain—but no, not even a book appealed right now.
The bell over the front door jingled a greeting.“Hullo, I didn’t think it’d be unlocked,” said a familiar voice.
Simon’s voice.The only distraction she’d truly welcome at the moment.
“Simon?”Rowena thumped her tankard onto the worktable, then hurried into the front room.“Sorry, I must have forgot to lock the door when Mr.Lifford left.Stupid of me.”
