Page 93 of His Grace, the Duke
“And why would our mother agree to pay all his outstanding debts?”
“What?” James hissed, his eyes back on the stack of letters.
“Oh James, this is a stack of pure sin.” George stroked the satin bow. “Mr. Harrow lived outside his means in every sense of the word. Each bill in the stack is worse than the last. Unpaid debts to multiple banks, outstanding business loans, lines of credit denied at establishments across London, Richmond, Bath, York...”
James took a deep breath. “How much was the debt?”
“You really don’t want to know,” George replied somberly.
James’ mind went wild as he calculated a figure. How had she managed it? He’d worked hard to rein in all their mother’s spending. So how could he miss her making a large payment... or a series of payments as large as this stack? God, help him, he had to know. He glanced across the desk at his brother. “Was it... five?”
George gave him a sympathetic smile. “More.”
“Ten?”
“More.”
James needed a drink. He needed the whole bottle. Hell, the whole vineyard. Maybe his mother bought one without his knowledge. “Just tell me.”
“Seventeen.”
Rage filled James until he thought he might choke on it. “Seventeen? Our mother paid seventeenthousandpounds to cancel Harrow’s debts?”
“Well, the father’s debts only totaled about fifteen thousand,” George replied. “The remaining two thousand was paid directly to a Mrs. Beatrice Thorpe.”
James leaned back in his chair, dragging both hands through his hair. Seventeen thousand pounds was roughly what it cost to maintain Corbin House each year. Where the hell had their mother found such a sum without James knowing of it? He scowled at his brother. “How did she manage it? Are you sneaking her money?”
“You’re asking the wrong question. The more interesting question is not how, butwhy.” He leaned forward, tapping the stack of letters. “Why would our mother pay all Harrow’s debts?”
James wasn’t ready to contemplate the why of it all. The family accounts hemorrhaged seventeen thousand pounds and he hadn’t noticed. As the manager of Alcott, thehowis what mattered most to him.
But George was looking at the stack of letters like they held the answers to existence. “Our dear mama is motivated by only two forces: greed and guilt. Which do you think is the more likely driver behind this act of gross generosity?”
James sighed. “Guilt.”
“Exactly. And what would our mama have to feelsoguilty about that she would pluck a young lady out of obscurity, pay all her family’s debts, and offer her a permanent place in our household?”
James frowned. “You clearly have a theory.”
“Aye, but you’re not going to like it.”
“I haven’t liked a word you’ve spoken yet, so why stop now?”
George took a deep breath. “Okay... bear with me on this, but... love child,” he said with a dramatic wave of his hand.
James felt a faint echoing in his ears. George was speaking... or at least his mouth was moving. But James heard nothing. Ignoring George’s odd hand gestures, he moved around his desk to the corner and poured himself a glass of scotch. He downed it in one and poured another. He downed it, feeling the spicy burn of it tingling in his mouth and down his throat.
George was right behind him, one hand on his shoulder. “Easy there. Let’s just slow down, shall we? You can’t be drunk for what comes next.”
James blinked, looking over his shoulder at this brother. “Next?”
“You know what you have to do next, right?”
“Aye, I need to drag our mother down here by her hair and turn out her pockets,” James snarled. “I mean to collect every last coin from her. She will no longer be allowed to spend the family’s money. Not a single farthing, George. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” George said. “Drag away, little brother... butafteryou talk to Cabbage.” He slipped the full glass of scotch from James’ hand and backed away with it.
James’ heart was racing out of his chest. Yes, he had to talk to Rosalie. Oh God, was it true? No. Rosalie would never knowingly engage in such deception. She wouldn’t lead him on like that. “It’s not true,” he muttered. “Rosalie wouldn’t...”
