Page 27 of The Duke Who Loved a Widow
Mr Christopher Farrington stayed in his study, close to the meagre fire, his head bent over the table as he scrutinized the estate ledgers. However many times he looked, the answer was still the same. The Farrington Estate faced bankruptcy. The credit note he had obtained from a friend had been sold to a bank in the city when he failed to make the promised repayments.
Another friendship lost. The debts had been mounting for months. The only solution he could see was total access to the young viscount’s affairs. If little Lord Farrington lived with him and his wife, then the court would have to release funds to maintain the child’s lifestyle and pay for schooling.
As soon as Lady Arabella Farrington fled, the situation had deteriorated. He could no longer claim fraudulent expenses for that household. She had foiled his plan to move into Farrington Hall and take control of all aspects of the child’s welfare.
He had taken possession of the Hall a matter of days after Arabella absconded, but he could only claim limited funds without the child in residence.
He had to get the child back to Farrington Hall. Time was running out.
Yarborough, his solicitor, said the right things, but there were impediments in his battle for custody. He needed more evidence to prove Arabella a feckless mother. He’d instructed Yarborough to send one of his men north to offer to pay for information.
It hadn’t taken Yarborough long to locate Arabella, but of course, she had been under no obligation to tell the courts her location. He had an inkling she had travelled north to be with her aunt and uncle.
He put his head in his hands. The door opened, and Violet, his wife, entered his study. She looked a little anxious, and he knew that, more often than not, he snapped at her too much in recent weeks.
“Christopher, I’m sorry to disturb you, but a Mr Cricklewood from the money lender called. I persuaded him that you were away from home, but I'm not sure he believed me. You need to lay low, my dear. I believe they may be watching the house.” Her anxiety at the debt collector’s visit and telling himabout the visit were obvious in how she held herself stiffly and clung to the door.
“What did they say?” he asked, trying to conceal his level of concern. He remembered the days when they had attended concerts or walked together on a sunny afternoon. Now they lived in this great house, which was half closed up, with the furniture covered in dust sheets and avoided each other as much as possible.
“You must pay what is due, plus the interest accrued, or they will apply for a stake on your property,” she told him in a quiet voice, which he needed to strain to hear.
He laughed, the hollow sound echoing around the room.
Violet looked startled and stared at him in concern.
“We have nothing left. No property and no money,” he said. “They are entitled to take our furniture, clothes, anything they want, in fact.” He felt a pang of sadness as he saw the impact of his words. He knew the debt collectors would return, and Violet needed to be prepared.
“What about this place?” Violet asked. “Surely there is something we can sell?” He saw how she searched for a solution, but he’d already considered everything. They were in a tight fix.
“I can probably obtain money after the harvest, but that’s a few months away. Without the boy living here, only basic maintenance can be claimed from the estate,” he added, trying to give her an ounce of hope.
Violet spoke with icy chilliness, “I detest Arabella Farrington. She has brought us to this state.”
“Much as I dislike my cousin’s wife, she is not responsible for my downfall. I made bad business decisions and try as I might, I’ve been unable to recoup our losses.”
“Through gambling, you mean,” his wife added through gritted teeth. “That has to stop.”
“It has been our only hope of salvation. I have nothing left to stake at the card tables. We sold our own house earlier this year. We need Farrington Hall; without it, we’d be homeless. There are few options left,” he said, and he knew he had to convince her to stay to act as the child’s substitute mother.
She had made it clear soon after they married that she never wanted children. Violet preferred a neat and orderly life and babies, and the disruption they caused in a household, was not for her. He knew her mother had died soon after giving birth to her, and maybe that had made a difference. He enjoyed her company and her adept social skills when navigating the ton. They rarely entertained now, they were unable to afford even thebasics for themselves, and he knew the adjustment to this life had been difficult for his proud hostess.
“I’ve been wondering about returning to Weymouth to stay with Mama,” said Violet. “I am struggling with having to talk with creditors and seeing the servants look at me, knowing they are talking about our predicament.”
He detected a slight hesitancy in her voice and breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that she was not ready to leave him yet. Yet he could not help responding with bitterness.
“Don’t worry, Violet, if we don’t get hold of access to little Lord Henry’s inheritance, there will be no servants left to talk behind your back.”
He laughed, and there was a rather maniacal sound to the noise coming from his mouth.
Violet stared at him as if he were a strange fish she had caught unexpectedly on a fishing line, but she remained silent.
“As to your going to Weymouth, it’s your choice, but I wish you well whatever you decide. I will say that my case for full custody is stronger with you living here as a mother figure. If you can bear to stay a few more weeks, it will help our finances.” He knew he could convince her to stay, and once they had the boy living with them, their financial troubles would end.
“Very well. I shall continue for now. I will not, however, speak to Mr Cricklewood or his associates again. In future, you must make yourself available,” she said with icy coldness.
“If you insist,” he sighed and put his head in his hands again.
“Oh, and Mr Cricklewood asked for an inventory of the contents of this house. I think he believes you own the contents.”
