bailiffs in the house.â
Exigencies, my eye! Horner didnât need the money. Investigation had revealed that he had plenty. He likely dropped more than she owed at hazard three or four times a week. She was the one familiar with the humiliation of debt collectors invading her home and assessing her possessions. Horner offered a not-so-subtle threat of what would happen if she failed to appease him, either with money orâshe shudderedâher person.
âI admire you, Caro. I tremble with anticipation of our mutual satisfaction.â
Ugh! What on earth was she to do? She didnât have a thousand pounds or any sum like it. Neither was there a chance of finding it by the end of next week. Where could she get it? Oliver, of course, had nothing. Even if he could pay her what he owed for rent, it would be a grain of sand in the desert of her debt. Julian was short of ready money until he worked out the legal complications of his inheritance. None of her friends had any money, save Cynthia and Anne.
She doubted Cynthia could lay hands on that much. Her absent husbandâs steward paid her bills, and she had some pin money, but no access to a capital sum. Anne was in the same position. Morrissey would have to agree to any large disbursement. Even if he wasnât in Ireland, heâd never agree to help her. Instead, heâd drag Anne home to Camber and away from the polluting influence of her cousin. Come to think of it, Morrissey and her mother would make a fine pair. He and Mrs. Elizabeth Brotherton would find plenty to talk about.
It was ironic that she housed one of the wealthiest women in England yet found herself penniless. It was too late now to curtail her extravagance. She should have told her friends of her troubles instead of handing out money as though she were still rich. Pride and an unwillingness to face unpleasant truths had brought her to this pass. Of course, if Robert hadnât been addicted to gaming . . . She wouldnât think of that since there was no point.
The other resort was the moneylenders. At that imprudence she drew the line. The interest on Robertâs loans had accumulated to frightening amounts. Anything was better than getting into their hands. As usual since her widowhood, or, if she was being honest, for some time before Robertâs death, she would have to solve her own problems. Or rather beg for further assistance from the one man who would help.
Chapter 8
A t seven oâclock the next evening, Caro boarded the Norwich mail coach on her way to the Quintonsâ house near Newmarket. It was her first trip outside London in almost a year. That journey, too, had been by mail. When it became clear what a mess Robert had left, sheâd returned to her motherâs house to beg for money, and been refused. The only thing sheâd got out of the visit had been damaged pride and a further hole in her purse from the cost of the coach ticket.
So now she sought the help of Robertâs former guardian, Max Quinton. He owed her nothing, less than nothing. Robert had always disregarded his counsel. Because Mrs. Quinton was a cousin of Caroâs mother, Quinton had agreed to untangle the snarl of debt to which Robert, in the six short years of his majority, had reduced his handsome estate. Max disposed of the heavily mortgaged lands and other assets, paid off what debt he could, and negotiated the schedule of repayments that left Caro in possession of her house and a modest income. An income she never managed to quite make cover her expenses. Already, she was behind with her current tradesmenâs bills.
Caro didnât know what Max could do about the thousand pounds Horner demanded, apart from giving her a well-deserved scolding. The Quintons were comfortable but by no means wealthy and had a growing family. Who would have thought that Eleanor, wed at the same time as her charge, would now have three children while Caro had none?
A tear
Exigencies, my eye! Horner didnât need the money. Investigation had revealed that he had plenty. He likely dropped more than she owed at hazard three or four times a week. She was the one familiar with the humiliation of debt collectors invading her home and assessing her possessions. Horner offered a not-so-subtle threat of what would happen if she failed to appease him, either with money orâshe shudderedâher person.
âI admire you, Caro. I tremble with anticipation of our mutual satisfaction.â
Ugh! What on earth was she to do? She didnât have a thousand pounds or any sum like it. Neither was there a chance of finding it by the end of next week. Where could she get it? Oliver, of course, had nothing. Even if he could pay her what he owed for rent, it would be a grain of sand in the desert of her debt. Julian was short of ready money until he worked out the legal complications of his inheritance. None of her friends had any money, save Cynthia and Anne.
She doubted Cynthia could lay hands on that much. Her absent husbandâs steward paid her bills, and she had some pin money, but no access to a capital sum. Anne was in the same position. Morrissey would have to agree to any large disbursement. Even if he wasnât in Ireland, heâd never agree to help her. Instead, heâd drag Anne home to Camber and away from the polluting influence of her cousin. Come to think of it, Morrissey and her mother would make a fine pair. He and Mrs. Elizabeth Brotherton would find plenty to talk about.
It was ironic that she housed one of the wealthiest women in England yet found herself penniless. It was too late now to curtail her extravagance. She should have told her friends of her troubles instead of handing out money as though she were still rich. Pride and an unwillingness to face unpleasant truths had brought her to this pass. Of course, if Robert hadnât been addicted to gaming . . . She wouldnât think of that since there was no point.
The other resort was the moneylenders. At that imprudence she drew the line. The interest on Robertâs loans had accumulated to frightening amounts. Anything was better than getting into their hands. As usual since her widowhood, or, if she was being honest, for some time before Robertâs death, she would have to solve her own problems. Or rather beg for further assistance from the one man who would help.
Chapter 8
A t seven oâclock the next evening, Caro boarded the Norwich mail coach on her way to the Quintonsâ house near Newmarket. It was her first trip outside London in almost a year. That journey, too, had been by mail. When it became clear what a mess Robert had left, sheâd returned to her motherâs house to beg for money, and been refused. The only thing sheâd got out of the visit had been damaged pride and a further hole in her purse from the cost of the coach ticket.
So now she sought the help of Robertâs former guardian, Max Quinton. He owed her nothing, less than nothing. Robert had always disregarded his counsel. Because Mrs. Quinton was a cousin of Caroâs mother, Quinton had agreed to untangle the snarl of debt to which Robert, in the six short years of his majority, had reduced his handsome estate. Max disposed of the heavily mortgaged lands and other assets, paid off what debt he could, and negotiated the schedule of repayments that left Caro in possession of her house and a modest income. An income she never managed to quite make cover her expenses. Already, she was behind with her current tradesmenâs bills.
Caro didnât know what Max could do about the thousand pounds Horner demanded, apart from giving her a well-deserved scolding. The Quintons were comfortable but by no means wealthy and had a growing family. Who would have thought that Eleanor, wed at the same time as her charge, would now have three children while Caro had none?
A tear
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