Page 2 of Worthy Promises
“Are you well?”
“I’m in a bit of a pickle, but don’t tell your mother.”
It was the first time Oliver could recall being asked to keep anything from his mother. His parents had a deep, abiding belief in Fate and were proud to have been matched by the goddess as mates. Oliver didn’t know how old either of his parents was, but they’d been together long before the snowy owls had left what was today the Duchy of Finland to join theCouncil of Sorcery and Shifters. At that time, the Council had been migrating to North America. Although Oliver wasn’t privy to his parents’ finances, his father was notoriously generous, especially with his mother. As for Oliver, he no longer needed to ask for a cent.
“Is there anything I can do to aid you?” Oliver asked.
“Well…erm, this is not exactly easy to explain.”
“Did something happen between you and Mother?”
“Of course not,” his father exclaimed. “I adore your mother. What could possibly come between us? We are mates and fully devoted to each other.”
“You mentioned you didn’t want me to tell her you were in a pickle. That is the only reason I asked.”
“Oh, yes, I did, didn’t I? I don’t want to add to her stress. The first open house in this house is important and will set your mother up as a hostess to be reckoned with. It is something she has yearned for since we moved from the country and began attending the events hosted by our friends.”
Since Oliver’s only interest in attending anything was to further his connections so he could develop the business of his dreams, he didn’t share his mother’s passion for entertaining. But that hardly mattered. All Oliver had to do was stay out of the way until the doors were opened for guests.
“Of course,” Oliver said. “You should not have to shoulder a burden alone. Perhaps I can assist you somehow.”
“I fear we may come to the point where it will take efforts from everyone to solve this,” his father muttered.
“I don’t understand.”
“We have less money than I would like is all.”
Oliver scowled. “I paid back every cent of the loan you gave me last year.”
“Yes, it is a good thing you didn’t come to me in recent days for such a loan; I would not be able to accommodate your request.”
“Father, the sum I asked for was paltry compared to what had to be the expense for Mother’s party.”
“Yes, you see, we just finished construction of the house, and—of course—we must have the very best for your mother’s debut as a hostess, so our purse strings are considerably strained.”
The house had taken four years to build. His mother had followed the trend of filling every room with what Oliver considered excess furniture and far-too-ornate embellishments from floor to ceiling. While he adored fine art, they had a picture gallery with walls so covered in expensive frames that it was nearly impossible to appreciate the work of the talented artists who’d painted the pictures.
“You believe this is just a temporary setback then?”
“Perhaps.”
“Have your investments soured?”
His father swallowed thickly. “It was your grandfather who managed the family’s investments. I have no head for figures, and I find it dull to stare at ledgers.”
“Grandfather died before I was born,” Oliver said, his concern rising. “Have you made no investments since his death?”
“A gentleman doesn’t dabble in trade. You know this. We aren’t like those merchants flaunting their new wealth. It’s why your mother refuses to allow you to openly speak of your art business.”
Annoyed that his father was worried about empty coffers yet refused to actively aid himself, Oliver slapped his napkin on the table. “How much money do you have?”
“I hardly know the exact figures.”
“I don’t understand. How can you be worried about the family bank accounts if you’re unaware of how much is in them?”
“We may not have enough to pay the servants’ wages next month,” his father muttered to his plate.
Oliver was outraged. “Why would you allow Mother to spend lavish amounts of money for strangers if we lack the coin to pay the people who work hard to keep this house clean and running smoothly?”
