Page 16 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
The baron chuckled again. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” His eyes narrowed. “Now. I would like you to know that Miss Worthington’s dowry is far from negligible. Very far. Think on that.”
Owen gaped. He realized his jaw was hanging and he shut his mouth again.
“My lord,” he said stiffly. “What are you saying?”
He stared at the man in horror. Miss Worthington was beautiful and charming, that was clear. But the offer—for such it clearly was—that Lord Walden was making insulted Owen and her. She was lovely enough for Owen to be interested without this man coming to offer him solutions to his financial woes.
Owen straightened up. Though he’d only just danced with Miss Worthington, he felt protective of her.
“My lord,” he said tightly. “Your daughter is lovely, and I would consider her hand as seriously—or not—as that of any woman. I think she needs no other endowments to lure me than those she has already.”
He sniffed and turned and walked out of the room.
“Just a thought,” Lord Walden said from behind him.
Owen didn’t turn round. Back stiff, pretending he’d not heard, Owen walked briskly to the ball and back in through the big doors. He let them swing shut, not bothering to check if LordWalden was hurrying after. Then he’d gone to find a place to sit, feeling drained. He had never had to reveal his finances to anyone. And he’d never had such a strange conversation.
Now, a little sunshine shone in through the small window of the study, making the place bright. It was far removed from that night in the ballroom, but Owen’s thoughts were troubled.
He stretched and yawned, reminding himself of the present moment. He looked up from where he’d been staring down at the carpet, focusing his gaze on the study window, where the sunshine flowed in. It wasn’t much because it was cloudy but the morning light poured in, filtered by gray clouds. It was a rainy Spring morning. Owen felt his heart twist.
Come on,he told himself.Look at the books. Stop thinking about the ball and all the strange things that happened there.
He opened the ledger and let his eyes run down the column. Since yesterday, Mr. Barrow had added the expenses that Mrs. Crane had reported from the kitchens. Owen felt as though someone had kicked him, hard, on the shin. The tallies had gone down by at least twelve pounds since subtracting what was spent in the kitchen in the last week.
“I don’t know what to do,” he murmured aloud. As he did so, someone knocked at the door.
“Who is it?” he asked wearily.
“Barrow, my lord,” a voice called thinly back.
“Come in,” Owen answered tight-lipped. He was exhausted already, and it would be better to see the odious fellow now and forget about it than be plagued by him later.
“My lord.” Barrow inclined his head briefly. “A creditor arrived this morning. Mr. Elmsworth from the draper’s shop.”
“Tell him I’ll pay him as soon as I can,” Owen replied tightly.
“I know. I assured him the payment was forthcoming,” the steward said silkily. He looked at Owen pointedly. “But, my lord, that means you must procure the money soon.”
“That is not your place to say, Barrow.” Owen glared at him.
The man nodded, making a placating gesture. “I know, my lord. I know. But I did think that, should you sell off some of the paintings, you could raise the sum to pay back the craftsmen for the house, at least.”
Owen gaped. This fellow, who had worked for his family for decades, admittedly, but who was not a family-member, had the gall to suggest that? The Ivystone artistic collection was immensely valuable, hosting works that dated back to the Renaissance.
“I rather think that is my decision to make, Barrow,” Owen said briskly, the tone cold.
“Yes, my lord. Yes, of course,” Barrow murmured. His expression was neutral, voice placatory. “But only think about it. You have the paintings, and the horses, and the book collection...”
“Enough!” Owen snapped. “Iam notselling my family’s property, Barrow. What next? Would you suggest I start to sell the house itself? Rent the rooms? Sell the furnishings? No. That is enough. I will manage this in my own way. I will not hear any of this.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Barrow murmured.
“Quite so. Now, you can take this to Mrs. Crane. It’s the budget for the household for the next month. I drafted it yesterday. I am sure she’ll manage to create excellent meals despite the lack of income.”
“Assuredly, my lord.”
Owen passed him the book and then, as the man shut the door behind himself, let out a slow outbreath.
