Page 3 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
Ten minutes ago, he’d been admiring the finest jewels money could buy, and now he was being told he was almost broke. Not only that, but his former man of business had sold off the homes he’d set aside for his mother and sister in the event he passed away unexpectedly and left them without protection.
“Are you perfectly serious?” he asked quietly.
Mr. Fisher ducked his head. “I fear so, my lord. You have my utmost apologies. I had no idea what Albert was doing until it was already too late. I understand, of course, if you wish to employ another firm to manage your estate, and I can only pray that you do not see fit to punish me for my partner’s actions.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Andrew drew in a deep breath and tried to calm himself. This was all happening so quickly. He needed time to think.
“I have employed an investigator to track down Mr. Smith,” Mr. Fisher continued. “There is a chance that some of your fortune can be reclaimed. However, until we have returned him to England, we cannot be sure exactly how much is in his possession.”
“Indeed, he must be found,” Andrew muttered. “How much money, exactly, do we have left?”
Mr. Fisher bit his lip. “I could not tell you from memory, but we have the records at our office if you wish to review them. Unfortunately, you are not the only one of Albert’s former clients I have had to visit today, although you are most assuredly the one who has suffered the greatest losses.”
Andrew trudged to a chaise positioned against the wall and dropped onto it, wishing it were just a little softer. “I appreciate you bringing me this news, even if it is unwanted. I’ll be in touch.” Once he’d time to fully comprehend the magnitude of what had happened. “Please see yourself out.”
Mr. Fisher bowed deeply. “My most sincere apologies. I assure you, we are doing all that we can to track my erstwhile business partner and to protect what you have left.”
He bustled out before Andrew could reply, perhaps sensing that he may not like whatever he had to say.
“My lord?”
Andrew glanced up. Boden stood in the doorway, his posture impeccable, his expression giving no indication of whether he’d overheard their conversation.
“Please summon the dowager countess, and have Mrs. Baker bring us tea and biscuits.”
Boden nodded and swept out, leaving Andrew alone in the silence. He dropped his face into his hands. He was torn between a desperate desire to know exactly how bad the situation was and the urge to bury his head in the sand for as long as possible.
Unfortunately, being the earl meant he couldn’t afford to remain in the dark. His mother and sister were relying on him to provide for them, as were the dozens of servants employed by the Drake family across their holdings.
He couldn’t let them down.
He gazed blankly at the wall, listening closely for footsteps in the corridor. The patterned wallpaper, in shades of navy and pale blue, swam before his eyes. The ornate goldtrim, so carefully crafted, blurred into indistinguishable squiggles and masses.
“Andrew? What on earth is wrong?”
Pulling himself together, he looked toward the doorway, where the dowager countess, Lady Drake, stood with a furrowed brow and a curious slant to her mouth.
“I’m afraid I’ve just received bad news,” he said, hearing himself as if from a distance.
Lady Drake moved farther into the room, her skirts—a similar shade to the wall—swishing around her ankles. “Has there been a death?”
“No.” Although, in a way, this felt similar. He couldn’t believe he’d been careless enough to lose everything. He wasn’t the only one who would pay the price for this. His mother had trusted him to care for her. How could he do that if he had very little to his name?
“Then what?” She gave a little laugh. “You’re worrying me.”
He patted the chaise beside him. “Sit, Mother.”
She sat, her head held high despite the gray-streaked auburn hair piled atop it. Her hazel eyes gleamed, but the corners of her mouth were tight. “What is it?”
He took her hand, wishing with everything he had that he could wake up and discover this had all been an awful dream. He waited a few seconds before deciding that simply wasn’t going to happen.
“Mr. Smith, my man of business, fraudulently invested our money in a company that has gone bankrupt.”
“Oh no!” Her hand flew to her mouth.
Andrew gestured for her to wait. “That which he has not lost, he has, apparently absconded with—including the proceeds of the sale of both Rosewill Cottage and the dower house.”
She lowered her hand, obviously confused. “I didn’t know we had sold them.”
