Read The School for Brides Online
Authors: Cheryl Ann Smith
The School for Brides (7 page)
“This should explain everything, Miss Winfield,” he said.
Eva went first to the heading and then to the signature to verify the document was an official bank document. She began to read the neatly penned text slowly, careful to make certain she understood it in its entirety. If she was facing ruin, she wanted to know exactly how she got there, and why.
Mister Smith was correct. With every word she read, the floor was crumbling beneath her feet and launching her and her mother into a dark abyss.
“Unfortunately, four years ago Mrs. Winfield used this town house as collateral for a loan of some size.” Mister Smith laid another note near her hand. Eva examined it as if the paper was laced with poison before she picked it up. “I believe she wanted to purchase a necklace of sapphires and diamonds.”
“A necklace?” What necklace? Eva pressed a hand to her temple. There had been several odd purchases during a two-year period when Mother was at her worst. She’d battled a number of serious health issues, and her mind seemed to take a turn downward with each.
“Nearly every week a new package was delivered to the door, only to be immediately returned to where it came from,” she said. “Unusual things like ostrich feathers and men’s shoes, and a very strange-looking dog with a large head. I thought I had returned them all.”
He shook his head. “Apparently not everything, Miss. We still don’t know about any recent debts. There is also a plot of land outside of York. I took the liberty of investigating its worth, and I fear your mother was taken in by the previous owner. It is worthless, too wet to plant a sustainable crop.” Mister Smith hesitantly pushed another note to her. “Between these two and a few smaller notes, this town house is heavily in debt.”
Eva wanted to rail against the heavens with an upraised fist, or rather, at her mother, one floor up. But Mother was incapable of understanding the consequences of her actions or how to resolve them. It was up to Eva to muddle through the mess and find a way to save their home.
“Mister Wellsley should have notified me of this situation immediately upon its discovery,” Eva said. “I cannot believe he would have made her a loan when he was clear on her condition.
“I need to speak to Mister Wellsley immediately.”
Two spots of red appeared on Mr. Smith’s high, sharp cheekbones.
“Mister Wellsley retired a year ago to Scotland. His position was taken over by Mister Tew.” Mister Smith shuffled papers and avoided her eyes. “Apparently the majority of your mother’s older debts were purchased by an anonymous third party who has decided to call in the notes. The man is putting the bank on notice to pay up, and there is growing pressure to force Tew to sell this house to cover the notes.”
Eva fought both panic and a pressing headache. She envisioned Mother and herself buried from their toes to their chins in receipts, with boxes of her mother’s silly purchases scattered in the foyer for them to step around as they were escorted out the door and their home was closed and locked behind them.
“What can we do?” Her voice sounded high and frantic in her ears. “Perhaps I can speak to the man who bought the notes and work out some sort of monthly payment schedule?”
Mister Smith slowly shook his head, his eyes deeply troubled.
Frustration filled her like beach sand, heavy and wet.
She wanted to throw herself across the desk, wrap her hands around his skinny neck, and shake him until his teeth chattered. Sadly, he was only doing his job.
“I fear not, Miss Eva.” He shuffled from one foot to the other, then, under her glare, took two steps backward. “He has asked to remain anonymous. He will contact you in his own time.”
The desire to choke him faded. He was just the messenger, the puppet made of wood and stuffing. Someone else was manipulating the strings.
She dipped her head and circled her fingertips on her temples. “So I am to wait for him to decide what he intends to do with us? My mother is ill. Surely you can do something.”
He twisted his hat in his hands.
“I will do what I can, Miss Winfield.”
He put his crumpled hat on his head and left her in a flapping of coattails as he quickly fled the room.
Only then, when the house fell silent, did she give way to tears, sobbing softly.
How could this happen? She’d been so careful. Mother was watched closely when she was out, so as not to cause trouble for herself or others. Still, sometime, somewhere, she’d managed to sink them into a pit of debt.
Eva lifted her hands to her face and brushed aside the tears with her sleeves. There must be something she could do.
Surely the holder of the notes had some compassion in his heart. He could not be so cruel as to cast out two women alone and without a protector. Then again, that was how many courtesans turned to their profession.
It was the shame of allowing such a disaster to fall on her family that sickened Eva. She had done her best to hide her mother away and to protect her in her illness. She’d find a way to settle this to a satisfactory conclusion.
Knuckles sounded on the door. Harold opened the panel and stuck his head in. “Miss Eva, there is a messenger at the door with a note. He has been given instructions to speak only to you.” He frowned. “Did Smith give you bad news?”
She shook her head firmly. “Mother has some very large debts, and the largest noteholder is pushing to get paid.” She forced a stiff smile. “Please don’t worry. It is nothing I cannot handle.”
Eva scrubbed her cheeks one last time, sniffed, and took a few deep breaths. She pushed up from the desk and walked from the room. Standing at the front door was a man in livery she didn’t recognize, holding a letter. Once she confirmed her identity, he handed over the note and walked away.
“Who is it from?”
Eva turned the note to stare at the unfamiliar seal. Harold moved close and peered over her shoulder. “I have no idea.” She ripped open the envelope and unfolded the missive. The words were clipped and to the point. “It is from my creditor. He asks me to meet him alone at his town house in one hour, as we have many things to discuss. The address is here at the bottom.”
A shiver passed through her. There wasn’t a signature or any hint of her creditor’s identity.
It was suspicious. If he was a man of sterling character, there would not be a need to hide his identity. Clearly, something was amiss, and she feared she was about to face the executioner’s axe.
“You should not go alone.” Harold crossed his arms, and muscles bulged beneath his coat. “It could be a trap.”
“A trap? What could be worse than what I’m facing now? He holds my entire future in his hands.” Her mother’s future, too. “If he wants me to scrub his floors and darn his socks, it will be a little price to pay for keeping our home.”
“Any decent man would not ask that of you.” Harold took the note, read it, and handed it back. “We will go together.”
“I must go alone,” she said firmly. “I have to find out his reasons for this strange behavior, and I suspect he will not be pleased if I come with a guard.” She folded the note and shoved it back into the envelope. “You will take me. Stay at the corner, and I will walk in alone. If I am not back in a fair bit of time, you have my permission to storm the battlements.”
Though clearly displeased, Harold would do as she asked. He might not be a servant in the true sense of the word, but he was employed by her and did her bidding. “I will ready myself.” She brushed her hand over her hair and went to the drawer holding her wig and spectacles. “Meet me outside with the carriage in half an hour.”
T
he ride was not long, and Eva spent the time running every possible situation through her head. If this man was up to something untoward, Harold would be near. If his plan was to ruin her, she wanted to know why. As far as she could imagine, she had no real enemies, as her social circle was more of a tiny dot.
he ride was not long, and Eva spent the time running every possible situation through her head. If this man was up to something untoward, Harold would be near. If his plan was to ruin her, she wanted to know why. As far as she could imagine, she had no real enemies, as her social circle was more of a tiny dot.
Well, there was one possible enemy. The duke had blustered about Arabella and made veiled threats.
It could not be him. Could it?
Surely His Grace had moved on with his life over the last two weeks. Men of his stature used and cast aside women as a matter of course. Arabella was sweet and beautiful, but one mistress could easily be replaced with another in a city the size of London. There were many young women eager to do anything for shelter and a way out of a hopeless existence.
Such a virile man as His Grace would want a woman in his bed posthaste. Still, her mind could not dismiss him as her tormentor. He’d stalked off enraged.
Harold stopped the carriage as she instructed, and a last brief argument ensued. Eva won, though the victory was hollow. She walked the remaining distance to the town house with his last warning to be careful echoing in her ears.
It was a three-story, simple structure built of sandstone without excessive adornment. The plants along the sidewalk were without spring color, and the door was simple oak without intricate carvings in the wood. It gave no hint of the owner’s identity as Eva strode up the walk.
Compared to the finer homes on the block, there was nothing to make it stand out as belonging to a man of wealth.
Eva patted her wig to assure herself it was in place and adjusted her spectacles. Her black cape covered a severe brown dress with a neckline that came up under her chin. She hoped to come across as formidable, lest he think she could be easily cowed, or had a mistaken belief she might be willing to trade her body to satisfy her debts.
With her stomach tightly knotted and her knees twitching, she reached for the knocker.
“I am Miss Black. I have an appointment with your employer,” she said to the stern woman who answered the door. Deep grooves lined her forehead and ran between her eyes. Her mouth was pinched into a thin line. Her clothing indicated she was the housekeeper.
“Yes, come with me.” Clearly the servant had little to smile about. Her employer must be a harsh taskmaster.
The ominous cloud darkened over Eva’s head.
Eva followed the woman deep into the house and up the stairs, passing several rooms as they went. The floral decoration favored throughout appeared to have been chosen by a woman, perhaps the wife of the owner. The thought gave her some relief. If a wife was lurking nearby, the man would be less likely to misbehave.
“In here.” The starchy housekeeper frowned, waited for her to pass into the small parlor, and quickly withdrew.
“Wait,” Eva exclaimed, but it was too late. The doors were closed in her face with a loud click. She waited for a key being turned in the lock, rendering her a prisoner.
The only sound was the tap of footsteps of the retreating housekeeper.
Eva expelled a breath and examined her surroundings. Patterned in roses and vines, the tapestries, rugs, settees, and chairs were covered with fabric in an explosion of flowers in pinks and reds. The walls were papered with green and pink stripes, and several vases of pink and red roses, fading with age, covered every table surface.
The cloying scent of roses in the small space made breathing a chore. She felt as if a flower cart had overturned upon her as she walked down the sidewalk and buried her beneath a garden of blooms.
Clearly the mistress of the home had questionable taste, yet the wealth to buy out-of-season blooms. A few roses, yes, but this? How could one entertain friends in such an overwhelming room? One’s mind could not focus on conversation when eyes were watering and sneezes were threatening.
So caught up was she in the contemplation of bad taste, Eva did not hear the door open behind her.
“Arabella chose the decor.” The deep voice startled her, and she turned with a gasp. “It is a bit overwhelming. Fortunately, she had other talents.”
“Your Grace.” Her heart raced. Her worst fear had come to fruition. The man who held her notes, who all but owned her, was the same man who hated her. And in his rage, he’d managed to find the ideal way to exact his revenge. The one thing women feared most in this world of male dominance.
Poverty.
The duke stood in the open doorway in his shirtsleeves. His savage and handsome face was etched in a tight frown beneath the casual fall of dark waves across his forehead. Buff breeches encased muscled thighs to sinewy perfection, and just the hint of dark curls peeked out from beneath the open collar of his snowy shirt.
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