Jonathon scoffed. “Women don’t make their fortunes. They marry fortunes.”
“I tried that,” she snapped, then forced a measure of calm. “Aunt Edwina plans on introducing the girls to society in the spring. Even though I did not have a London season, I suspect it’s quite costly.”
“I am more than happy to foot the bill for whatever is required,” Oliver said quickly. “I can certainly afford it and it will keep my mother occupied. If she’s busy shepherding three young women through the straights and narrows of the season with an eye toward suitable husbands for them all, she’ll be far too busy to concern herself with my marital state.”
“That’s very generous of you, Oliver.” She cast him a grateful smile. “And while I am willing to accept your hospitality for as long as is necessary, I cannot expect you to take on the financial burden of all four of us for the rest of our days. Beyond that, Gen is eighteen, Sophie and Belle are seventeen—”
“The sisters,” Oliver said in an aside to Jonathon.
Jonathon nodded.
“—and there is every possibility their somedays shall occur before mine—”
Jonathon raised a curious brow. “Do they all look like her?”
“Not in the least,” Oliver said. “They all have dark hair, dark eyes and they’re shorter than she is. But all three are lovely. They should have no problem finding husbands. I daresay they’ll be snatched up in their first season.”
“Not if they don’t have acceptable dowries!” Fiona glared at the men. Were they really this dim? Did they not understand the prospects of a good marriage for a penniless girl were bleak? “I need to find a means to come up with the money for—”
“There is another option. Why didn’t I think of it before?” Jonathon smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Wecould find you a husband.” He turned to Oliver. “You said it yourself. Freddy Hartshorne would marry her in a minute.”
Oliver cast Fiona a wary glance. “I’m not sure that—”
“Oh, it’s a splendid idea. Brilliant, really.” Excitement rang in Jonathon’s voice. “And Hartshorne’s not the only possibility. Let me think. There’s Kensington and McWilliams and”—he grinned—“maybe even Warton and Cavendish. That would serve them right.”
Oliver shook his head. “I don’t think—”
“God knows if she wants an Effington, I have a dozen cousins I’d be willing to name who would—”
“Absolutely not.” Fiona clenched her fists by her side. “I will not be peddled like yesterday’s fish!”
“But you’re not yesterday’s fish, Fiona.” Jonathon paused. “May I still call you Fiona? We were, after all, more or less engaged.”
“And you might be again if you’re not very careful,” Oliver warned quietly. She gritted her teeth. “By all means.Jonathon .”
“You’re a wonderful catch, Fiona, not at all like fish, yesterday’s or otherwise. You listed your qualities for me the other night.” He counted them off on his fingers. “You can run a household in seven different languages and you travel efficiently.” He frowned. “Or something along those lines. At any rate, you might well be perfect.”
She stared at him. “What about stubborn? Opinionated? Challenging?”
“That’s what makes you perfect for him,” Oliver murmured.
Jonathon waved off her comment. “We needn’t mention those.”
“Needn’t mention those? Where? In the sales brochure? In the advertisement?” Surely he wasn’t serious? Perhaps he was simply mad? What he looked at the moment was disgustingly eager. As if this were indeed a brilliant idea. Without warning the absurdity of it all struck and she burst into laughter. Jonathon grinned and nudged Oliver. “See, she likes the idea.”
“Or her mind has snapped under the strain.” Oliver studied her. “Are you—”
“Daft? I don’t know.” She sniffed and tried to catch her breath. “It’s just all so ridiculous.”
Jonathon pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her. “Much of life is ridiculous, really. It simply depends how one looks at it. I have a sister who is about to marry the man who once broke her heart because he thought he was doing the right thing. Quite silly when you think about it.”
“Why?” She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. “If he was doing what he thought was right?”
He shrugged. “It just seems to me that when you stumble upon the person who is truly the love of your life you should let nothing stand in your way.”
Her gaze locked with his and for a long moment they stared at one another.
“He does have a point,” Oliver said, and the moment was shattered. “At least this way you would have an opportunity to select your own husband, which you did say you wished to do—”
“I am not going to ask another man I have just met to marry me.” She shook her head firmly. “It was difficult enough, as well as humiliating, to do so once. It did seem like a good idea originally, but now…”
“Then we are back to choice number three,” Oliver said. “Making your fortune. It won’t be easy, especially given as we have no idea how much time we have to do so.” Absently he paced the length of the room.
“Which eliminates any kind of investment possibility.” Jonathon’s brows furrowed in thought and he too began to pace. “Anything that would generate the kind of funding she needs would take a considerable amount of time.” He stopped and glanced at her. “Do you have any skills?”
“I have been mistaken for an actress on occasion.” She cast him a pointed glance. “Perhaps I could go on the stage?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Jonathon scoffed. “You weren’t actually acting. Surely there is something you are good at?”
“There are many things I am good at,” she snapped. “I can efficiently run a full staff of servants. I can organize a dinner party for a hundred people on less than two days’ notice. I can select the appropriate fashion, furnishings or flowers for any occasion.”
“All of which makes you well trained to be a wife but little else.” Oliver sighed. “This may indeed be hopeless.”
“Nonsense,” Jonathon said staunchly. “It’s far too early to give up on option three.”
“Especially as that would require acceptance of option two,” Oliver pointed out.
“Come, now, Fiona, surely you have some sort of marketable talents?” Jonathon looked at her hopefully.
“Only when it comes to marketing me for marriage.” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s hopeless. I might as well resign myself to marrying Whatshisname and pray he turns out to be a decent sort.”
“Not yet.” Jonathon shook his head. “Surely the three of us can come up with something.”
“I must say, you surprise me.” She studied him curiously. “I would think you of all people would encourage me to comply with my father’s wishes. It would certainly do away with any obligation you feel toward me.”
“Ah, yes, but the guilt.” Jonathon clasped his hand over his heart in mock remorse. “The guilt would be more than I could bear.”
She resisted the temptation to smile. “Guilt?”
“Absolutely. If I had gone through with my agreement to marry you, you would not have to marry Whatshisname. In addition, you requested my assistance, you asked for rescue and I failed you. I shall have to live with that guilt for the rest of my days, especially as I now know how it feels to be faced with a marriage one does not want. No.” Resolve shone in Jonathon’s eyes and he resumed pacing. “There is a solution. We simply have to find it.”
Oliver paced in one direction, Jonathon in the other. In a part of her mind not occupied by the desperation of her dilemma Fiona wondered how they managed to avoid knocking into one another.
“Helmsley here writes stories,” Oliver said, “although he has never sold anything or seen anything in print.”
“Yet.” Jonathon’s voice was firm. “I have not had anything published yet. You don’t by any chance—”
“Only letters.” Fiona blew a long breath. “In truth I have no skills beyond what any woman of my station has. I embroider, admittedly not very well. I play the piano adequately and sing better than I play, but my voice is not exceptional. I do draw rather well, but—”
Oliver raised a brow. “How well?”
“Very well.” In truth she was quite proud of her artistic abilities. “I have studied for years. My portfolio is in my room.”
“May we see it?” An eager note sounded in Oliver’s voice.
She stared at her cousin. “It’s nothing more than a pastime. I seriously doubt—”
“I have an idea, and it might well be brilliant.” Oliver grabbed her arm and steered her toward the door.
“But it would help if we could see your work first.”
“I really haven’t shown many people my work.”
“Then we shall be doubly honored,” Jonathon said in a gallant manner. She glanced from one man to the other. Certainly, at this point if she couldn’t trust them she couldn’t trust anyone at all. Besides, she was probably just being silly. “Very well.”
“Excellent.” Oliver beamed. He opened the door and practically pushed her into the hall, closing the door behind her. Apparently she wasn’t the only one a bit undone by her situation.
Fiona found a passing maid and sent her to fetch the portfolio. She turned to go back into the parlor, then decided instead to wait by the stairs. Besides, she could use a moment to herself. Whatever Oliver had in mind, she hoped it was a good idea. No, a lucrative idea. She certainly needed one. It was all Jonathon’s fault. If he was a man of his word…
No. She sank down on a bench by the stairway. As much as she wanted to, she really couldn’t blame him for this. It was entirely her own fault. She should have married long ago. She’d had more than a few proposals through the years. And several of them quite acceptable. Men who were handsome and charming and wealthy. She would have done well to have wed any of them, but she’d just never felt the kind of affection that she’d wanted to feel for the man she would spend the rest of her days with. She’d liked them, most of them, but she’d never found anyone who made her heart leap and her toes tingle and all those things that she’d heard came along with love.
The closest she’d ever come to anything approaching those sorts of feelings was the brief infatuation she’d had at the tender age of seventeen with Jonathon Effington, a man she’d never even spoken to at the time. Now that she had, now that she’d been in his arms, it was rather shocking to realize he might well be the one man for her. Certainly there was something wonderful in the pit of her stomach and even perhaps in her heart when he’d kissed her. Not that it mattered. As much as she thought she could easily fall in love with him and thought as well, given the look in his eye, he could fall in love with her, there was simply not enough time.
And indeed, wasn’t time at the very heart of her problem? Hadn’t she always thought there would be enough time to meet the right man? To fall in love? To marry? But there was always another grand ball, another spring outing, another flirtation, another day or week or month planned, and she’d been having entirely too much fun to worry about the distant future.
Without warning it had seemed nineteen had turned to two-and-twenty, and two-and-twenty had turned to five-and-twenty. And her father had died and had left in his wake a means to force her to do what he’d never forced her to do when he’d been alive. Because he too had believed in love. And love, for his daughter, was precisely why he had made the arrangements that he had. Not that she didn’t intend to do everything possible to thwart those arrangements. Regardless of whatever scheme Oliver had in mind, her only real options were to marry a man she had no desire to wed or to force marriage to a man who had no wish to marry her. As dreadful as it sounded, it would be better to take her chances with Whatshisname. At least he was probably willing to marry. Of course, she had no intention of letting Jonathon know that yet. Aside from her anger, she’d been surprisingly disappointed. Perhaps even hurt. She shouldn’t have been, of course, it made no sense at all. But nothing about her life at the moment made a great deal of sense. And the very least Jonathon deserved for reneging on his agreement was uncertainty about his own fate for as long as possible. The maid appeared with her drawings and Fiona returned to the parlor. Oliver and Jonathon were engaged in an earnest discussion, probably about her, each with glass in hand. She would wager it wasn’t sherry. They cast her similar guilty looks.
“Let’s see these, then, shall we?” Oliver said in an all-too-jovial manner.
“I am looking forward to it.” Jonathon’s eagerness matched his friend’s. They were definitely plotting something. She sent a quick prayer toward the heavens to save her from the plots and plans of well-meaning men.
She started to hand over the portfolios, then abruptly realized what a poor idea it was and groaned to herself. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she never would have forgotten the need to take certain precautions. She held the collection close against her chest. “I really don’t think this is a good idea. I’m not at all used to letting anyone see my work.”
“This is not the time for modesty, Fiona,” Oliver said firmly. “Your drawings could provide your salvation.”
“I doubt that,” she muttered, then drew a deep breath. “Very well, but you should know, my work might not be precisely what you are expecting.”
Jonathon and Oliver traded glances.
“I’m sure it’s wonderful.” Jonathon moved to her and practically snatched the portfolio from her hands.