All he had to do was marry Gillian under her terms and everything they needed, everything they wanted, would be assured. Didn’t they deserve that much and more?
Didn’t he?
“It was rather too much to expect,” Emma said with an overbright smile. She nodded at Marianne, who stood, as if on cue, and moved to her older sister’s side. “Still, since the subject of our finances—”
“Or lack of them,” Jocelyn muttered and stepped to stand beside Emma.
“—has been broached.” Emma squared her shoulders. Becky joined Marianne. “We wish to discuss the situation. There are questions we should like answered.”
Richard stared. His sisters stared back, the same determined expression on each lovely face. There was a resolute air about them, and at once he realized this was no impulsive encounter but a confrontation planned and plotted. They faced him like an opposing army determined to conquer and unwilling to take prisoners. He was outnumbered. He glanced at his aunt. She alone remained seated, her hands busy with her mending, a curious smile of anticipation on her face. He didn’t like that smile any more than he liked the looks on the faces of his sisters.
“Very well then,” he said slowly. “Ask your questions.”
The girls exchanged glances. Emma raised her chin. “We all remember what it was like here in the years before father’s death. When the only time he came home from London was to select another painting to sell—”
“Or a horse,” Becky added.
“Or anything else that would finance his losses at the gaming tables,” Marianne said.
“He would have sold one of us had the opportunity presented itself.” Jocelyn’s voice held a touch of bitterness, and he could scarcely blame her. “He put a pretty face on it but we all know he was about to sell Emma when he died.”
“Jocelyn,” Emma snapped. It was known, yet rarely discussed aloud, that their father had indeed been negotiating a marriage for Emma to a wealthy, elderly lord. The man had been willing to pay off most of the earl’s debts in exchange for the hand of the then barely seventeen-year-old girl. “That scarcely matters now.”
“Richard should know,” Marianne said, her tone even and without condemnation. “It’s not as if he was here at all back then.”
Once again guilt stabbed him. He’d been far too busy living his own decadent life to note what was happening at Shelbrooke Manor. He’d been at school when his mother had died and, in the years that followed, had seen little reason for more than an occasional trip to the country. No, he’d been too busy squandering funds he didn’t have, confident that his promissory notes were backed up by the family fortune. In truth, the first debts he’d managed to pay off were those of his own making.
“I know,” he said quietly.
It was in fact that very arrangement that had made him realize how dire his family’s situation had become. The creature his father had promised Emma to had approached Richard the day of the funeral, demanding Richard live up to the agreement.
The lord was more than three times her age and wealthy enough, but Richard had heard disturbing rumors about his preferences when it came to the fairer sex. Indeed, there were questions about the nature of the deaths of his two previous wives.
Granted, at that time Richard knew little of his sisters’ lives, in truth did not know his sisters at all, but the idea of a relation of his bound to the despicable man’s perverse whims snapped something inside him. In a moment of perfect clarity he’d realized that Emma’s future, the futures of his family and himself, were in his hands and his alone. “I regret I didn’t know before—”
“That’s neither here nor there at the moment,” Emma said quickly. The two of them had agreed years ago not to bring up the topic, although Richard wondered now if they should have at least told the rest of the family he was aware of the alleged betrothal. And had taken steps to end it. “It’s no longer of any significance.”
“Isn’t it?” Jocelyn crossed her arms in a gesture of defiance. “Isn’t that the heart of what we wish to ask him?”
“How do we know you won’t sell one of us to the highest bidder?” Becky’s eyes flashed. “Or do something else every bit as wicked?”
“Becky,” Emma snapped.
Shock coursed through him. “How can you, any of you, think such a tiling? I’ve spent the last five years trying my best—”
“You can’t blame them, us, for wondering, Richard. For being concerned—”
“If a son is like a father...” Aunt Louella murmured.
“Haven’t I done all I can to improve our lot in life? Your lot in life?” He ran his fingers through his hair, angered as much by the implication of his aunt’s comment as by the basic truth, and the fear, deep inside, that they could be right. “Blast it all, is that what this is about? Is this what has you worried?”
“No.” Emma slanted a quelling look at her sisters. “We know you would never do that. However—”
“We want to know about the money, Richard.” Marianne’s firm gaze pinned his.
Emma drew a deep breath. “We want to know where you get it.”
“Although it’s scarcely a significant amount,” Jocelyn muttered.
Becky nodded. “And it doesn’t appear to be at all regular—”
“You
do
seem to be paying off father’s debts,” Emma said.
“In addition to supporting us.” Marianne shrugged. “Not well, but—”
“Well enough for the moment,” Emma added. “Even so ...”
“We’re afraid—” Becky said.
“That is, concerned—” Emma cut in.
“That you’re doing something”—Marianne hesitated, then plunged ahead—“illegal.”
“Immoral,” Emma said.
“Illicit,” Becky chimed in. “And the last thing we want is to see you thrown into prison.”
“Or hung,” Jocelyn said darkly. “What will become of us then?”
For a moment, Richard could only stare in stunned silence. He’d given up his admittedly wicked, but nonetheless enjoyable, ways in exchange for watching every penny. He lived in rooms that no decent gentleman would consider. He worked well into the night until his eyes stung with the fumes of turpentine to produce paintings aimed toward sales and not the joy of creation, and he dabbled in society only as an observer. He’d given up gambling and drinking to excess and, for the most part, women.
The rest of the world considered him completely reformed and honorable. He’d gained a certain amount of respect and even trust. From everyone but his sisters. Bloody hell, he’d even climbed to the top of Gillian’s damnable list of husbands!
He forced a note of calm to his voice. “And what, dear sisters, would you say if indeed I was involved in something illegal or immoral or illicit?”
The girls looked at each other, then each and every gaze focused on him. Their confrontational demeanor disappeared, replaced by determination and something more. Courage?
“Naturally we would wish you to stop,” Emma said quietly.
“Would you?” He raised a brow. “And what would become of you then?”
Jocelyn had the good grace to cringe at hearing her words thrown back at her.
“I can go into service.” Calm resignation sounded in Emma’s voice. “I can get a position as a governess.”
“As can I,” Marianne said firmly.
Jocelyn cast a pleading glance at the older girls. They nodded in response. Her voice was grim. “I can probably find a husband who doesn’t care about such things as dowries.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh. “The butcher’s son is looking for a wife and seems somewhat taken with me.”
“Somewhat?” Becky snorted. “But even I wouldn’t encourage that.” She leaned toward Richard. “He has warts.”
“He’s a very nice young man,” Emma said sharply.
“If you like warts,” Jocelyn said under her breath.
Richard studied them for a moment. “And what of you, Becky? What are you willing to do to keep me from the hangman’s noose?”
“I could marry, I suppose, although in fact I think I’m too young for that. But,” her gaze met his, “we could sell the horse. He’s rather old and tends to be a bit cranky, but we could get something for him ...” A wistful note sounded in her voice.
Richard’s anger dissolved. Aside from Aunt Louella, and she scarcely counted, he was all the family they had left. Apparently they were willing one and all to sacrifice whatever was needed to keep him out of trouble. The knowledge touched something inside him.
“I am impressed, dear ladies, and I do appreciate your offers, but they are not necessary.” He grinned slowly. “I am doing nothing illegal, illicit, or even immoral. I have become eminently respectable and redeemed my reputation to the point where, if I am anything at all presently, it is simply quite boring.”
Their expressions didn’t change.
“Blast it all, what is it now?” Annoyance drew his brows together. “Obviously, there’s more.” Once again the sisters exchanged looks. “Out with it then.”
“We want to know ...” Emma paused as if summoning strength for a question she hated to ask. And feared the answer. “If your money comes from gambling.”
“Apparently winning occasionally,” Jocelyn said grudgingly.
“But gaming nonetheless.” Marianne’s gaze was troubled.
Abruptly any remaining annoyance vanished. He should have known his silence about his activities would arouse suspicion eventually. Certainly, in the first few years the girls had paid no attention to his attempts to juggle creditors in London, and he’d been with them in the country more often than he was in town. It wasn’t until he’d started painting that he’d stayed away from the manor more and more.
He couldn’t blame them for their fears. They’d grown up with a father whose infrequent visits home had only been to collect yet another family heirloom or valuable to sell and finance his games. On rare occasions, he’d brought token amounts for necessities, but more often than not his return to Shelbrooke Manor had marked the disappearance of treasures rather than the disbursement of funds.
“The blood of the father in the veins of the son,” Aunt Louella murmured.
Richard bit back a sharp response. Louella was a termagant, but he could scarcely fault her, either, for her suspicions.
“T can assure you”—he shot his aunt a pointed glance—“all of you, that I do not frequent the tables and have not set foot in a gaming hell for longer than I can remember.” He grinned wryly and shrugged. “Haven’t the money.”
The very room itself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, as if collective breaths had been released.
“As to what I have been doing,” he directed a firm look toward Emma, “there is nothing wrong with it whatsoever.” His gaze slid to Marianne. “Payment is simply a bit erratic.” He met Jocelyn’s eyes directly. “It is quite respectable. However,” his attention turned to Becky, “circumstances and profitability dictate I keep much about it private. Do you understand?”
Louella sniffed.
Emma nodded. “Of course.”
“Certainly,” Marianne said with a puzzled smile.
“Well, I don’t understand.” Jocelyn planted her hands on her hips.
“Neither do I.” Becky mimicked Jocelyn’s actions.
Richard laughed. “Pity, but you shall have to live with your confusion.” He narrowed his eyes, his lighthearted tone belying the serious nature of his words. “And you shall have to trust me.”
Emma stepped toward him. “We do, Richard. It was just—”
“Well, I do.” Marianne returned to her chair and plopped into it, the movement sliding her glasses to the end of her nose. She grinned up at him. “Now I, for one, want to know what you wished to tell us.”
“Me too.” Becky settled herself on the arm of Marianne’s chair.
“So do I, I suppose.” Jocelyn flounced across the room and sank down beside her aunt on the settee. “Although I can’t see what could be so fascinating if Richard hasn’t managed to make our fortune yet.”
Richard suppressed a grin. Jocelyn had a good heart even if she tended to be a bit centered on her own interests. It was Aunt Louella’s fault for all her talk about the past and the days when the Shelton family fortune was unquestioned.
“Yes, Richard, do tell,” Emma said. “What is it?”
“I have an... acquaintance, a friend actually, who has agreed, for the remainder of the season in London, to take one of you under her wing—”
“A friend?” Aunt Louella said with a raised brow.
“Which one of us?” Jocelyn’s eyes widened.
“A female friend?” Louella’s eyes narrowed.
“Who is going to London?” Jocelyn jumped to her feet.
“What kind of
female friend
?” Louella pressed her lips together tightly.
Richard directed her a pointed stare. “She is of good family, the daughter of a duke, and a widow. Highly respected, with an unblemished reputation.”
“Why would someone like that agree to such a thing?” Emma murmured.
“Perhaps she’s a very good friend.” Marianne’s eyes twinkled. “Perhaps she’s more than a mere friend.”
“No doubt.” Louella snorted.
“Is she, Richard?” Becky jumped to her feet. “Is there more to this than friendship?”
Emma’s brows drew together, and she considered him thoughtfully. “One would think there would have to be if she is willing to sponsor a season for one of us.”