‘I am very sorry, Miss Overton, but you have no more money.’
Numb with shock, Olivia Overton walked slowly back down the stairs from the solicitor’s office, his unexpected and horrifying news still echoing in her ears.
Reaching the pavement, she hesitated. The prospect of returning home to Upper Brook Street brought back all the unhappy memories of two weeks earlier, when she’d come in to discover her mama expired upon the drawing-room sofa.
Adding in the unpalatable fact that the home she’d occupied for more than twelve years now belonged to someone else and she knew she couldn’t bring herself to cross that threshold again just yet.
She’d go visit Sara Standish and reveal her drastically changed circumstances to her best friend, the one person in London who would understand her shock, pain and distress.
Thinking with gallows humour that she’d better enjoy the luxury of travelling by hackney before her few remaining funds ran out, she walked down the street and found a jarvey to convey her to Hanover Square.
A short time later, the butler escorted her to the Standish town house’s small back parlour. ‘I’ll send Miss Standish down immediately,’ he whispered, his cautious glance towards the grand front salon letting her know that Sara’s mother, who had long enjoyed being an invalid, must be reclining on her couch there, receiving friends conveying the latest ton gossip.
A ripple of anguish went through as she realised that the next likely topic of gossip would be her.
Have you heard? That Overton girl has lost all her money! A shame she’s so odd—and plain. No chance of her getting some gentleman to rescue her with an offer of marriage.
She took a deep, steadying breath. Ton gossip would soon be the least of her worries. Whatever she decided to do next, she would have very little time to figure it out—before her cousin Sir Roger and the new Lady Overton arrived in London to take possession of her house.
Too restless to take a seat, she paced back and forth in front of the mantel, halting when Sara appeared on the threshold. Taking one look at Olivia’s face, her quiet, gentle blonde friend came over and pulled her into a hug. ‘My poor dear! Have you been missing your mama badly today?’
For a moment, Olivia clung to Sara, to the person who seemed her last safe haven in a suddenly chaotic and threatening world. ‘No more than usual,’ she said, releasing her to take a seat beside her on the sofa. ‘Isn’t it strange how you can live with a person for years, finding them an indifferent companion, sometimes even an annoyance, and yet miss them quite dreadfully when they are gone?’
Sara cast a glance towards the front parlour. ‘I understand completely. And Mama isn’t even much involved in my life, having taken to her couch and delegated all responsibility for me to Aunt Patterson years ago. Whereas your mother actually dined with you and took you into society with her.’
Olivia laughed wryly. ‘A society I never appreciated and whose rules and expectations I could not wait to escape. Ah, how I longed to leave the Marriage Mart for good, to set out upon our independent lives and finally, finally be able to pursue what we feel is important.’
‘Praise heaven, we won’t have to wait much longer,’ Sara said with feeling. ‘The Season is nearly over. Soon, we’ll be able to move to our house on Judd Street and begin those new, independent lives! At least, when we do, your unfortunate loss means you won’t have to suffer any further tears or lamentations from your family about having made a choice that will “doom your matrimonial prospects and see you exiled from society for ever.”
Enthusiasm shining in her eyes, Sara continued, ‘Only imagine, no longer being dragged out on pointless afternoon calls or having to attend endlessly boring evening entertainments! We shall be able to devote all our time to supporting Ellie Lattimar’s school and working with Lady Lyndlington’s Ladies’ Committee. Think of all the letters we’ll be able to write, urging support of the reform legislation Lord Lyndlington and his party are pushing forward in Parliament! Issues so much more important than the cut of a bonnet or the style of a sleeve, the only pressing topics being discussed by the ladies at the Emersons’ ball last night. Ah, here’s our tea. Thank you, Jameson.’
‘Lady Patterson asked that I inform you that she will join you in a few moments,’ the butler said as he set down the tray.
Sara nodded, then rolled her eyes at Olivia as the butler walked out of the room. ‘If you have something important to say, better tell me before Aunt Doom and Gloom arrives.’
Olivia uttered a laugh that sounded a bit hysterical, even to her own ears. ‘I’m afraid I do. Something of rather major importance. I visited Mr Henson this morning to enquire about transferring funds for my part of the maintenance of our Judd Street house. Only to discover that... I have no money.’
Sara angled her head, her expression puzzled. ‘You have no money? I thought that, though the trustees retained the management of them, you could draw on your funds at will, once you reached one-and-twenty. Indeed, I thought you had been doing so these last two years.’
Olivia’s smile turned bitter. ‘So I had. Except now, it appears, the trustees have “managed” me right out of my inheritance. They invested both interest and capital in a canal project that has just gone bankrupt. All I have left in the world, apparently, is one hundred pounds in the London bank.’
For a moment, fury consumed her that, while she, as a single female, had not been considered competent to manage her own funds, the supposedly wiser and more experienced male trustees had been free to gamble her money on a risky project.
The solicitor might be apologetic.
She was destitute.
Sara’s eyes widened and her mouth opened in shock. ‘That’s...all? One hundred pounds?’
‘Between me and penury. And to make the situation even sweeter, Mr Henson said that Sir Roger, who now owns the Upper Brook Street house, wants to take possession—immediately.’
‘Oh, Olivia,’ Sara whispered, taking her hand and squeezing