Everything. The title had never been a very wealthy one. An ancestor had been granted the spectacular honour of a marquessate for a very murky piece of assistance to the first King George. He had risen from a minor rural earldom to the upper branches of the aristocratic tree without the generations of slow accumulation of wealth that most of the great noble families had behind them. There were no estates dotting the length of the land, no great hoard of jewels dating back to the Tudors, just Thorne Hall, its lands and the trappings of a very comfortable lifestyle.
‘So, what did you do?’ Incredibly Giles was keeping his voice steady.
‘I sold off all the unentailed land to Palgrave, which met some of the debt. Then I borrowed the rest from him.’
‘How much do we still owe?’ This was a nightmare, had to be. He was going to wake up in a minute, sweating, in his bed in Lisbon...
His father told him, then into the appalled silence added, ‘The estate earns enough to service the loan, but not to clear it.’
All right, he was not, apparently, going to wake up. ‘Palgrave died just over a year ago, yes?’ Laurel had been out of mourning when he saw her, he realised.
‘He left letters for me and for his heir. Malden Grange and the land he bought from me are in trust to Laurel, with the new Earl as trustee. Malden was never the main house, so its land is not entailed. This man prefers the old place on the other side of the county, along with its mouldering castle ruins—he’s something of an antiquary, it seems—and he has his own properties anyway.’
The Marquess shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘He’s been damn reasonable about the whole thing and he’s been discreet, which is more important. Nothing has been said to Laurel and her stepmother, so they think he is simply being generous in allowing them to remain in the main house rather than moving to the Dower House.’
‘Forgive me, but I fail to see how this affects anything. The Earl’s tact is appreciated, but the debt is still to be paid off and the land is gone.’ Somehow he was holding on to his temper. He hadn’t been in England at his father’s side, where he should have been. If he had, then this probably would not have happened. But he had not been here. Another painful reality that must be lived with, dealt with.
‘In those letters Palgrave set out his intention for Laurel to inherit the land and property that is in trust, provided she marries within eighteen months of Palgrave’s death in accordance with the terms he set out. The balance of my debt to the estate would also transfer to her on her marriage—or, rather, to her husband. If she does not marry as directed then everything falls to the new Earl, with the exception of a generous dowry or allowance for Laurel, depending on whether she marries or not.’
Giles sat back, took a breath and summarised. He might as well have this clear in his head in all its horror. ‘So we are at the mercy of whoever Laurel decides to marry if we are unable to raise the money to buy back the land. Or if her marriage does not fulfil the requirements, then we are in debt to the new Earl.’ And at his mercy, or the husband’s, if either decided to call in the balance of the debt early. He kept that observation to himself.
‘Not exactly.’ His father looked at him with what Giles could have sworn was apprehension. ‘Laurel only gets the land and the debt if she marries the Earl of Revesby in the next five months.’
‘But I am the Earl of Revesby.’
‘Precisely.’
* * *
‘We are rather thin of company tonight,’ Phoebe complained after one sweeping assessment of the crowded room. ‘I had hoped for a greater variety of partners, and certainly more nearer your age for your first ball at the Assembly Rooms. Oh, dear, I am disappointed.’
‘It looks very well attended to me.’ Laurel suppressed a nervous qualm at the sight of so many people, all of them strangers and many of them discreetly curious. Because of being in mourning for her father it was over a year since she had attended even a small neighbourhood Assembly, one where she knew everyone. She never expected to be the local belle of the ball, she was too old for that and known to be devoted to raising Jamie, and she had not expected to be very conspicuous here. The veiled assessment, the polite curiosity and the more open interest of some of the younger gentlemen who were in attendance came as a surprise.
‘I do wish people would not gape so,’ she murmured, taking refuge behind her fan.
‘Whatever did you expect, dear?’ Phoebe was arch. ‘You are very attractive, your gown is elegant, if not perhaps in the very first stare of fashion, and you are a new young face where that is always welcome. As I said, the company is thin of many eligible gentlemen tonight, but we must not despair, I have every hope of finding just the man for you.’
‘I am not so young—and I meant it when I said I did not want to marry.’
‘Tish tosh! I cannot imagine why you believe yourself to be on the shelf, Laurel, or feel you have to be a recluse. I blame your stepmother entirely for putting such nonsense into your head.’
‘It is not that I do not want to be sociable, only that I am past the age—’
‘Look, dear, there are some chairs, right in the middle of the long wall. I will hurry and secure them. We will have an excellent view from there.’
And be most excellently on display ourselves, Laurel thought, reluctantly making her way through the throng.
Phoebe swept on and secured the chairs under the noses of two ladies wearing alarming toques, nodding with plumes.
‘Should I not give up my chair to one of them?’ Laurel whispered.
‘Certainly not. Those are the Pershing sisters and a more disobliging pair I have never met. Now, let me see who is here.’ She looked around, tutting when she failed to locate who she wanted. ‘I must find the Master of Ceremonies and introduce you so that he is certain to include you in all the invitations. And there is Lady Bessant.’ She waved. ‘She will come over soon, I have no doubt. Her son was widowed nine months ago. Such a nice man, so suitable. A trifle stolid, to be sure, but—Oh, and Mrs Terrington, who has three grandsons and two of them are passably intelligent. And over there—’
Laurel ignored the remarks about available men and tried to pay attention to everything else: this would be her new world and she must learn names and faces quickly. As she glanced around several of the younger ladies looked towards the door and some of the mamas came, very subtly, to attention.
An eligible gentleman is coming, Laurel thought with amusement. And then Giles entered, talking to a shorter man.
‘Ah, now there is Mr Gorridge, the Master of Ceremonies, just coming in with—oh, no, it is Lord Revesby again.’
‘And they are coming this way,’ Laurel said, with a sinking certainty that she was their objective.
‘My dear Lady Cary, you must forgive me for not calling earlier. I have only just heard of the arrival of Lady Laurel.’ The Master of Ceremonies was effusive, bowing over her hand, assuring her of his attention if he could be of the slightest service to such a distinguished new arrival in Bath.
Laurel murmured all the right things, agreed that she would certainly wish to subscribe to the concert programme, admitted to enjoying balls, confessed that she was not at all attracted by card play and made him laugh indulgently when she wrinkled her nose when he asked if she had tried the waters yet. And all the time she was aware of Giles seeming to fill her vision while he waited silently, a pace behind Mr Gorridge.
‘And you must allow me to introduce to you the Earl of Revesby, newly arrived in Bath, just as you are, Lady Laurel.’
‘Lord Revesby made himself known to me this morning,’ Laurel said with the coolest smile compatible with good manners. Whatever happened she must not make a scene, not here with all of Bath society watching. ‘We were childhood...acquaintances.’
‘Neighbours, of course.’