A Pitiful Remnant Read Free Page A

wanted to cover her ears
and run, screaming, from the room.
    Again Mr. Whitsomeworth tapped the papers, this time with
some agitation, as if he was reluctant to continue. "I am prepared to
act as sole guardian, until such time as we can discover the
disposition of Lord Guillemot's affairs. Perhaps his heir..."
    Uncle Percival asked the question Lisanor wanted to.
"What's to become of this estate until this is all sorted out? Last I
heard, the wolves were at the door. Drystan made a bloody mess of
things, and m'brother was too ill to stop him."
    "I believe the creditors are prepared to be reasonable, for a
short spell, at least. And I have already taken steps to resolve this
dilemma."
    Lisanor wondered what steps, while at the same time
thinking of what economies they could practice. The estate was solid;
only funds were lacking. Creditors hadn't been paid for months, the
household account was empty. Unless they sold off much of the
livestock, they wouldn't even be able to buy seed when spring came,
despite Mr. Fishman's strict economies. A few of the tenants were
already muttering of jobs to be had in the manufacturies.
    "I've heard that Guillemot is under the hatches," Darius
Fortescue, Uncle Percival's nephew-by-marriage, said from the
doorway. Apparently he had been eavesdropping. "I doubt that a
marriage to the new marquess would be likely to reassure your
creditors. Or his." He sounded almost gleeful at the prospect.
    "He's right," Percival sputtered. "Two bankrupt estates
combining? My good man, they're more apt to demand immediate
payment, rather than agree to delay it."
    Darius strode to the front of the room, halted beside the
desk where Mr. Whitsomeworth sat. "Sell the place off. Pay the
creditors. Use what's left to give the girls dowries. That ought to get
them husbands. Solid yeomen, or maybe a hungry Scot. In fact..." He
licked his lips. "I'd marry the young one. Time I was settling
down."
    Lisanor would have attacked him, but before she could,
Alanna picked up a vase and threw it, with excellent aim.
    "I'd die a maid before I'd let you lay a finger on me, you...you
lecher."
    "Why you little bitch--"
    "Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Let us have some decorum."
    Although the lawyer's expostulations had little effect, Uncle
Percival showed some initiative. He caught the tail of Darius' coat
and gave it a jerk.
    "You ain't part of the family, nevvy. Got no say in what
happens."
    Darius subsided, but only after a spiteful glare in Alanna's
direction.
    "M'brother would spin in his grave were this place be sold,"
Percival said. "And I don't like the notion myself. There've been
Hights here since before the Normans came. If there's a way to save
it, you find it, Whitsomeworth. And you, Miss Hoity-toity, you'll
marry as you're bid, if it means keeping Ackerslea in the
family."
    "I never said I would not," Lisanor said, while feeling strong
resentment that he should doubt her devotion to Ackerslea.
    "Good. That's the ticket." He patted his round belly. "Is that
all, Whitsomeworth? Can we have our dinner now?"
    "Indeed, Mr. Hight. Why don't you gentlemen remove to the
dining room? I have a bit more to discuss with Miss Hight and Miss
Alanna, but nothing to concern you."
    Once the men had left, Mr. Whitsomeworth picked up the
papers, sorted through them, and pulled out one that was written on
both sides with crossed and recrossed lines. "I received this only
yesterday. It is from the solicitor who handles Lord Guillemot's
business affairs. Tsk, tsk. Most distressing." Mr. Whitsomeworth
tapped both forefingers on the papers lying before him.
    "Lord Guillemot was severely wounded in the retreat at
Coruña. At present he is recuperating at Guillemot Burn, his
principal estate not too far from here, in Lincolnshire. The family has
not yet told him of the situation, though I have no reason to believe
he will reject the notion of a marriage between you." His slight smile
reminded Lisanor of a cat who's just swallowed the last feather of