She and her sister had always been close, despite the age gap of eight years. Perhaps because of it. Or because they were motherless. They watched out for each other. That was what Maeve’s mother had begged her to do when the poor woman had laboured to bring Grace forth. So far it had worked, and Maeve remained proud of herself for how she defended and protected her little sister. But this was different, and their father needed them. A dark fear twisted through Maeve that perhaps her father was ill.
“Father did not wish you to know he left his job with the viscount.”
“Is that the sum total of the problem?” Maeve asked.
Her father had always been immensely proud of his role working for Lord Silverton and maintained his silence on whatever he got up to for the lord. Maeve had little knowledge of their business, although the previous year, her father had been injured in a hunting accident. There was enough in the gossip sheets for Maeve to know that the viscount was not beyond the occasional nefarious scheme; still, her father would never be involved in that.
“I know there was some talk of a partial retirement. Surely there is enough capital to maintain him?”
With a shake of her strawberry-blonde head, Grace grabbed up her glasses, shoving them onto her nose. “He won’t say any more to me. I offered to leave school early, but he refused.” She glanced at the clock in the corner of the room. “Will you speak to him?”
“Of course. If needs be, the money I have been setting aside will help, I am sure. You must go, for you can’t miss the coach to Brighton.” She squeezed her sister’s arm, used to sorting matters out for her family. As the elder sister, it was her job to do so.
“Wasn’t that money supposed to be your dowry?” Grace asked.
“The understanding between myself and Dr. Copeland is of an informal kind—” There was not a proper way to describe the arrangement that existed between Dr. Benjamin Copeland and Maeve. It was of a decidedly practical nature, and due to a lack of funds, neither Maeve nor the good doctor could act too soon. With that in mind, Maeve had been saving towards their comfortable marriage. She did not have any romantic notions about Dr. Copeland. There were sensible reasons to wed—a good home, societal position, companionship, a family. Dr. Copeland often went to Brighton for work, and if they were wed, it meant she would be able to move closer to that bright city and be nearer to her sister. The youthful and romantic notions Maeve had as a girl would be put away; it was with a note of sadness that Maeve thought she was probably incapable of inspiring much passion within men.
Grace made a revolted noise. Her views on the engagement were that it was morose and lacklustre. “One,” she declared piously, “should only wed if one is deeply in love. So, anything to put that mad arrangement off can only be a good thing.” With that and a hastily given kiss on Maeve’s cheek, Grace departed, leaving Maeve alone, wondering how best to confront her father.
Drawing herself upright, she straightened her skirts and proceeded to make her way towards a room that was used as both a library and her father’s study. She knocked cautiously at the door and slipped inside when she heard her father call out to her.
“Grace has left for Brighton,” she said as she entered. Across from her in an easy chair, Mr. Walsh had aged, it seemed, very rapidly in the last six months. She had a terrifying notion that he might be seriously ill. Cautiously, she stepped closer to the fire and asked, “Before Grace went, she said there was a problem. Can you please tell me what is wrong? I may be able to help.”
John’s eyes bulged as he looked up at her. For a moment, Maeve feared he would dismiss her concerns, but instead, he just shook his head. “It’s no concern of yours, pet.”
“I know something is the matter. Grace told me you had left the viscount’s service, but I thought there was some jointure for you.”
“Of course, Lord Silverton is generous.”
“I do not want to be kept in ignorance of what is wrong,” Maeve said.
“It isn’t suitable for you to know everything.” Her father tried to get to his feet, but Maeve held up her hand. Since she had been a schoolteacher, she was far too practical and exacting not to know the power she could command when she needed to.
“If you are concerned about money, please tell me.”
For a second, Maeve thought her father would dismiss her concerns again, but instead, his rounded face dropped, and he looked to the floor in embarrassment. There was a sniff, a loud one, and when John looked back up, his eyes swam with tears. His faint Irish accent broke through when he spoke. “I swear I didn’t mean to. It was a horrible mistake.”
Over the next twenty minutes, Maeve listened with dawning horror to her father’s confession that he’d been swindled into using his life savings towards a scheme that had drained him of everything. He had been talked into the venture with the promise, he said, of being able to spoil his daughters in his final years. He loved the idea of ensuring that Maeve would have a good marriage, and Grace could be thoroughly spoilt.
“And now, they say they want this place in lieu of the money I owe.” John waved his hand to indicate the cottage. Their home, set back from the main road but in the centre of the village, was the only place Maeve had ever known as theirs. The location was close enough to Maeve’s school in Ashford, meaning she could visit her father frequently if needed.
“You shouldn’t have to lose anything. You won’t. I will help you. I’m here.” Maeve moved closer, pushing one auburn curl off her brow. She reached out and grabbed her father’s hand. “I have forty pounds saved up. It is yours.” Her mind rushed ahead, knowing it would mean yet an even longer wait until Dr. Copeland and she could proceed with their engagement. “We should remove Grace from school too.”
“But she enjoys it so.”
“It is an expense. She can come and live here with you to save money. And from here, she can apply for any number of governess or companion positions.”
“It won’t be enough. I owe them one thousand pounds.”
Maeve’s hand dropped away from her father’s. Her optimism faded, her mind screaming out silently—how on earth were they going to pay off those sorts of debts? It was more than she could make in a decade. Two decades, come to that. It was a wild, obscene amount of money. The sort of sum only thebeau mondesquandered. That idea lingered and grew as she stared at her father. Thebeau monde, theton, the people her father had spent his life working for, had he done enough for them to ask anything in return? Could he ask his old employer, Lord Silverton, at Silver Hall, for help?
Her father had always maintained a level of secrecy about his work for the viscount, but Maeve had read the gossip rags that featured Lord Silverton and his friends in the glamorous Oxford Set. All handsome nobles with secrets and influences that were too numerous to count. A thousand pounds might not benothingto a man of the viscount’s standing, but it wouldn’t destroy his life.
“You have to ask his lordship,” Maeve said. “The viscount will help you.”
“No.” For the first time, her father sounded firm. “I won’t do it. I can’t.”
“Why not?” Maeve forced herself not to lose her temper. She didn’t have a very fiery nature, at least not that she had previously observed, but this stubbornness of her father’s rankled her. He had always called Silverton his friend; surely if that were true, the viscount would want to help him.
