Lara gave Isabel a disbelieving look. “Isabel.” “He can!”
“You are a marvelous sister. But he cannot discuss such interests with you.”
There was silence as Isabel considered the words. Of course he couldn’t. He was a ten-year-old boy with no one to help him understand his world and he needed a man with whom he could discuss such … male … things.
She sighed. “I must find a way to get James to school. I plan to send a letter to my father’s solicitor about that very thing today. Not that there will be money to arrange it.” She paused. “Alternatively, perhaps the new guardian of the estate will arrive bearing knowledge only those of his gender can impart.”
They had been waiting for word of Oliver, Lord Densmore, the mysterious and missing guardian named in her father’s will, since they had learned of the earl’s death. It had been just over a week now, and every day that went by without news, Isabel breathed a bit easier.
His specter loomed nonetheless, for if the Wastrearl had appointed him, it seemed that Lord Densmore would very likely be precisely the sort of guardian they would all prefer not to have.
“There is something else.”
There always was.
Isabel winced at the thought. “About James?”
“No. About you.” Lara leaned forward in her chair. “I know why you fell asleep here instead of taking yourself to bed. I know you are concerned about our future. About finances. About James. About Minerva House.” Isabel started to shake her head. “Do not insult me by feigning ignorance. I have known you for your entire life. Lived with you for six years. I know you are worried.”
Isabel opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Lara was, of course, right. Isabel was worried. She was worried that the dire financial straits of the estate would keep James from going to school, from learning to be an earl, from restoring some semblance of honor to the earldom. She was terrified that his new guardian would never show his face—and his finances. Almost as terrified as she was that he would arrive and close Minerva House—casting out the women she had worked so hard to keep safe.
The women who needed her.
The roof was leaking, they’d lost seven sheep through the fence at the western edge of the Park that week, and Isabel hadn’t a farthing to her name. She was going to have to send some of the girls away if she could not find a solution.
“I don’t suppose the earl left any money,” Lara said softly. It was the first time any of the other residents of the Park had spoken of their combined situation.
Isabel shook her head, feeling frustration surge at the question. “Everything is gone.”
Everything that had not been entailed to the future Earl of Reddich.
Her father had not even cared enough to ensure that his children were cared for—that his heir would be cared for. It had taken her half an hour to convince the solicitor who had arrived a day after the news of her father’s death that she could understand the finances of the estate well enough for him to explain their situation to her.
As though being impoverished were a complicated state of affairs.
The Wastrearl had gambled everything away—the house in town, the carriages, the furniture, the horses … his daughter. There was nothing left. Nothing but what was now James’s by right…
And what was Isabel’s to sell.
A pang of sadness flared in her chest.
Her brother had not had the father or the mother or the upbringing that the earldom should have promised him but he would have an earldom. And she would do what she could to keep it afloat.
A dead earl.
A child heir.
A crumbling estate.
Two dozen mouths to feed, all of which were required to remain well hidden.
She had never felt so panicked in her life.
If only she hadn’t slept the night before, she might have already devised a plan for them all to be saved.
She just needed time.
Closing her eyes, Isabel took a deep, steadying breath. “It is not your concern, Lara,” she said firmly, refusing to show her thoughts, “I shall make certain that we are well taken care of.”
Lara’s gaze softened. “Of course you shall. None of us have doubted such for a moment.”
Of course they hadn’t. No one ever doubted Isabel’s strength. Not even when they should. Not even when she was holding the whole thing together by a thread.
She stood and went to the window, looking out at the once-lush and fertile Townsend land. Now the fields were overgrown and untilled, and the livestock had dwindled to a pittance.
“Are the girls worried?”
“No. I do not think that it has crossed their minds that they might all be tossed out on their ears.”
Isabel’s heart raced at the words. “They shan’t be tossed out. Never say such things again.”
Lara had followed her. “Of course they shan’t.”
They might be. Isabel heard the words as though they had been spoken aloud.
Isabel turned quickly, her skirts swirling around her ankles as she raised a finger, wagging it in front of Lara’s nose. “I shall think of something. We shall find some money. I shall move them all to another house. It is not as though this one is any kind of prize.”
“Minerva House the second,” Lara said.
“Precisely.”
“A capital idea.”
Isabel huffed at her cousin’s tone. “You needn’t agree simply to appease me.”
“Fair enough,” Lara said. “Do you have a stash of money stored somewhere? Because last I’d heard, houses that accommodated two dozen women required funds.”