presume?”
His familiarity startled her. How had he known her name?
“You presume correctly, Mr. Foster. You may have an audience with me if you
like, in my father’s absence.”
He raised a brow. “I don’t think I have any business with
you, my lady.”
She held herself with confidence feigned more than felt—she
hoped he could not see through her bravado. Her stomach bottomed out like a
carriage on the run from highwaymen. Her entire body turned quivery and
peculiar. “I find you do have business with me, Mr. Foster. Please, may I show
you to the drawing room?”
His sensuous lips flattened and she couldn’t shake the
feeling he didn’t like her for some reason. “Good of you to receive me, my
lady.”
She inclined her head with regal grace and stepped back to
allow him entrance. “Indeed, though I hesitate to agree with anything you say,
I should think it is good of me to do so. Particularly considering the
circumstances bringing you here.”
He towered over her as he stepped inside, quite stealing her
breath. Goodness he was handsome. Still, she could not relent. He was her lower
in the social order. True, her father may well be a spendthrift, a complete
failure. It may be absolutely given out in the papers he was pockets to let,
and yet, the man before her remained beneath her by drastic levels. The very
act of her meeting him sans chaperone would ruin her reputation if
anyone knew. Thanks to their reduced means, there were no servants to speak of
it. Not even their esteemed butler Dryden had been able to stay on without
payment any longer than he’d already done. He and Daisy had hailed a
post-chaise together.
She took Foster’s coat from him in silence, noting he wore
no hat when every true gentleman would. Another strike against him. Unspeaking,
she gave him her back and led him to the drawing room. Meeting a man like
Pierce Foster in close quarters in the elegant—though perhaps squandered and
stripped—confines of one’s own drawing room left something to be desired. He
was, she suspected, a formidable opponent.
“Please seat yourself.” Clarissa perched on a settee. “I
would offer you tea, but I fear it’s too dear at the moment. We haven’t any.
Nor do we have a lady to prepare the water.” A bitter smile curved her lips as
she met his dark blue gaze.
He sat in a winged chair opposite her. “I’m sorry for your
reduced state, my lady, but I feel compelled to inform you it is not my fault
you are forced to it. That honor is reserved for your errant father.”
She was surprised, she realized, he spoke so well. Even his
accent hinted at a fine man. He steepled his large hands and watched her with
unnerving calm.
“I will thank you to keep from insulting Papa. You are
hardly one to look down upon him, living as you must.”
He sighed, sounding impatient. “My lady, if you don’t mind,
could we have it out? What is the purpose of this meeting?”
“To address the matter of my father’s debt.” She tightened
her lips and fought for inner strength. “I am prepared to part with a number of
personal items, this necklace for instance, and some diamond brooches left to
me by my mother. I hope they will satisfy what is owed you.”
He let out a bark of laughter. “Forgive me, Lady Clarissa,
but your baubles cannot hold a candle to thirty thousand pounds.”
Thirty thousand pounds? She gasped. Surely her father
had not lost such an impossible amount to this man? Surely she misheard, or Mr.
Foster was lying?
“I take it he hasn’t told you the amount. You’re wondering
if I am to be believed, I can see.”
Her mind spun. She flew to her feet, wringing her hands in
her distress. “There are other things of value here, Mr. Foster. Some
paintings, some silver. Surely there will be enough…”
He rose as well. “Your fripperies here do not add up to
thirty thousand. Nor does this house, which has been mortgaged to the hilt by
your scoundrel papa.”
She turned away from him
His familiarity startled her. How had he known her name?
“You presume correctly, Mr. Foster. You may have an audience with me if you
like, in my father’s absence.”
He raised a brow. “I don’t think I have any business with
you, my lady.”
She held herself with confidence feigned more than felt—she
hoped he could not see through her bravado. Her stomach bottomed out like a
carriage on the run from highwaymen. Her entire body turned quivery and
peculiar. “I find you do have business with me, Mr. Foster. Please, may I show
you to the drawing room?”
His sensuous lips flattened and she couldn’t shake the
feeling he didn’t like her for some reason. “Good of you to receive me, my
lady.”
She inclined her head with regal grace and stepped back to
allow him entrance. “Indeed, though I hesitate to agree with anything you say,
I should think it is good of me to do so. Particularly considering the
circumstances bringing you here.”
He towered over her as he stepped inside, quite stealing her
breath. Goodness he was handsome. Still, she could not relent. He was her lower
in the social order. True, her father may well be a spendthrift, a complete
failure. It may be absolutely given out in the papers he was pockets to let,
and yet, the man before her remained beneath her by drastic levels. The very
act of her meeting him sans chaperone would ruin her reputation if
anyone knew. Thanks to their reduced means, there were no servants to speak of
it. Not even their esteemed butler Dryden had been able to stay on without
payment any longer than he’d already done. He and Daisy had hailed a
post-chaise together.
She took Foster’s coat from him in silence, noting he wore
no hat when every true gentleman would. Another strike against him. Unspeaking,
she gave him her back and led him to the drawing room. Meeting a man like
Pierce Foster in close quarters in the elegant—though perhaps squandered and
stripped—confines of one’s own drawing room left something to be desired. He
was, she suspected, a formidable opponent.
“Please seat yourself.” Clarissa perched on a settee. “I
would offer you tea, but I fear it’s too dear at the moment. We haven’t any.
Nor do we have a lady to prepare the water.” A bitter smile curved her lips as
she met his dark blue gaze.
He sat in a winged chair opposite her. “I’m sorry for your
reduced state, my lady, but I feel compelled to inform you it is not my fault
you are forced to it. That honor is reserved for your errant father.”
She was surprised, she realized, he spoke so well. Even his
accent hinted at a fine man. He steepled his large hands and watched her with
unnerving calm.
“I will thank you to keep from insulting Papa. You are
hardly one to look down upon him, living as you must.”
He sighed, sounding impatient. “My lady, if you don’t mind,
could we have it out? What is the purpose of this meeting?”
“To address the matter of my father’s debt.” She tightened
her lips and fought for inner strength. “I am prepared to part with a number of
personal items, this necklace for instance, and some diamond brooches left to
me by my mother. I hope they will satisfy what is owed you.”
He let out a bark of laughter. “Forgive me, Lady Clarissa,
but your baubles cannot hold a candle to thirty thousand pounds.”
Thirty thousand pounds? She gasped. Surely her father
had not lost such an impossible amount to this man? Surely she misheard, or Mr.
Foster was lying?
“I take it he hasn’t told you the amount. You’re wondering
if I am to be believed, I can see.”
Her mind spun. She flew to her feet, wringing her hands in
her distress. “There are other things of value here, Mr. Foster. Some
paintings, some silver. Surely there will be enough…”
He rose as well. “Your fripperies here do not add up to
thirty thousand. Nor does this house, which has been mortgaged to the hilt by
your scoundrel papa.”
She turned away from him
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