Page 84 of The Gentlewoman Companion

“My brother, Charles Thorpe, is expecting me.”

She was taken to a small but well-appointed parlor, given tea, and told to wait while someone fetched Charles. The room’s dark green and blue décor aptly reflected her emotional state—tired and bruised, a little brooding.

Charles entered. “Louisa,” he slurred, “lovely to see you.” A welt colored his cheekbone purple.

She stood but dodged his kiss. He guffawed and smacked her on the shoulder. Mud soiled his boots, and his jacket was stained.

“You have not slept. And you smell like a distillery.” She took his limp arm and pushed him in a chair before closing the parlor door.

“Now, what are you doing in town, brother?” She passed him a cup of tea, taking in his person. More concerning than his untidiness was the sallow tinge to his cheeks and the shadows beneath yellowing eyes that made them appear large and hollow. He appeared to sustain himself exclusively with brandy.

“It is unfair that you have all the fun, living in London and the like. I came to have a taste of it myself.”

“And you’ve spent all your money?”

“I’ve run a debt with a moneylender.” At least he did not dither. “You would not believe the rate at which interest accrues. I was shocked myself. Before I knew it, they were after me.”

“Who?”

“That damned moneylender. Kind of face, sharp of fist, I tell you.”

“Why not leave London, hide in Cornwall?”

“They would find me. I do not doubt there is someone watching the inn now.”

“Really, Charles, you flatter yourself.”

“The sum I owe is not insignificant.”

“Have you applied to Father?”

“He hasn’t got the funds. Since selling a bit of land to pay some of his own debts, he’s become crazed, determined to keep what ‘belongs to the family’ at any cost.” He ran his hand through his hair until it fanned above his head like a rooster’s comb.

Louisa sat back and surveyed her brother who, though hateful, was her own flesh and blood, an older brother who at intervals had been her playfellow, tormentor, and ally. It was far easier to hate him from afar.

If she left Charles to his own devices, he may end up in debtors’ prison, which would tarnish the family name as effectively as her own misdeed. He needed an occupation, something to restore his health and curb his appetite for gambling and drink. A swelling heaviness left her weak, for what solution could she offer so profound a problem? She returned to the idea of suggesting he join the navy, but even with the means to purchase a commission, he was unlikely to take to the idea.

She loathed to look at him, reviled against the pity that coursed through her breast at what had become of the blithe, clever boy she’d known as a child. Though he’d been a scoundrel even then, she hated to see him in such a state. Spoiled by their father, upheld in every vice, Charles had never learned the honor of work. Perhaps he was as much a victim of circumstance as she. Their poor mother would weep could she see him.

“How much do you need?”

Charles named an astronomical sum, more than the value of the extravagant wardrobe Lady Halverton had purchased for her.

“Impossible. How?”

He lifted his shoulders and rubbed his red nose. His suit of clothes, though dingy, was new and of good quality, and beneath his jacket shone a bright, silk waistcoat. It seemed she was not the only one who had acquired new clothes as of late, yet she had been fortunate her expenses were covered by Lady Halverton’s patronage.

“Like Father, I simply don’t have the funds to pay your debts.” She had the brooch, but could she get enough for it? She had no experience bartering or appraising.

“What of your wages and the funds from grandmother’s estate?”

The “estate” was a small farm that produced barely enough to keep the cottage standing. “My wages are not extravagant, as Lady Halverton already provides for all my needs. As for Stillwater, you know it makes no money. My means are scarce; what would you have me do?”

Charles met her eye and grinned, showing a chip in his tooth that was not there before. He needed a shave. “You have connections. Get it, else I tell your fancy friends about the man who stole your heart and took you away.”

Though expected, his words sent a sharp twist through her chest. “You threaten me? My own brother, whose reputation will by tainted along with my own?”

He stared into his cup. “What care I for reputation?”