Page 31 of The Courtship Dance

What was she to do if she lost this house? Where would she go? To Redfields, where she would have to live out the rest of her life on her brother’s generosity? She had no doubt that Dom and his wife, Constance, would welcome her with never a word of complaint. But she dreaded the thought of being a burden to them just as much as she dreaded the idea of having nothing of her own anymore. And living the entire year away from London seemed like exile.

Perhaps the pittance her jointure provided would allow her to eke out a life in London, renting a room somewhere. But what sort of life would that be? Without a house, without servants or the money to buy clothes, and with everyone in the ton knowing that she was utterly penurious, she could scarcely maintain her position as one of the shining lights of the beau monde. It would be impossible for her to continue to supplement her income by guiding girls through their Seasons.

No, she thought bleakly, fighting back the tears, the truth was, she was facing ruination. If she could not somehow stave off Perkins, it would be virtually the end of her world.

CHAPTER EIGHT

FRANCESCA AWAKENED THE next morning with a heavy sense of dread. She had cried herself to sleep the night before, thinking about her situation, and her night had been filled with vague, frightening dreams about which she could remember nothing but her fear.

A little shakily, she sat down to the tea and toast that Maisie had brought her, and as she nibbled halfheartedly at the bit of breakfast, her mind raced. If only there were someone whose advice she could ask, but she could think of no one. Her brother was the closest person to her and would be the most understanding of her problem, but she knew that if she brought the matter up with him, he would try to help her buy her way out of the note, even if it meant ruining his own finances. Therefore, she could not tell him.

Sir Lucien had always been her good friend, and though they did not actually discuss it, he was aware of her money problems. However, he had money problems of his own, equal in severity to hers, and she knew there would be no help from that quarter. Moreover, Lucien was not one who understood money matters; he would be as stumped for a solution as she.

She had grown quite close to Irene, who was an intelligent woman, and suspected that Irene had at least an inkling of the sort of financial straits in which she lived. She would be the person most likely to have an idea, as well as the one most likely to be able to help, given that her husband, Gideon, was one of the wealthiest men in London. But everything inside Francesca recoiled at the thought of asking Irene for help.

She could not impose on a friend in that way. There was no one, really, to whom she felt close enough, except her family. Or…

Sinclair.

Unbidden, the duke’s name came to her, but Francesca closed her mind to the thought, crossing her arms over her chest as though to further bar the idea.

She could not go running to the duke. She would not presume on their past relationship or impose on his kindness. She was nothing to him now, and she refused to try to put some sort of obligation on him. She could not deny that it would be a great relief to turn her problem over to him, but it would also be far too humiliating. And, anyway, the man owed her nothing.

No. She had to solve this herself.

Putting aside her breakfast tray, Francesca rose and went to her jewelry box. Opening it, she went through her baubles, separating the paste from those things that had some value. The pile of valuables was, she thought with a sigh, pitifully small: the necklace of pearls her parents had given her on her eighteenth birthday, the cameo given her by Callie, the sapphire earrings from the duke upon the occasion of their engagement and the sapphire bracelet she had won last summer in a wager with him. Her wedding ring and whatever jewels she had gotten from her husband were long since gone to pay for her daily living. What was left was what was too dear to her to give up.

She was not sure she could give them up even now. But did she have any choice?

When Maisie returned to take her tray, Francesca told her, “I have some items to sell to the jeweler.”

Maisie faced her in some surprise. “You do? I did not realize.” She frowned, obviously thinking about the usual signs of impending financial disaster, which were not present at the moment.

“I need to sell everything I possibly can. As soon as I am dressed, I shall inspect the silver in the butler’s pantry. I think we must get rid of all of it.”

Maisie’s jaw dropped. “All, my lady?”

Francesca nodded. “How much will it fetch, do you think? Can we sell the crystal glasses, as well? And what about furniture? How much of that do you think we could get money for?”

Maisie shook her head. “But, my lady, what will you use? You cannot get rid of all your silverware and dishes.”

“Most of it,” Francesca said inexorably. “I shall—I shall simply have to hold small dinners from now on, that is all. And I am sure that we could sell most of the silver candelabras, as well. After we go through the butler’s pantry, I must scour the attic. And I should speak to the coachman about selling the brougham and the horses.”

“Sell your carriage! My lady, what has happened?” Maisie cried. “You will have nothing! What will you do?”

“I have to do this.” Francesca thought of the future before her, and her resolution wavered. What use would it be to her to save the house if she had to give up her entire way of life in order to do so?

She steeled herself and went on. “I am sending for my man of business.”

“You’re not going to sell out the Funds, are you?” Maisie asked, even more alarmed, if that was possible.

Francesca shook her head. “No. I cannot leave myself with absolutely nothing. But I need to see about selling the house.”

Despite her maid’s shocked protests, Francesca was adamant, and she spent the rest of the day going through the house and taking note of everything that she would try to sell. The agent who handled her business matters, minor as they were, called on her late in the day, and they remained closeted in her sitting room for close to an hour.

By the time he left, she was spent, and she sat for a long time simply staring out at the dying afternoon. Everything she had done was useless, she thought, utterly pointless.

Even if she sold all her personal possessions, they would not bring anywhere near the sum that she needed. If she sold out of her Funds, she would be close, but it still would not be enough, and she would not have anything left to live on except what she could scrape up by helping girls find husbands.