Page 2 of The Lyon’s Paw

A quick look and a smile from Lord Longford were all the response Diana received. She stepped to his side, not wishing to have to shout at him and draw even more attention to herself. Her escort was exceedingly tall. She raised up on tiptoe and called, “Lord Longford!”

Her voice had been louder than she’d thought, jolting Lord Longford out of his conversation and making him start at the loud noise. On tiptoe she overbalanced, and put her whole weight onto Lord Longford, who stared at her with a look of astonishment as he backpedaled in an attempt to keep from slipping down the bank. His booted feet skidded out from under him and swung to and fro, his arms windmilling to no avail as he continued backwards into the Serpentine where he hit with a loud splash and spray of water.

Diana nearly pitched in on top of him, saved only by her aunt’s tenacious hold on the collar of her pale blue Spencer.

“My dear, are you quite all right?” Aunt Frances’s worried gaze took Diana in.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she nodded. If not for her aunt’s quick actions, she’d be this moment lying atop Lord Longford in quite an improper position for all the ton to see. Diana’s cheeks heated at the thought.

“Lord Longford, are you all right?” Her aunt turned her attention to the gentleman sitting in a state of shock, his lower torso completely submerged in the murky water at the edge of the pond.

The look of surprise on her escort’s face might have been funny—was funny if she had to admit it and judging from the peals of laughter coming from the people gathering around them, she was correct.

Unfortunately, surprise turned to anger as Lord Longford’s brows crashed down almost to his nose in a thunderous frown that took all thoughts of laughter out of Diana’s head. Soaking wet in the middle of a public park, his elegant clothes ruined, Lord Longford glanced around as though looking for someone to blame and fixed his gaze on her.

The laughter died down and two well-dressed gentlemen in tall Hessians waded into the water to help Lord Longford up. As he rose out of the water, a huge toad sprang from his lordship’s waterlogged waistcoat with a loud, surprisingly high-pitched croak.

Startled by the unexpected appearance, the two men assisting Lord Longford jumped and let go of their charge, who promptly fell back into the Serpentine. A new roar of mirth went up all around.

With water dripping down his face anew, Lord Longford turned his attention back to Diana, fixing her with a malevolent glare. “Why the hell did you push me in, woman?”

The shock of his profane language coupled with the murderous look on his lordship’s face and Diana could stand no more. She picked up her skirts, pushed her way through the crowd and fled back down the pathway she had so happily taken such a short while ago, her aunt now at her heels.

“Diana, what are you doing?” Aunt Frances finally caught up to her and grasped her arm, slowing her breakneck pace. “We need to go back and help Lord Longford.”

Shaking her head, tears of rage leaking from her eyes, Diana continued to hurry down the path. After that debacle—the most embarrassing event ever in her life—the last thing she wanted to do ever again was see Lord Longford. The accusing stares and raucous laughter of the spectators, the threat of her horrible partner from last night, along with the malice in Lord Longford’s face, assured Diana she could never, ever meet his lordship again and not feel the full brunt of this humiliating moment. When they got back to Aunt France’s home, she would tell her aunt in no uncertain terms what she should already know: the Season was over for her.

Chapter One

Longford, England

October 1819

“What do you mean the money’s all gone?” Geoffrey, Lord Longford barked at his new steward, John Folger, staring uncomprehendingly as though the man was speaking a foreign language.

Mr. Folger fidgeted with his watch chain hard enough, he actually wrenched the chain from the watch at Geoffrey’s loud, angry tone. “I am sorry, my lord, but I am simply the messenger of these bad tidings. It seems Mr. Griffin has been less than forthcoming with you about the income from the various estates for some time now.” Folger pulled out a sheaf of papers and spread them before Geoffrey. “He kept meticulous records, I’m happy to say. He didn’t pilfer a penny in…” The steward stopped. “How many years did you say he’d worked for you?”

“He was my father’s steward much longer than mine, at least thirty years. He stayed on at my behest when my father died five years ago. Perhaps if I’d let him go then…” Geoffrey’s voice drifted off as the phrase, “almost bankrupt” kept reverberating in his mind.

“At least if you’d hired someone who didn’t try to hide the facts from you out of a sense of misplaced loyalty to the family, you would have been better prepared.” Folger scanned the pages of figures. “Nothing would have changed agriculturally, mind you. The summer of 1816 was ghastly for everyone. No crops could thrive in such cold temperatures. And then the blight on the heels of that the next year. This year’s crops have been better, but not enough to cover the recent losses.”

“And those were on top of the legacy duty when my father died. We managed to pay it, but we’ve never truly recovered financially.” Geoffrey slumped in his chair. He was letting his father down. And his mother, himself and his sister, Joanna. Joanna. Christ, what about her dowry? How was he ever to manage the estate debts and provide Joanna with a settlement amount that would assure her a good marriage? If anyone deserved a brilliant match, it was his sister. A sweeter, kinder person didn’t exist so far as he knew.

“My lord, you may want to have someone else check my figures, just to make certain.” Folger sat back in his seat, meeting Geoffrey’s eyes with a look of resignation. “However, I fear I am correct when I say that the only way you’ll be able to pay the debts the earldom has incurred is to sell.”

“Sell?” Geoffrey’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. “Sell what?”

“The estates not in the earldom’s entail. Hillcrest, the northernmost property, for certain. It’s been losing money the longest.” Folder picked up one of the pages. “Dudley House in Essex, although it’s in such need of repair, it will scarcely fetch enough to pay the mortgage. And Charring Park—”

“Charring Park as well?” Geoffrey gripped the chair arms until his knuckles turned white. That estate had come from his mother, as part of her dowry. She’d loved it so, she’d spent every summer there with him and his sisters when they were children. Telling her they would have to sell wasn’t an ordeal he’d relish living through.

“I am afraid so.” Mr. Folger dropped the sheet onto the table and shook his head. “You’ll be able to keep Longford Manor, but the others must be sacrificed to pay the arears of its mortgage and the debts owing on each of those estates. And you may find, for a while at least, you’ll need to live much more simply.”

“We don’t live extravagantly as it is, Folger,” Geoffrey growled. He’d always believed his family lived almost austerely compared to other families of the ton. “Aside from my sister’s wedding last summer, we haven’t entertained since my father’s death.”

“Still, depending on how much each of those three estates fetches, you will likely need to reduce your staff here to three or four.”

Geoffrey winced. He employed a staff of fifteen people currently. When he’d been a boy that number had been over twenty.