George shuffled uneasily beneath Helen’s quizzical gaze. Abruptly he strode to the bell pull. ‘Let’s have some tea. I expect you could do with a nice hot drink.’
‘I could rather do with our money. You do have a draft to give me, don’t you?’
‘Umm … not exactly …’ George indicated that Helen should take a chair by the fire. ‘But I have some … suggestions to put to you that might ease our problems.’
Helen cast on her brother a deeply sceptical look. ‘What sort of suggestions?’ she demanded. ‘I have already said we have no more economies to make.’
‘No … it is not that.’ George passed a worrying hand over his jaw. ‘In truth, I would have come to Westlea House, you know, but I do not want Charlotte to hear what I have to say.’
‘Why ever not? She is nineteen. She is a woman in love … not a child.’
George nodded emphatically. ‘It is this woman in love that is our problem. It is ridiculous for a girl with her charms to marry a man who can give her nothing when she could have so much.’
‘It is as well that Charlotte is not in earshot!’ Despite yearning that Charlotte be allowed to follow her heart, as she had, Helen understood the logic in George’s words. Nothing was more certain to extinguish romantic love than relentless scrimping and scraping. Helen looked her brother squarely in the eye, hoping he was about to announce that he had managed to reinstate Charlotte’s dowry. Briskly she said, ‘Charlotte wants to marry Philip.’
‘I have been thinking about Philip Goode and how he might perhaps improve his prospects.’
‘And?’ Helen asked eagerly.
‘He is a cousin of Sir Jason Hunter, did you know that?’
Helen frowned her annoyance. ‘No, I did not, but what is that to do with anything at all?’
‘It is a very tenuous connection. A fourth or fifth cousin on his mother’s side, I believe, is his kinship to Hunter.’
‘This is ridiculous, George. What of it?’
‘Jason Hunter is a rich and powerful man.’
‘I hope you are not about to suggest that Philip goes to beg charity from his distant cousin. He is a man with pride and principles. He will refuse to do anything of the sort. But if you were to give Charlotte her dowry … even a lesser sum than the original, it would—’
George interrupted his sister by making an impatient noise. ‘Any fund for a dowry will only come from the sale of Westlea House.’
Helen sent her brother a challenging look. ‘Will you have a lawyer put that in writing? If I am to sacrifice my home, I will at the very least want to know that I have done so in order that Charlotte’s future is secure.’
‘A lawyer?’ George exploded. ‘Is my word on it not good enough?’
‘Indeed it is not,’ Helen said equably. ‘Were you true to your word, we would not be having this conversation.’
‘It is our sister’s duty to find a man who can adequately provide for her. If she would socialise properly, she would attract gentlemen like bees to a honey pot.’
‘She would also attract many cruel remarks. You know full well that she needs new clothes if she is to socialise in the circles you mean.’
‘I’d get her gowns … if I didn’t already owe a fortune to every blasted dressmaker in town.’ George’s features tightened in bitterness. ‘None of those damnable things were bought to please me. Iris is attempting to impress Hunter with her new finery.’
Helen rose from her chair and approached George to comfortingly take one of his hands. It was the first time he had openly spoken of Iris’s infatuation with Sir Jason Hunter. ‘You must put a stop to her avarice. We are all suffering because of it.’
George snatched back his fingers. ‘I don’t need your pity, or your counsel. We must find a way of clearing my debts or Westlea House is to be sold. I have received some interest in it and cannot prevaricate for long.’ George dragged a hand through his hair and snapped, ‘For two pins I’d present Hunter with Iris’s dressmakers’ bills.’
Helen looked shocked, then a hysterical giggle erupted. ‘Indeed, so would I if I thought he might pay them. But I’ve heard that he seems little interested in Iris.’
‘Well, you’ve heard wrong, I tell you! He was flirting with her at Almack’s earlier in the week. Anybody can tell that they’re lovers.’ George’s face mottled with mortification for the untruth had easily burst out. He had noticed, as had every other person present that evening, that Jason Hunter barely acknowledged Iris. It had been oddly humiliating for him to witness his wife being shunned in favour of a demi-rep.
‘Well, you ought to challenge him over it and take your dressmakers’ bills with you!’ Helen exclaimed in exasperation.
‘I would not give him the satisfaction! I’m sure he flaunts their relationship simply to rile me. Why don’t you speak to the arrogant bas—?’ George snapped together his teeth before the abuse was fully out.
‘Me?’ Helen choked a shocked laugh.
George dismissed the subject with a terse flick of a hand and stalked off to glare through the window.
Helen was aware that her brother and Jason Hunter had fallen out many years ago. She had been about fifteen at the time of the estrangement and shielded by her papa from knowing the sordid details. But she had heard whispers that they had fought over a woman. At the time she had felt sad that Jason no longer visited, for she had liked him. More honestly she had harboured a juvenile tendresse for him. But now all that was inconsequential. Over a decade had passed and there were far more vital matters at stake than two grown men sulking over past slights.
‘This is quite ridiculous.’ Helen sighed. ‘It is reprehensible of you not to have done your duty by us.’
‘And it is reprehensible of you not to have done your duty by me!’ George thundered. ‘Do you think that I would have promised our father to support you had I known that seven years later you would still be a burden on me? Father was under the impression that, after a decent mourning for Marlowe, you would remarry, and so was I.’
Helen’s face grew pallid. ‘Papa didn’t say that …’
‘Indeed he did.’ This time not a hint of shame betrayed the untruth that flew from George’s mouth. ‘He thought that by the time Charlotte had left the schoolroom, and was ready to make her début, you would have done the decent thing and removed yourself elsewhere. You accuse me of selfishness! You ought to look to your own behaviour.’
Helen stared, stricken, at her brother. ‘Papa never mentioned anything of the sort to me,’ she cried. ‘I was always welcome in his house …’
‘He probably thought he did not need to be blunt. He probably thought your conscience would guide you on it.’
George eyed his sister with calculation. ‘Hunter wants Westlea House, he told me so at Almack’s. I detest the man,
