the background of tiny things, he looked even larger than life—impossibly tall and broad-shouldered in a dark gray pin-striped suit. He was every bit as handsome as he’d been at the fund-raiser, but today he was somber—more so, surely, than a condolence call on a casual acquaintance would require. The tension in his face made Morganna pause. She was worn-out herself, or perhaps she would have thought twice before she asked, “Which category are you in?”
He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“I find myself wondering why you’re here. I assumed this was a sympathy call—but perhaps it’s just another attempt to collect an unpaid bill instead. Did my father owe you money, too?”
“No, he didn’t. And though I’m sorry about your loss, this isn’t really a sympathy call, either, Miss Ashworth.”
Morganna frowned. “Then—if you’re not intending to console me or regain what you’re owed, why have you come?”
“To try to take your mind off things.”
“Now that’s refreshing,” she said lightly. “And a great deal different from the rest of our visitors today. Half of them seemed to remember my father as a saint, while the rest were obviously biting their tongues to keep from saying what they thought of him. And those were just our friends—the creditors didn’t bother to mince words. After all that, I could stand a little entertainment. Do you sing? Dance? Play the accordion?”
“I gather that you and your mother are in troubled circumstances.”
“If that’s what you call taking my mind off things—”
“Perhaps I should have said instead that I came to find out whether I can help you.”
“I don’t see how,” Morganna said frankly. “Troubled circumstances is putting it lightly. Daddy’s been dead just a week, and it’s quite apparent that life as we have known it is over.”
He nodded. “The house?”
“It’s as good as gone—it was in his name, and it’s mortgaged for more than it can possibly sell for. I suppose we could fight the bank and at least get a delay in the foreclosure, but to be honest, we can’t even afford the utilities. Mother’s already terminated the staff—though bless their hearts, they’re staying on a few days despite being laid off, because they don’t want to leave us here alone.”
“There’s no money at all?”
If she hadn’t been so exhausted, so tired of going over it all in the squirrel-cage of her mind, Morganna might have been offended at the question. But it didn’t occur to her to bristle at the personal nature of the inquiry. Perhaps from the outside the problem would look less thorny, more malleable—and she and Abigail needed all the insight they could collect.
“Nothing significant, compared to what he owed.” She sighed. “Even if the insurance company pays off—and I can’t blame them for not being eager to settle up—it won’t be enough. I don’t know what we’ll do. Mother always left all the financial details to Daddy, but unfortunately ignorance is no defense. Just because she didn’t know about his deals doesn’t mean she isn’t going to be held responsible for at least some of them. She’s going to end up worse than penniless. And she’s got no skills to support herself, much less to pay back debt—she’s always been a stay-at-home wife. Besides, she’s just close enough to retirement age to make finding a job very difficult, but too far away from it to get any benefits.”
“But your father’s debt comes to rest with her, right? It’s not your problem.”
Morganna bristled. “She’s my mother. Of course it’s my problem.”
After a little pause, he asked, “So how are you planning to pay it all?”
“Well, that’s another difficulty,” she admitted. “It wasn’t very practical of me to get a degree in art. It’s hardly a field that’s in great demand these days.”
“You could teach.”
Morganna shook her head. “Even if I had the temperament, I don’t have the right education to get a teaching certificate—it would take another two years of classes at least before I could qualify. And then we’re back to the problem of money, because I could probably earn enough to live on while I went to school, but not enough to cover tuition, too.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I start on Monday at the Tyler-Royale store downtown. A friend of mine is married to the store manager, and Jack—the manager—says I can arrange displays and try my hand at designing the storefront windows.”
“That’s a full-time job?”
“No, the rest of the time I’ll be selling women’s sportswear. It’s a start.”
She knew that despite her best efforts, she sounded tired and depressed. In a department store sales job, it would be decades before she could make a dent in her father’s debts.
He said slowly, “I may have a better idea.”
“I’m listening.” Morganna shrugged. “Though I have to admit I not only don’t see how you can help, I don’t understand why you should want to, either. If you knew my father at all—”
It was apparent that he heard the question in her voice. “As a matter of fact, I never met him.”
And then, while she was still trying to fathom why he seemed to feel responsible for her welfare and Abigail’s, Sloan Montgomery had looked her in the eye and asked her to marry him.
Morganna didn’t remember fainting. The next thing she knew, she was sitting on the floor, her shoulders cradled in Sloan’s arms, her nose resting against the soft lapel of his suit jacket, breathing in the delicious aromas of wool and soap and aftershave. The moment she was aware, however, she began to struggle, trying to get to her feet.
“Just sit there for a bit,” he said. “The last thing you need to do is fall down again.” He supported her till she could sit up by herself, and then he perched on her work stool, looking down at her. “Apparently my suggestion came as a shock.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Morganna wriggled around to brace herself against the cabinet which supported the miniature house. “Whatever makes you think I’d be interested in marrying you?” She saw his jaw tighten and added hastily, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that we hardly know each other. The idea of getting married—”
“I think we know enough. I know, for instance, that the Ashworth name opens every door in Lakemont society.”
“Not for much longer,” Morganna said wryly.
“That’s true.” His voice was cool. “Unless you act quickly to limit the damage from your father’s peccadilloes, a hundred years’ worth of family history will go down the drain and you’ll be an outcast.”
“Do you think I care about that? My real friends—”
He didn’t raise his voice, but his words cut easily across her protest. “And so will your mother.”
Morganna
