Free Elizabeth Mansfield by The Bartered Bride Page B

teapot and pouring tea for her. “You would do the same in their place. Here’s your cup. Sit down and drink your tea.”
    “I would
not
do the same,” Eunice insisted, taking a chair beside her mother. “I am very disappointed in Elinor.”
    “So am I,” his mother agreed, accepting a cup of tea from her son. “And as for Lady Langston, I shall give her the cut direct the very next time she crosses my path.”
    Kittridge was touched at his mother’s foolish loyalty but would not permit himself to be distracted from his purpose by feelings of affection. “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he said with what he hoped was a repressive frown. “It was I, not they, who cried off. I went up to Suffolk on Saturday for the express purpose of explaining to Elinor that I would not make her an offer after all. She and I agreed to call it quits. She has gone off to enjoy a Grand Tour, and I … well, I shall have all I can do to keep
us
fed and clothed. For me, a wife is out of the question.”
    His sister looked up from her teacup with raised brows. “Good God, Robbie, what nonsense is this? I still have my allowance. And, since my girls and I will be living with you, I intend to turn it over to you to add to the family income. That alone should be sufficient to keep us in necessities, shouldn’t it?”
    Kittridge pulled up a chair before her and gently took his sister’s hand in his. “That’s one of the difficult things I must tell you, Eunice. Jennings informed me that Yarrow had incurred some debts of his own. His heir intends to cut a good deal of your income to pay them.”
    Eunice paled. “Robbie,
no
! My Henry in debt? How can that be? Henry was not like Papa. He
never
gambled!”
    “He may not have gambled with dice, my dear, but he speculated on the ’change. The market was down at the time of his death. It seems he lost more than he could afford.”
    “How
could
he have done something so dreadful?” Eunice cried, snatching her hand from his hold. “I can scarcely believe it! Had he no thought for me or his children?”
    Kittridge shook his head. “I’m dreadfully sorry, Eunice.”
    “Sorry!” She got up, put down her cup and strode angrily to the window. “I shall never forgive him. To pauperize me is bad enough. But to leave his
daughters
in so helpless a condition—!” She choked back the words and stared out the window with unseeing eyes.
    “Try to be fair, my dear,” her brother said softly. “He couldn’t have expected to die so young. When one is young, one doesn’t think of death as imminent. One believes one has time to take risks. I’m sure that, if he’d lived longer, he would certainly, in due time, have made proper provisions for you.”
    “
If
he had lived longer …” Eunice shook her head, weeping silently.
    “I
always
thought Yarrow was a maw-worm,” came a voice from the doorway.
    “Gavin! There you are at last!” Kittridge strode to the door, pulled his younger brother into the room and shut the door against any other possible eavesdroppers. “You buffle-head,” he said in irritation, “do you
enjoy
seeing your sister in tears? Keep your opinions about your late brother-in-law to yourself! How long have you been standing there in the doorway?”
    “Long enough to get the drift,” the boy declared. “We’re scorched. Isn’t that what you’ve called us together to tell us?”
    Gavin Rossiter, at seventeen, was almost as tall as his brother, but his features still had the unfinished, not-quite-in-proportion look of adolescence. His nose was pronounced, like his sister’s, but his eyes were as light as his mother’s. His hair was almost as curly as his brother’s, but it was long and fell over his forehead and shoulders in Byronic disarray. He had come down from Eton to welcome his brother home, and Kittridge had encouraged him to postpone his return until the financial situation could be sorted out.
    “Yes, we certainly are scorched,” Kittridge admitted,