“I still don’t like it.” Diana had uttered the same sentence at least twenty times since they had left London. “It’s all a little convenient. Potentially dangerous and, frankly, wrong, if you want my opinion.”
Minerva didn’t. She wanted to read or gaze out of the window at the lush green countryside rushing by. Anything to avoid thinking about the ludicrous, yet undeniably lucrative, scheme she had got them involved in until they arrived at his house.
She was going to pose as a peer of the realm’s fiancée to prevent him from being caught out in a monstrous lie. Minerva didn’t need Diana’s scowl across the confined space of the carriage to feel uncomfortable about what they were about to do, because she was thoroughly ashamed for agreeing to it. Although, in her defense, she had only done so because things were dire.
The direst, in fact.
If her unexpected knight in shining armor hadn’t turned up when he had to prize the nine shillings and threepence out of Mr. Pinkerton’s pudgy hands, at this precise moment they could all be sleeping on the street. Participating in his little white lie would ensure they remained off the streets for years, and the brief interlude of living in the lap of luxury didn’t hurt either.
Diana folded her arms and glared. “When exactly, Sister dear, did we stoop so low?”
When you got sacked from the lending library for biting back at a customer and we could no longer afford the rent! Minerva petulantly thought, but didn’t say it. It was hardly fair in the grand scheme of things to solely blame Diana. Had she been in her sister’s worn-out shoes when the gentleman had called her a brainless idiot, she’d have probably done the same before common sense had kicked in. They were all too outspoken and stubbornly proud. When life left you nothing else, you had to be. And despite being the most recent nail in the Merriwell sisters’ coffin, Diana’s outburst was hardly the only thing responsible for their rapid descent further down the slippery slope of poverty toward destitution. Nor was it Diana’s fault Minerva had sold her integrity to a handsome but dubious man for the princely sum of forty pounds.
Forty pounds that she hoped would alleviate the shame she inwardly felt for having to sell her integrity in the first place.
Vee chewed on her lip nervously, reminding Minerva that her youngest sister, no matter how mature and studious she appeared on the surface, was still only seventeen. “Not to mention highly improper—three single, unchaperoned girls staying on the country estate of a bachelor.” Vee was a stickler for the genteel propriety she devoured in books, although the Lord only knew why, considering their reduced circumstances and distinct lack of hope for any worthy suitors. She stared down at her gloved hands. “We only have his word and that servant’s that he is the Earl of Fareham.”
“He had the bearing of an earl.” Not that Minerva had ever met one before, of course. Earls were few and far between in their part of London. Clerkenwell was the home of a declining number of watchmakers and reputable shopkeepers, a few more ne’er-do-wells and pickpockets, and a large proportion of the great unwashed. But it was cheap, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Regardless, whether he is or he isn’t, he is wealthy enough to afford this splendid carriage—and this is his spare carriage at that!”
Minerva realized she might be in danger of appearing a tad overwhelmed by the trappings of his wealth rather than being the usual sensible, level-headed oldest sibling in charge—albeit one who had been privately pondering Lord Fareham’s soulful eyes a little too much. She stared levelly at her sisters and presented some cold, hard facts. “I appreciate you both disapprove of my decision. I disapprove of it myself. However, considering our ongoing and miserable situation, frankly, only a fool would have turned down his lucrative proposal.”
Vee frowned. “I just wish you had allowed us to meet him first, Minerva. Then we could have made our own judgments about his character. Perhaps you should have invited him home for tea…”
She felt herself cringe at the thought of him seeing her in her true environment, with its shabby thirdhand furniture, peeling paint, and the lingering aroma of the slums outside. “I could hardly bring him home, could I?” Inviting his butler in had been bad enough. The man’s eyes had been everywhere before finally coming to rest on hers with pity. “Lord Fareham lives in Mayfair!”
Vee immediately forgot to be seventeen again and glared through her spectacles, appalled. “There is no shame in poverty, Minerva.”
It was a saying their erstwhile father often uttered while they were growing up and one that she might have believed had he not cheerfully abandoned them when things got too much for him. Which just happened to coincide with Minerva reaching an age where she could step into his worthless shoes. The scoundrel had trained her for it!
“There is no joy in it either, Vee. Only misery—as we well know.” With each passing season, it got harder and harder, and like her sisters, Minerva was old beyond her years.
Old, tired, and slowly being worn into the ground by the relentless drudgery of life.
A sad indictment of her four and twenty years on the earth. “We all work as hard as we can, day in and day out, and yet still barely manage to scrape enough to make ends meet.”
If their stars didn’t dramatically change, even Vee would have to work all the hours God sent to earn her keep. Minerva had shielded her as much as she could from the depravity of their situation, allowing her to continue studying in the hope she might have a better future, but that would come to an abrupt stop once she entered the transient and despondent ranks of the workforce. Vee would have to grow up very fast, or her gentle, bookish, sensitive little sister would be grossly taken advantage of.
“I appreciate all your misgivings about Lord Fareham’s proposition, really I do, for it is peculiar and exceedingly out of the ordinary. I am well aware that what I am doing is morally debatable, but I shall tell you now up front—I will happily pose as his fiancée until Easter if need be. I fail to believe it is possible for life on an earl’s country estate in Hampshire, pretending to be someone else while being paid handsomely for it, to feasibly be as hard as our lives now. High morals won’t put food on the table nor will they keep a roof over our heads!”
“I suppose.” Vee was still understandably concerned, and really, who could blame her?
The past few days had been a bit of a whirlwind. On Wednesday her oldest sister had left home to reason with Mr. Pinkerton to keep a roof over their heads. On Thursday, that same sister had practically forced her into a strange man’s coach headed for the south coast on the basis of little more than a promise, to live under another roof. An ever-so-slightly scandalous, thoroughly charming bachelor’s roof. Had Vee or Diana come home and announced to her they were all to pose as a potential scoundrel’s fake betrothed’s family, she’d have hit the roof. That they were both here, albeit begrudgingly, was a direct result of Minerva’s unfortunate position as head of the family, one they respected and pitied her for in equal measure.
“I just wish we knew more about his character.”
“Perhaps he’s a murderer?” Diana was always the most fanciful of the three of them. “And perhaps this is all a convoluted ruse to feed his unquenchable thirst for killing?”
“You spend far too much time at that newspaper.” Her sister was forever attempting to submit articles in the hope one would someday be published, but the proprietor of the rag paid her a pittance to correct the spelling and the grammar of his less talented male reporters each week before his tawdry publication went to press. “You are convinced everyone is up to no good.” At just twenty-two, Diana was more cynical about the world than even Minerva was.
“I simply prefer to look at life through a clear, unobstructed lens rather than through the presently naive rose-tinted one you are clearly using. What has happened to you, Minerva? Do you honestly think the grass is greener as a rich man’s paid companion? I still cannot fathom what you were thinking to agree to such a preposterous falsehood.” Diana had taken it upon herself to do some hasty investigating at the newspaper before they left, and her account of Lord Fareham’s reputation was, Minerva couldn’t deny, a great source of worry. He had made several appearances in the scandal sheets both for his leisurely lifestyle and his alleged philandering. So much so she doubted he was overly burdened with the responsibilities of being an earl, as he had so convincingly claimed. As a result, he needed to be relegated to a flawed knight in her mind—and perhaps not even a knight at all. More a knave or perhaps even a scoundrel. That would be more prudent than contemplating his dratted soulful eyes! She was better equipped to deal with a scoundrel. An expert, in fact.
“Your earl is nothing short of a rake. A rake who consorts with other rakes and does rakish deeds.” Diana pointed a quaking finger. “He’s lured you to Hampshire to seduce you, mark my words. You’ll be thoroughly ruined.”
“That seems a lot of unnecessary trouble for something he could do just as easily in London.” At her sisters’ widened eyes, she hastily clarified. “Not me, of course! I have no desire to be seduced by him and nor would I stand for it.”
Aside from her healthy distrust of all males—aristocratic or otherwise—she was no fool. An earl would never consider a woman like her for anything beyond a quick tumble. Minerva might not be much of a catch, but she had too much respect for herself to ever allow that to happen. Not that she was tempted. He was far too shallow, and despite her wayward artist’s eye, she had high standards. Of course she did. Or she was simply jaded. Either way, men in general held little real appeal anymore. “The only relationship I want with Lord Fareham—and he with me—is a business relationship.
“As for ruination—I hardly think anyone gives two figs about my reputation regardless of what I do. Or either of yours, for that matter. We might consider ourselves a gentleman’s daughters and therefore a cut above our unfortunate neighbors, but we’ve only ever had Papa’s word he was a gentleman and we all know nobody could spin a yarn better than dear Papa.”
She smiled at her sisters to soften the necessary blow she was about to deliver. “As far as the entire world is concerned, we are nobodies. Nothings. Three more struggling, faceless, downtrodden souls in a city filled to the brim with them. No one cares what we do, nor will they remember our misdeeds any more than they recall our good ones.”
Vee pouted. “That’s a very cynical summation and one I don’t happen to agree with. Something will turn up. Something always does.”
“Do you seriously believe a proper gentleman will one day happen to be in Clerkenwell, and see past the frayed and patched clothes on your back to the genteel lady beneath? If you do, then I am happy to be the one to shatter your silly romantic notions, because you will be disappointed, Vee. Real life is not a fairy tale.”
Minerva used to dare to dream such nonsense until she realized dreams never came true—they got crushed instead. It was funny how becoming a parent overnight had made her view the world pragmatically. Some people were destined to live difficult lives, and theirs was so difficult even their own father couldn’t stomach it. Nor could the young man she had foolishly thought herself in love with. Faced with three Merriwell girls for the price of one, he had hastily severed all ties, too. She wasn’t bitter about that any longer—it still hurt from time to time when she felt miserably all alone—but she had learned her lesson well.
“All we have is us.” She squeezed her baby sister’s hand, feeling cruel and frustrated at having to be so. “That is why I am doing this awful thing—for us. Because Lord only knows, if we don’t help ourselves, nobody else will. I couldn’t turn down forty pounds! Just think of all we could do with it. Decent food, a better roof over our heads, new shoes. Pretty new spectacles for you, Vee, and perhaps even a new dress or two each.”
“Unless we are murdered.” Diana’s pessimistic streak put Minerva’s to shame. “A man who can maintain an outright lie to his own mother for nearly two years is, in my opinion, capable of anything. After all, who would suspect an earl of murder, especially so far from London? As you rightly said, Minerva, we are nobodies. Nothings. Faceless and easily forgotten. The perfect target. He probably approaches distressed and impoverished young ladies all the time, being all chivalrous and charming and helpful, lures them into his vile world with the promise of easy money, and then”—she sliced her finger across her neck—“mutilates you in your sleep before he buries your unidentifiable remains in his garden. Or his woods. Fancy country estates all come with their own woods. Those poor grouse and deer the aristocracy shoot have to live somewhere. I bet this den of iniquity we are headed to is positively surrounded by woodland. And it will be conveniently remote.”
Vee frowned. “How does remoteness make anything convenient?”
“Because nobody will hear our screams.”
Minerva glared at Diana and, feeling defensive, pulled rank in the hope the pair of them would stop badgering her, when her unease and her conscience were doing that quite enough already.
“Girls—I don’t mean to be flippant about the peculiarity of the situation or its potential dangers. Nor do I want to sound mercenary or callous, but dismal facts are facts nonetheless. We are in dire need of money and he has pots of it which he is clearly happy to share in exchange for a brief bit of dishonesty. I confess, I didn’t really consider much else beyond the forty pounds when I agreed to assist him. The forty pounds and the promise of greener grass.” And perhaps his eyes and the odd way he made her feel also had some bearing on it. It had been rather nice to be the one rescued for a change. “I dragged you both along because I knew you’d only worry about me if I didn’t. If you would prefer not to be part of it, I fully understand. Say the word, and I shall have you dropped at the next inn and you can take the post home.”
She reached into her reticule and took out the two silver shillings and the two dirty pennies, holding the paltry amount in her outstretched palm as a reminder of the full extent of their current wealth. They all stared at the coins in silence for a moment. “Or perhaps you have a better idea to get us so much money swiftly, because Lord only knows if things continue as they are, we’ll all be destitute and sheltering under bridges before winter is over.”
Of course, neither sister did.
“Now, kindly stop moaning and criticizing and let’s make the best of things. If nothing else, at least the actual grass is greener in Hampshire.”
The coachman’s knock on the roof above their heads punctuated her outburst with the stamp of finality. “Standish House!”
Then the fancy carriage turned, its well-sprung wheels suddenly crunching on the gravel of the driveway. There was no turning back now. Minerva inhaled a slow, deep breath, hoping it would calm the butterflies in her stomach. It didn’t work. She glanced out of the window and saw nothing but thick, dense trees lining their route.
“I told you there would be woods.” Diana was like a dog with a bone. “Nobody knows where we are, so nobody will come to our rescue.” She slowly sliced her index finger menacingly across her neck again.
“Papa will save us if we need rescuing.” Vee’s cheerful assertion brought her other sisters up short. “I left our forwarding address at the Dog and Duck in case he comes home for Christmas and asks after us.”
Diana shot Minerva a look. It was the usual look when their youngest sibling deluded herself into believing their wastrel father would return. The look that said, “You can deal with this because I’ll only put my foot in it.” Which was true. Diana was reliably blunt, and that bluntness would only upset Vee, who always felt things far too deeply.
“Darling, he’s not coming home for Christmas.”
“How do you know? Has he written to say he isn’t?”
It was tragic to listen to, but Vee had been very young when he had left and still had enough childish hope to believe he had meant what he said in his final letter to them all those years ago. She had taken “See you soon” as a promise to return rather than a means to sign off his blunt missive telling them he was going away for a little while—something he often did—before he made it permanent. It was the main reason they stayed in Clerkenwell, in the cramped, damp rooms they had lived in with him. Vee wouldn’t hear of moving in case their father decided to venture back to the horrid place he had abandoned them to. Yet moving was one of Minerva’s first priorities once she had the forty pounds. The hopelessness of Clerkenwell was killing them. As much as they had cosseted and protected Vee as the youngest, it was long past time they all moved on from the awful legacy he had saddled them with.
“He hasn’t written in five years, Vee. Perhaps it’s time you faced the fact he’s never going to.”
“Of course he will. Just as soon as he’s able.” The youngest Merriwell turned her head stubbornly to watch the scenery go past, her way of terminating the unwelcome conversation. All at once her eyes widened. “Oh my goodness! I can see the house! It’s huge!”
All three of them pressed their faces to the window to get their first glimpse of their home for the next few weeks or so.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Even Diana couldn’t stop herself from grinning at the spectacle. “It’s practically a palace.”
It was indeed. A vast, symmetrical Palladian mansion made of white stone stood in stark contrast against the twilight sky, its sparkling windows already glowing with candlelight, illuminating the soaring columns. Minerva had never seen anything quite like it. Or felt quite so out of her depth. When he had said he had a country estate, never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined this. It was another world. A world she had no understanding of and little in common with. Yet soon, she would have to pretend all of this didn’t intimidate her in the slightest and that she was betrothed to its handsome, charming, and titled owner in front of an audience made up of his nearest and dearest.
Oh dear.
Instinctively, she gazed down at the skirt of her best dress. It was old and faded despite the new ribbon she had recklessly bought to liven it up for this charade. No amount of ribbon in the world could turn this old thing into a gown fit for Standish House. The butterflies in her stomach turned to panicked, flapping birds as she forced herself to face the reality she had been avoiding ever since she had sold her soul for forty pounds.
What in God’s name had she been thinking?