FORECLOSURE.
The single word was like a jab to Ford’s gut. More than an hour after receiving the blasted letter, he still frantically paced the laboratory, reading and rereading it. He’d had no idea his situation was this bad. Never again would he allow himself to stay ignorant of his finances.
He’d thought if he put his mind to the task—and the funds he usually spent on his science into the estate—he could make Lakefield profitable and dig himself out of debt. And that was true, according to his solicitor. But now it would be much more difficult than he’d imagined.
Foreclosure.
In lieu of selling or surrendering the estate, his solicitor had outlined an emergency plan to save it, but it certainly didn’t include funds for the cosmetic restorations Ford had promised Violet. All of his income would have to go into the fields, purchasing livestock, fixing the stables, and repairing crofters’ cottages so new tenants would have a place to live.
And foreclosure wasn’t the worst of his troubles…
The scene with Violet’s parents had been bad, but the way he’d left things with Violet herself was unbearable.
In the wee hours of the morning, he’d finally managed to earn her trust. He’d seen it in her eyes, felt it in her touch. Before, there had always been a part of her holding back from him, measuring his actions, questioning his motives, although he hadn’t realized it. Not until last night, when he’d watched the mistrust begin to melt away.
But now her faith in him was destroyed, and Ford was back to square one. Worse than square one. Square negative one. Square negative one hundred. He saw approximately zero chance of Violet ever trusting him again.
And she would be forced to marry him tomorrow. He should be riding toward London right now, not pacing and stewing. Westminster and the Archbishop of Canterbury were a long ride away, and he needed that special license before the wedding.
How would it feel to be wed to someone who despised him? Even though her accusations were false—he really hadn’t known foreclosure was imminent—he couldn’t deny that he had let her down. He’d promised to care for her, provide her a decent home, and leave her inheritance untouched. But now he couldn’t do any of those things, thanks to his own wretched shortsightedness. And incompetence.
“My lord?”
Ford whirled to face the door. “Please leave me alone, Harry.”
“But I have a letter for you. Just delivered from Trentingham.”
A letter from Violet! His heart leaping with hope, Ford dropped the loathsome foreclosure letter and paced over to retrieve the one from Violet.
Except it wasn’t—instead of her tidy hand, a masculine scrawl marched across the page:
Lakefield,
I hope this missive finds you before you ride for London, because you won’t be marrying my daughter tomorrow. Or ever. Violet explained everything. While I thank you for not compromising her virtue—and I thank our Lord that no one else knows she spent the night in your home, leaving her reputation intact—it is clear she feels the two of you aren’t suited.
Trentingham
“My lord? Are you all right?”
“I told you to leave.”
While Harry complied, Ford stumbled over to lean against the wall. Then slid down it to sit on the floor, because his legs refused to hold him up even one second longer.
Violet was gone.
She wouldn’t be married to him and despise him.
She wouldn’t be in his life at all.
And given his current circumstances—circumstances he’d brought upon himself—he saw no way to win her back.
He could tell her he loved her a thousand more times, but as long as he remained low on funds, she would never stop wondering if he wanted her for her money. And it would take years of careful management to fill Lakefield’s coffers. Surely by that time, she’d have accepted someone else’s proposal.
The loss was a physical ache deep inside him. Empty years yawned ahead. Usually he’d fill them with scientific pursuits, but for now—and the foreseeable future—he couldn’t afford to do that. Besides, pouring all those hours into such tiny advancements suddenly seemed pointless. He knew, with a certainty that crushed him, he’d never again find the same satisfaction in his experiments and innovations. Not without Violet here to share his successes. Not even if Rand managed to—
His thoughts whirled and skidded, his fist closing around Lord Trentingham’s letter. After a moment, the crumpled parchment fell to the floor.