Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (Love By Numbers #2)(10)

And what was Isabel’s to sell.

A pang of sadness flared in her chest.

Her brother had not had the father or the mother or the upbringing that the earldom should have promised him but he would have an earldom. And she would do what she could to keep it afloat.

A dead earl.

A child heir.

A crumbling estate.

Two dozen mouths to feed, all of which were required to remain well hidden.

She had never felt so panicked in her life.

If only she hadn’t slept the night before, she might have already devised a plan for them all to be saved.

She just needed time.

Closing her eyes, Isabel took a deep, steadying breath. “It is not your concern, Lara,” she said firmly, refusing to show her thoughts, “I shall make certain that we are well taken care of.”

Lara’s gaze softened. “Of course you shall. None of us have doubted such for a moment.”

Of course they hadn’t. No one ever doubted Isabel’s strength. Not even when they should. Not even when she was holding the whole thing together by a thread.

She stood and went to the window, looking out at the once-lush and fertile Townsend land. Now the fields were overgrown and untilled, and the livestock had dwindled to a pittance.

“Are the girls worried?”

“No. I do not think that it has crossed their minds that they might all be tossed out on their ears.”

Isabel’s heart raced at the words. “They shan’t be tossed out. Never say such things again.”

Lara had followed her. “Of course they shan’t.”

They might be. Isabel heard the words as though they had been spoken aloud.

Isabel turned quickly, her skirts swirling around her ankles as she raised a finger, wagging it in front of Lara’s nose. “I shall think of something. We shall find some money. I shall move them all to another house. It is not as though this one is any kind of prize.”

“Minerva House the second,” Lara said.

“Precisely.”

“A capital idea.”

Isabel huffed at her cousin’s tone. “You needn’t agree simply to appease me.”

“Fair enough,” Lara said. “Do you have a stash of money stored somewhere? Because last I’d heard, houses that accommodated two dozen women required funds.”

“Yes. Well. That is the part of the plan that I have not quite worked out.” Isabel crossed the room to the door, then turned back, pacing to her desk. She sat there, staring at the papers strewn across the enormous tabletop, where three generations of Reddich earls had sat. After a long silence, she said, “There is only one way to ensure that we’ve the funds to stay afloat.”

“Which is?”

She took a deep breath.

“I will sell the marbles.” There was a roaring in her ears as she spoke the words—as though, if she did not hear them, they had not been said.

“Isabel …” Lara shook her head.

Please don’t fight this, Lara. I do not have the strength. “It’s silly to keep them. No one is enjoying them.”

“You enjoy them.”

“They are a luxury I can no longer afford.”

“No. They are the only luxury you’ve ever had.”

As if she didn’t know that.

“Do you have a better solution?”

“Maybe,” Lara hedged. “Maybe you should consider … maybe you should think about marriage.”

“Are you suggesting that I should have accepted one of the myriad of oafs who has passed through over the years after having won me in a game of chance? ”

Lara’s eyes widened. “Oh, my, no! Not one of them. Never one of them. No one who knew your father. I’m suggesting someone else. Someone … good. And if he is wealthy, well then, all the better.”

Isabel lifted the magazine she had seen earlier. “Are you suggesting I try my hand at landing a lord, cousin? ”

Color flared on Lara’s cheeks. “You cannot deny that a smart match is not the worst thing that could happen to you.”

Isabel shook her head. Marriage was not the answer. She was willing to swallow a bitter pill or two to save this house, and the women in it, but she would not sacrifice her freedom, her sanity, or her person for them. She did not care if it was a solution or not.

Selfish.

The word burned, echoing in her head as though it had been spoken seconds rather than years ago. Isabel knew that if she closed her eyes, she would see her mother, face contorted in anguish, flinging it like a dagger.

You should have let him marry you off, you selfish beast. He would have stayed if you had. And you would have gone.

She shook her head, refusing the image and clearing her throat, suddenly tight and painful.

“Marriage is not the answer, Lara. Do you really think anyone with the means to help us would consider marrying the twenty-four-year-old, never-seen-the-inside-of-a-London-ballroom daughter of the Wastrearl?”

“Of course they would!”

“No. They would not. I’ve no skills, no training, no dowry, nothing but a houseful of women, most of whom are in hiding, a handful of them illegally. How do you propose explaining such a thing to a prospective suitor?” Lara opened her mouth to answer, but Isabel pressed on. “I’ll tell you. It’s impossible. No man in his right mind would marry me and take on the burdens that I carry. And, frankly, I am rather thankful for it. No. We shall just have to try a different tack.”