London, December 1888
The ticking clock in the corner of the waiting area counted down the seconds toward Oliver Conway's doom. Each second sounded like a hammer fall in the interminable silence. He clenched his worn black gloves in one hand and held his hat in the other as he waited to be summoned. Finally, the door to the bank president's office opened, and a portly man with kind eyes glanced down the hall to find him.
"Lord Conway, I will see you now."
Oliver swallowed and stood, then straightened his shoulders and entered the office of Mr. Kelly, president of Drummonds Bank.
"Please, sit, Lord Conway." Mr. Kelly waved at the pair of leather chairs facing the desk.
Oliver sat, his hands trembling a little. At the grown age of one and thirty he had few reasons to be afraid, but today this man held the fate of Oliver's family's future in his hands.
Mr. Kelly removed a pair of spectacles from his coat pocket and nestled them on the bridge of his nose. He pulled a stack of papers toward him. "I've reviewed all of the accounts this morning, my lord, and I'm afraid the loans your father extended two years ago are past due. I received the payments you've been sending, but it barely covers the interest currently owed."
Oliver's heart sank, and a bitter taste filled his mouth. "And the stock he purchased? We authorized the bank with permission to sell. What amount did it bring in?"
Mr. Kelly sighed, and his gray eyes, still showing that damnable sincerity and kindness, only increased Oliver's fears.
"The stock was worthless after the businesses your father invested in went bankrupt. I was able to recuperate a small amount, but it covered only the interest owed for the next month's payment."
Panic spread through Oliver. He had been fighting for over a year to save his family and his home from ruin after his father's death, and now all he had was his name and the title of Viscount Conway, which at the moment was a burden almost beyond what he could bear.
"Mr. Kelly, is there no way…?"
The banker removed his spectacles and set them on the desk. He leaned forward, his voice lowering.
"I have so few options, Oliver. Your father was a dear friend and…" Mr. Kelly paused, collecting himself. "But my hands are tied by bank regulations and investor expectations."
"So that's it, then? Astley Court, all of the tenancy properties and everything we own…"
"Will be property of Drummonds in thirty days," Mr. Kelly finished. "You've done a commendable job, but the debts were simply too great. The only way to…" Mr. Kelly stopped and shook his head.
"What?" Oliver pressed. "What were you about to say? I will do anything."
"The only option I see as a way out of this mess is to, shall we say…marry advantageously?"
Oliver didn't quite comprehend the banker's words because they were so unexpected. "Pardon?"
"An heiress, dear boy," Mr. Kelly said, forgetting their difference in social standing for a moment, not that Oliver cared.
"An heiress," he muttered, finding the implication distasteful.
"Yes. Find a pretty young lady with a fortune to her name and secure her hand in less than thirty days, and you will have access to money. I could get around some of the resistance here if you returned before the middle of January with a rich bride upon your arm."
Oliver stared down at his worn—out gloves and top hat, which rested in his lap. So it had come to this. Sell himself to the highest—bidding lady in London and find himself saddled with a wife, one he might not like, let alone love—all to save his home and family.
"Do it for Astley Court. Do it for your mother."
The thought of his mother, his younger brother Everett, and his sister Zadie all depending on him. It was all it took to make him decide.
"Thirty days," Oliver said, as if sealing the pact.
Still feeling like a man doomed and facing the gallows, Oliver thanked Mr. Kelly and shook his hand before he exited the office. He pulled on his gloves and cursed as he found yet another small hole in the leather. He had spent the last year putting every bit of coin he had toward the business debts his father's investments had accrued. The cost of his efforts, aside from his pride, had been clothing three years too old, and showing every day of it.
His mother and sister had suffered more, being forced to wear gowns well out of fashion. He and Everett were able to get by on what they owned since men's fashions changed far less and more slowly than the fashions of ladies. Zadie had held her head high, even when other girls had mocked her during her debut this season when she'd worn an outmoded gown.
His family had also reduced the staff at their country estate by half and had sold their large townhouse in London six months ago. Now they only rented rooms when in town for the season. Oliver didn't want to think about what cuts they would have to make if he wasn't able to save Astley Court. A man without land and without a fortune… He shuddered, but resolved himself to the idea of learning a trade. He was not opposed to it, but the social circles his family ran in would surely find it distasteful, which meant he put Everett's and Zadie's futures at risk.
But if he could find an heiress…
No. He would find an heiress. He would do his duty, in whatever form that required.
As he left Drummonds and stepped out into the streets, someone called his name.
"Conway!"
He spun to find a man striding toward him, waving his arm. The tall, dark—haired fellow had the same green eyes as him.
"Cousin!" He laughed as he shook Devon St. Laurent's hand. Devon was second in line to become the Duke of Essex. Oliver's great—grandfather, Godric St. Laurent, and his wife Emily had had four children, and Devon's grandfather, second eldest of the brood, was the current duke.
"Care for a drink? I was heading to Berkley's."
"I would love to, but I surrendered my membership three months ago." It was one of the many frivolous luxuries both he and Everett had removed to slim down their family's expenses.
"What? Why?"
Oliver sighed. "It is a long story." His shoulders ached now. He had been waiting to see Mr. Kelly for over an hour, and he had been strung tighter than an archer's bow the entire time.
Devon smiled and clapped a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Come on, we'll drink at a pub nearby, and you can tell me this long story."
