Chapter Forty-Five

I t had taken several cups of strong coffee to bring Mr. Bingley to full consciousness the next day. With Dunstan's help, he was ready to depart the house at ten in the morning, as he had told his sister he would.

He banged on Caroline's door. "Are you joining me, Caroline?"

"Yes; I am not quite ready."

"I leave in fifteen minutes, Caroline, with or without you."

He waited. Fifteen minutes later, the door was still closed.

"Good-bye, then, Caroline," he said.

The door flew open. His sister stood before him, scowling fiercely. "Good; come along, Caroline." He did not offer her his arm, but let her follow him down the stairs. Once in the carriage, Caroline cleared her throat.

"Charles…"

"No, Caroline."

"You do not know what I am about to say."

"I suspect I do."

"I am willing to live in a townhome as long as it is in Mayfair."

"You cannot be serious," he said.

"I am very serious," she replied.

"I am sorry to tell you that you can afford to live in that neighbourhood only if you do not also spend a good deal of money on clothes."

She straightened her spine. "Then I shall remain at Bingley House."

"No, you will not."

Twenty minutes later, the carriage stopped. Mr. Bingley peered out the window at the sign proclaiming the building to be the premises of Mr. Adamson, Solicitor. "Ah, here we are."

The coachman opened the carriage door and Mr. Bingley exited. He reached his arm into the carriage to help his sister out, but she ignored the arm and climbed out, however awkwardly, on her own.

The two mounted the four steps to the front door and were ushered into the presence of Mr. Adamson. He greeted Mr. Bingley and waited to be presented to the young woman he assumed to be Miss Bingley. Her brother made the introduction, which the young woman refused to acknowledge. Instead, she turned away and stared at a painting on the opposite wall.

Mr. Bingley began to apologise for his sister's behaviour, but Mr. Adamson waved the apology away.

In short order, the paperwork was done and Miss Bingley's twenty thousand pounds was put into an account that she could access.

"Do you want the interest released annually, quarterly, or monthly?" Mr. Adamson enquired of Miss Bingley.

Mr. Bingley eyed his sister, who continued to ignore the two men. "Quarterly," he said, when it was apparent that she would not answer.

"Will you wish to be informed in the event that she accesses her principal?" Mr. Adamson asked.

"No." The answer was firm.

"Very well."

"Have you that list of properties for me, Mr. Adamson?"

"I do."

The sound of crackling paper caught Miss Bingley's attention. "Let me see that, Charles."

He gave it to her.

She quickly perused the dozen addresses on the list and then shook her head. "No, none of them."

"You are wrong; one of these will be your new home." Mr. Bingley spoke calmly, but his breathing was rapid; he would need another of Dunstan's tonics tonight. "We will want to see four of these a day, Mr. Adamson; can you arrange that?"

"Of course; I will speak with the estate agents and send you details in the morning."