CHAPTER 3

GAbrIEL TOOK THE FRONT stairs leading up to his country estate, Brentworth Park, two at a time. Coming back from a gallop around his estate at sunrise always left him invigorated and ready to face the problems of the day. It was his favorite activity, one he engaged in every morning.

And thank goodness he still had this small pleasure, because he would spend the rest of the day dealing with a multitude of problems. Trying to save a bankrupt estate from ruin was arduous and heartbreaking work.

His man of business awaited him in his study like every other day. With his somber clothes and perpetually dour expression, Barrett looked like a black vulture. Almost like an ominous sign of what awaited the estate if he was unable to raise the capital.

"Good morning, Barrett," Gabriel said, stepping into his study.

The room was both a sanctuary and a prison. The desk loomed in the center, stacked high with piles of papers, most of them bills. At least a steaming cup of coffee also graced the surface of the desk. His butler always made sure it awaited him when he returned from his ride.

"Good morning, my lord," his secretary replied, not looking up from the paper he was scribbling on.

"Have we received news about the loan I requested?"

"We have, my lord. Unfortunately, they are not good. The bank refuses to lend the money without a hefty collateral. I'm afraid with all the properties entailed, and those that are not entailed, mortgaged to the brim, we simply don't have the assets they require."

"I see." Nothing surprising there. He had not expected the bank to lend him the money he needed to rescue his estate. But he had hoped.

He sat down to read the correspondence while savoring the coffee. The hot, bracing liquid was the only comfort on this chilly morning.

"Do we have the money to make the next payment?"

"We could make a small payment, my lord. At this rate, it will take years to pay off the debt, but at least the creditors are not demanding more. But there's still the issue of the mortgages. Those have not demanded payment yet."

Yet. That ominous brief word loomed large on his mind. He was barely staying current with the everyday operational costs and paying down the merchants and other creditors. It was not a matter of if , but rather of when , the holders of the mortgages demanded payment. He would be forced to sell or relinquish whatever property was not entailed. But then he would lose the income from those properties, and after paying the mortgages, there wouldn't be much capital left to save the main estate.

And so it went every day, from early morning until late in the afternoon, with only a brief pause for lunch, unless there was physical work that required his presence somewhere in the estate. He much preferred that to the mentally draining task of endless financial juggling to keep the earldom afloat. He always reached the end of each day exhausted and disheartened.

For five long years, ever since the previous earl had died, he had labored nonstop to save his ancestral home. By all rights, he should despise this place. Not only had it been the scene of his unhappy childhood, but ever since he had inherited it, it had brought him nothing but trouble.

But for the first time in his life, he belonged somewhere. The people who lived and worked here needed him. This was his home now. Somehow, he was able to separate the pain of his childhood from his feelings for this place. It wasn't the Earl's estate anymore. It was his now. His responsibility.

In all his life, no one had expected anything from him, but if he saved the estate, he would prove his worth. He could be a good lord, given the chance. The work was indeed heartbreaking and, at times, hopeless.

"If you'll forgive the impertinence, my lord, I think you should consider marrying an heiress."

The voice of his secretary echoed that of his conscience, whispering from the darkest recesses of his mind where he had it locked most of the time.

You should marry an heiress.

He knew that's what he needed to do. Without a substantial infusion of capital, the estate would flounder. The people who depended on it would suffer. But as soon as he contemplated it, his whole being recoiled from the idea. He knew it was a common arrangement. Many aristocrats were offering their title to merchant's daughters in exchange for money to save their estates. And yet, the idea made him feel cheap. It wasn't a matter of pride in his lineage. It was the transaction. How was that any different from what a prostitute did? If anything, this was worse. Marriage was forever. He would tie his fate to this person for the rest of his life. An image of his parents' hostile marriage flitted through his mind, and cold sweat broke on his brow.

And yet, there might be no other solution. Despite toiling endlessly, it seemed he couldn't get much further ahead. He fixed one problem, only to find that another two had sprung up. He paid one debt, and another one appeared. The many layers of his predecessor's ruination of his patrimony never ceased to amaze him. It seemed as if the Earl had set out to ruin his legacy on purpose. There was no other explanation for the catastrophic mishandling of affairs. Knowing full well how much his sire had despised him, he firmly believed it had been intentional. Although why his own father had hated him so much was still a mystery to him. God knows he had done nothing to warrant such wrath.

A letter caught his attention as he absently flipped through the pile of correspondence. It was from the Duke of Stanhope. He opened it at once and read the contents. It didn't tell him much, only that the duke would like to speak with him at his earliest convenience and invited him to his estate. He and his duchess would be honored to offer their hospitality.

He leaned back in his chair, frowning in bemusement. What could Stanhope wish to speak to him about that would be so important as to warrant such an urgent summons? For a summons, it was, even if it was worded as an invitation.

Of course, he did not have to go, but the duke had become something of a friend and mentor. He had made his acquaintance shortly after Gabriel had inherited the mountain of problems that were his earldom, and soon his solid advice had become invaluable. Without the duke's guidance, he wouldn't have made it this far. He had heard the duke's health was frail, and suddenly the invitation took a different connotation.

One thing was certain; he would leave for the duke's estate the next morning. If his heart sped up a little at the thought of seeing a certain duchess, he did not pay it any mind. He was used to such a reaction to the lovely Hannah, and he was also an expert at ruthlessly crushing such inclinations.