A Pitiful Remnant Read Online Free PDF Page A

thoughts.
    No sense in laying blame on Fa. Long ago Clarence had
recognized a streak of impracticality in his father. As long as all was
going well and he had enough excitement in his life to amuse him,
Eustace Lamberton had been an exemplary husband and father, a
responsible landowner. But he'd also had a strong bailiff in the early
years after his succession to the marquessate. Kilbernie, a
tight-fisted Scot had been bailiff since Clarence's grandfather's time.
Kilbernie had died, at the ripe age of eighty-six, shortly before
Clarence had sailed for Spain. He remembered his father writing that
he'd hired a new man, one who was easier to get along with than
Kilbernie had been. That must have been Inglewood.
    More amenable to allowing Fa his own way, I'll
warrant.
    He'd have to ask Mother when Fa began his
investments.
    Clarence lay back and closed his eyes. He had no desire to be
leg-shackled, but even less did he desire to lose Guillemot. Hopefully
the heiress wasn't too much of an antidote. But if she had to buy a
husband, she couldn't be a great beauty. Or sweet tempered, either.
Well, at least she wasn't a Cit or in Trade.
    Ackerslea Farm. A vague memory of his father talking of his
friend "with the proud Saxon name." Darren? No, Drystan Hight.
There had been a hint of envy in his words as he described Hight's
association with Prince George and the extravagant life they led. "Not
that I want to live that way," Eustace had said in a thoughtful tone. "It
would be fabulously expensive, far beyond my means. But perhaps
just once, it might be nice to sample the life."
    Had he been attempting to finance a fling in the style of his
friend when he made his first investments?
    Poor Fa. If he'd had more than one season in town before
marrying, perhaps he'd have sown enough wild oats to satisfy his
taste for excitement. Instead he and Mother had married at the end
of the Season and had immediately retired to the country.
Grandfather had disapproved of wasting money on frivolities and his
mother was too shy and nervous to enjoy London. So Fa had
remained at home on the infrequent occasions when the then Lord
Guillemot took his seat in Parliament.
    He stretched out an arm and jerked the bellpull. When
Nettles stuck his head around the door, he said, "Sergeant, I seem to
be scheduled to be wed in a few days, but no one has told me exactly
when. Can you gather intelligence? And while you're about it, ask
Carleton to set whatever domestic staff we have to prepare the
house to receive its new mistress. Oh, yes, and send Mother here, will
you? I'm going to have to ask her to vacate the master's suite."

Chapter Four
    Nettles helped Clarence down the stairs and into the small
drawing room. With relief, he settled into a chair beside the fireplace,
grateful for its high back and enclosing wings. Wondering if he would
have the strength to stand and greet his guests, he leaned back and
closed his eyes.
    I must. I'll be damned if I'll meet my bride as an
invalid.
    Assuming the party from Ackerslea Farm had departed as
scheduled and met with no catastrophes, they should arrive within
the next hour or two. While wishing disaster upon them was the last
thing in his mind, he found himself longing for something to delay
them for another few days, even another week. He was not ready to
be wed, no matter how he had worked to mentally resign himself to
taking the step that could save two ancient holdings.
    The same sick, roiling sensation that always afflicted him
before a battle filled his unready gut. Sheer, unreasoning terror. He
had hidden it well, had learned to handle it but it had never gown
less strong. Now he closed his eyes and concentrated on regulating
his breathing. I will live through this, as I have every battle
before.
    That self-reassurance had calmed him in the past, but this
time it was not working. His heart pounded as if he'd been running,
his palms were damp, and the roiling intensified. If they didn't arrive
soon, he was likely