He looked away again and staggered back to the window, leaning on the sill. “I am your guardian, and I was given the task of managing your fortune for you…until you came of age. And I thought to increase it for you so that you would never have to worry another day about having to do things you did not wish. With it increased, you should have been able to continue on in the way that you have been doing until old age.”
Her parents had left her secure. And she’d always felt certain she’d never have to worry about funds. It had always been such a relief. Her funds had enabled her to help so many people. Not just herself.
“I am so very sorry,” he whispered. “But I have lost it. I hate myself for it, Beatrice.”
He looked back to her, awaiting her condemnation. Tears filled his gaze.
“Uncle,” she urged, hastening toward him. “I can never hate you. I love you.”
The words spilled out of her even as these horrific new circumstances began to dawn on her.
But her uncle had looked after her since she was a girl and had done everything he could to raise her well and give her the freedoms that most men never would a young lady. She could not hate him, but there was no question her world was whipping around and around at the most sickening speed.
For she did not know what to do next.
“Uncle, I find that I am at sea.”
“I am so sorry, Beatrice,” he rushed, his voice full of self-loathing. “I am terribly sorry, but we are going to lose everything.”
How could one go from complete astonishment to doom in a single moment? How could one be independent, wealthy, full of privilege and possibility, then in the gravest of circumstances in an instant?
And how did one navigate such wild thoughts and feelings?
She gazed about them, at the books, the pictures, the artifacts. She thought of all the beautiful things in the house. Their coach. Their clothes. The money she gave away.
His words took effect, and she struggled to breathe.
No doubt the house would go with everything in it, and the horses, and the fine clothes, and the coach, and the country estate.
It would all go.
As would her future and her freedom.
For she was no fool. A woman without a fortune was in great danger of the whims of society.
“Well,” she said softly, determined not to break down, “at least, as you say, Margaret is taken care of.”
Her uncle nodded. “Perhaps I should have told you sooner so that you could find a husband right away.”
“Do not be ridiculous, Uncle,” she countered. “Why would I change…”
But even as she said it, her words died in her throat. For how could she boldly declare her determination now? It was very different to be a wealthy spinster than a poor one.
“Beatrice,” he said, his voice finally firm, “I think you should. I think you should try to find a match almost immediately.”
She widened her eyes. “This cannot be occurring.”
All her life, she’d been determined to never have to put her fate in the hands of a man—especially one she did not love. Not realizing her future already was in the hands of a man—her uncle. And now it was all going terribly wrong.
“You know the fate of impoverished women, Beatrice,” he whispered. “It is not pretty.”
It was not. She was not such a fool as to be noble about it. “Uncle, I cannot. I cannot do it.”
He swallowed, then took her hand in his. “You must. We can keep this private for a bit longer. Last night, I could not sleep, and so I composed a list with several candidates for you to consider. Any one of them would be willing to take you up if they believed…”
“That I had a dowry?” she ground out, yanking her hand from his grasp.
“Indeed,” he replied, lifting his gaze to hers at last. There was a steely determination there. A willingness to do whatever it took to see her secure in a marriage with money so that she never faced poverty.