#empty pockets

Victoria sat stunned, her face pale.

“Vicky, are you alright?” Thomas asked, concerned. “I knew this would upset you, but you must understand I had no choice but to tell you straight away.”

“Yes,” was all she managed, nodding slowly.

“I wish I had better news, my dear, but your father – God rest his soul – was not a savvy investor,” Thomas said. “He made a number of poor choices over the years, and each time, a good portion of the estate was lost.”

“I know, uncle,” Victoria said, finally finding her voice. “But I had no idea it was all gone.”

Thomas sighed.

“I’ve been paying a good share of the bills here at Chartwell since your father fell ill,” he said. “But now that he’s gone, I simply cannot continue to do so. The house is too big, the staff too large. And now, with taxes due, I … I just can’t continue to help without ruining myself. Corwyn has become a difficult place to maintain such a large estate, I'm afraid.”

Victoria looked up at her uncle. As her father’s youngest – and only surviving – sibling, Thomas had received a modest inheritance from her grandfather. Her father, on the other hand, had become the eighth Marquess of Lansdowne and inherited the bulk of his family’s fortune.

As his only child, Victoria was now Marchioness in her own right. But what difference would it make?

“Of course you have, uncle,” she said. “I wish you would have told me before now. While I truly appreciate the gesture, I wouldn’t have had you make such sacrifices on my account.”

Thomas sat down next to her.

“I did it for your father, as well,” he said. “He was my brother, after all, and I couldn’t bear the thought of tearing him away from Chartwell when he was so ill. But things have gotten so much worse now that he’s gone. At least when he was ill, your father’s creditors kept a respectful distance. It’s only been a few hours since we buried him, and they’re already circling like vultures.”

“So I have nothing, then?” she asked. “What about the estate? The furnishings and artwork alone must be worth quite a bit.”

“Of course they are, my dear,” Thomas replied. “But you have no choice but to sell. You do realize that, don’t you?”

Chartwell had been her home for her entire life. The house had been in her family for nine generations, and its contents represented lifetimes of careful collection and curation. Leaving it had never once crossed her mind, but now she had no choice.

“Maybe I could open the house to the public and charge admission,” she said, hopefully. “Do you think that would help?”

“I’m afraid we’re past that, Vicky,” Thomas said. “Your father left a lot of debt, as I said. If you sell Chartwell, and a majority of the lands attached to it, you should be able to keep a few things and move into the old dower house near the village. The proceeds from the sale should keep you quite comfortable for life, but I’m afraid that’s the best we’ll be able to manage -- unless you’d like to move in with Marcia and I at Holme’s Glen?”

“No,” Victoria said. “I couldn’t ask that of you, uncle, but thank you.”

She took a deep, rough breath.

“Very well, then,” she said, finally. “It seems my fate has been sealed. How soon do I need to leave?”

“We can keep Chartwell running for another two or three months at least, so you have time to make plans.”

“Well, there’s that,” Victoria replied. "Thank you, uncle."

“Keep your chin up, Vicky,” Thomas said. “You still have your name, and your title. That in itself makes you an admirable match for any nobleman. Marry well, and your troubles could be resolved without greater loss.”

“Then I must marry well,” she said. “And as quickly as possible. Do you have any thoughts on that account?”

“Actually, yes, my dear,” Thomas replied, rising to leave. “Or, should I say, Marcia has had some rather intriguing thoughts along those lines. Why don’t you come round for dinner tonight and we’ll talk more about it?”

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