Miss Montgomery bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I’m being a terrible hostess.” She ran a hand through her curls. “Let me get you a poultice for that eye.”

“No, thank you.” Charlie told himself that he was being curt, yet he couldn’t help making excuses.

He was half drunk.

He was in an ill temper.

He was an Impossible Bachelor.

With no money.

It was hell being poor. He’d found no redeeming value in it. The irony was, whether he was in rags or in a London ballroom, he was pursued for his purse either way.

“You need a poultice,” Miss Montgomery said. “To stop the swelling—”

“No poultices,” he snapped.

He couldn’t bother being pleasant. There was that low level of throbbing all over his head, coupled with the fact that he had no desire to be his grandmother’s emissary anymore. The trip had lost its luster after the third or fourth time he’d seen his life flash before his eyes in the numerous perilous encounters with man or nature he’d had since leaving London.

The girl halted. “All right,” she said. “Have it your way.”

Her tone was just dry enough to suggest that he was spoiled, which he certainly was not.

All right, perhaps he was, but he was new at the discomfort business, wasn’t he? That night at his club in London when he’d agreed to leave off money for a while, he’d been thrown to the wolves, as it were, and was simply glad that he’d made it this far north in one piece.

“You will have received my note,” he said. How brazen the young lady must think him, to assume that a letter of introduction written by his own hand from a seedy inn days before would excuse his present appearance and behavior. He knew it did not.

Nevertheless, there was a moment’s awkward silence which he took pitiless pleasure in not breaking. But for this woman, he’d be happily ensconced in a chair at his club in Town. And he wouldn’t have lost his lucky penny. In other words—

Everything was all her fault.

But Miss Montgomery didn’t seem to notice his resentment.

She took a breath and crossed her arms over her modest bosom. “Yes,” she said breezily. “Do you care to explain your letter further? You said that per your grandmother’s wishes, you’d be at my ceaseless beck and call.”

“Ceaseless?”

“Don’t you remember? And you went on to say that noble words and deeds are what define a man, not the depth of his pockets. An admirable sentiment.”

Did he really say that? He’d been in his cups when he’d written it. It sounded like something Arrow would profess.

“It’s true,” he said, trying to gain his bearings. “It’s true that a man shouldn’t be defined by how rich or poor he is.”

“I had no idea you meant it quite so literally.” Her face took on a regretful expression. “How kind of you to journey all the way up here—to suffer such indignities”—she cast a swift glance under the sofa where the turnip now lay—“when you’re obviously short of funds.”

She made an effort to look sympathetic, but her disappointment was palpable.

“Of course, there’s always the chance you keep your coins in a very deep pocket,” she added, her face brightening.

Good God, the woman was unashamedly transparent. She was after his money now.

“I’m penniless at the moment.” He merely shrugged. “As for the journey, it was nothing.”

Nothing, his arse. It was damned well something, and he never wanted to go through it again. He couldn’t wait to leave this place and get back home to his luxurious town house in London.

“You’ve shown true dedication to the responsibilities inherent in being a godmother,” she managed to compliment him.

He not only questioned her sincerity, he seethed under such an incongruous label. “I’m merely the emissary, if you’ll recall. It’s my grandmother you should admire. The woman has an unnatural penchant for collecting goddaughters.”

“Does she?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever helped one before?”

“No.”

Her brow furrowed.

“Miss Montgomery,” he said, “you needn’t worry. Yes, it’s true that whatever your problem is, we’ll have to settle it without my family’s money. Due to an unfortunate series of events, I’ve lost complete access to it, and I’ve no idea if or when I’ll get it back. And your godmother is inaccessible for a goodly while. But rest assured, I shall offer you my sage counsel, and I’m committed to staying until your dilemma is resolved.”

There. He’d let her know in no uncertain terms that he could offer her no money.

So why did he feel more vulnerable than he had when he’d offered his paramours expensive baubles?

He had no idea.

But he did.

And he didn’t like it.

CHAPTER FOUR

He braced himself for a dire response, but Miss Montgomery didn’t appear as if she’d faint. Or cry.

She merely nodded. “Very well. We’ll begin with our various talents, the eleven pounds I’ve already saved, and luck. And then we’ll go from there. Surely we’ll be able to amass four hundred pounds putting our heads together.”

“Four hundred pounds?”

She might as well be asking for the moon!

He stood. “I can’t stay long enough to help you amass such a sum. It could take years.”

“I don’t have years.”

“Exactly why do you need so much? Drapes, sideboards, and drawbridge repairs shouldn’t cost a tenth of that amount.”

She sighed. “A very good question. The first one hundred pounds are needed immediately. They’ll go to paying the annual feu duty to the landlord at the Keep. Without it, we could be removed from the property—as soon as the first of July, mere weeks away. Another hundred will be put aside for next year’s feu duty. The rest will be invested in the estate, mainly in the sheep herd, to get us back on our feet so that we no longer have to suffer the indignity of borrowing from anyone.”

“Pardon my mentioning this”—he looked round at the faded room—“but it’s evident the castle’s not in the best of condition. And the estate appears unwieldy for a young, untried lady to oversee. Surely it would be best if you moved elsewhere.”

“No other place will do.” She raised her chin. “I have people to worry about. Hester and Joe, the servants. They’ve lived here since well before I was born. And this is my home. My home, sir. Not merely an abode.”

Her eyes glistened with a hint of moisture, but she didn’t acknowledge the sheen of tears in the least.

He understood that sense of pride and attachment. He’d acquired many properties on his family’s behalf, but not a one of them meant anything to him—other than his ancestral home in Devon.

“But you do comprehend,” he said, “how much four hundred pounds is? It would take most citizens of Britain decades—many of them their whole lives, if ever—to earn such a sum.”

“Oh, yes, I know. It’s a bundle.” She distractedly tapped a finger on her mouth while looking him over. “I’m perfectly willing to hope that even in your penurious—and I might add, downtrodden—state you’ll be useful in acquiring it, however. What can you do?”

“Ride, fence, box, and … and sing. I’m very good at singing.” How pathetic that sounded.

“I’m afraid riding, fencing, boxing, and singing won’t be much use.” She tilted her head. “Anything else you forgot to mention?”

He hesitated. “I know how to make money. But I can’t do it from scratch. I need starter funds.”

Miss Montgomery actually clapped her hands. “That’s perfect.” She grinned. “That’s exactly what I need, someone who knows how to make money.”

Somehow she’d wound up a mere foot from him. She studied him closely, and as she did, he couldn’t help being fascinated by her blue eyes, the way they slanted up ever so slightly, as if she were a fairy.

“Do you have money to invest?” he asked her.

“No.” She wrapped her thin arms around her too-thin body. “And you’ve already said you don’t.”

“No. Unfortunately.”

Her expression drooped.

There was a short, sad silence.

“Now that you’ve been enlightened as to the stark particulars of our arrangement,” he said, “no doubt you’re sorry you contacted my grandmother at all.”

She gave him a wan smile. “No, that’s not it in the least. I’m disappointed because I need someone who believes we can make something from nothing.” She sighed. “But you don’t believe it’s possible, do you?”

“I never said—”

“You rely on money to solve your woes,” she said flatly. “Not that I blame you. I’m trying to reach the point that I have enough money to do the same thing. But there’s one good thing about not having any. When you’re poor, you develop a very good imagination. You need it to survive. To have hope. Because sometimes … there’s nothing else.”

There was a split second of silence, and she puckered up her brow, as if she were thinking.

Thinking hard.

It was rather adorable of her. And yet she’d unsettled him, too.

“That’s not it at all,” he answered, but inside, he felt she was dangerously close to understanding him. Surely it had been a lucky guess. “Have you ever considered that you’re asking too much of a godmother—or a godmother’s grandson?”

She tilted her head. “Isn’t it a godmother’s duty to demonstrate the great virtues for her charges? Courage, fortitude, nobility, and usefulness?”

“It might be, but must I remind you, I’m—”

“And it’s been my impression,” she went on equably, “that the duty of your English peerage is to demonstrate those same virtues for the masses. Therefore, you’re under double obligation here, sir.”