Kieran Kramer: If You Give A Girl A Viscount

His lucky penny, the one responsible for all his good fortune … the one he’d hidden from his friends when they’d taken his last farthing. He hadn’t had any compunctions about concealing it—it wasn’t as if he were ever going to spend it.

It was merely a talisman, the lucky penny his Scottish grandfather had given him when he was but six years old. Granddad had said, “Here’s your lucky penny. What you see is what you get. Dinnae forget that, laddie.”

Charlie remembered clutching the penny in his chubby fist and crying when his mother had tried to remove it that night at dinner. And so he’d stowed it away in his pocket.

Every day.

For the rest of his life.

Through Eton, Oxford, Granddad’s funeral, all the weddings of Charlie’s friends, and every purchase of castle or property on behalf of his family, he’d had the lucky penny on his person. He was convinced that it had everything to do with the fact that whatever business prospect he touched turned to gold.

But by some odd chance, the penny had appeared on the faded green baize table last night. Had one of the barmaids removed it from his pocket? He still didn’t know. The Highland whisky had been flowing freely and—

The next thing he’d known, the lucky penny had been won.

Won away from him by a toothless old man who’d roared at Charlie when he’d tried to win it back, “Stay away! It’s mah lucky penny noo!” And had disappeared into the eerie white night of the Highland summer.

Charlie had watched him disappear around the stables and let him go. At the time, he could barely stand straight as it was.

Things had gone rapidly downhill. First, there’d been the fight over—nothing. He’d been in many of those the last month. People in dire straits tended to be in bad moods when they were hungry or looking for a place to sleep. And then after his black eye, a large-eared drover had required him to sing “Will Ye Go, Lassie?” on the bartop before he’d allow Charlie on the back of his wagon. He’d been dumped at the nearest market town and fortunately picked up by one of several coaches filled with anglers heading north of Glen Dewey to the village of Brawton.

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.

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.”