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What was to become of them?

“Maybe I can woo a young heiress with more money than sense.”

“Don’t speak that way,” Caroline said sharply. “Those young ladies deserve your respect.”

“Will you marry one, then?” he asked, almost with disinterest.

Her heart skipped a beat. “An heiress?”

He laughed. “Of course not, you goose. A fortune hunter.”

“Maybe I shall have to.”

“Though you haven’t much fortune left, truth be told. I wasn’t a complete cad. I did work out a way to save some of the investments that protect your dowries, though they are worth less than a quarter of what they were initially.”

Her heart railed against it. How much more did she need to sacrifice for her family?

But this mistake was far more serious than the spilled ink bottles or broken windows from Jacob’s youthful high spirits. Poor Jacob. His life had changed more than any of theirs—how could anyone avoid mistakes when one transformed from a shopkeeper’s assistant to a young baronet overnight?

If she married, at least she would be able to provide a home for George and Will. And if she married the right man, she might salvage the reputation of the Reeve name for Betsy and Susan, as it surely would be tainted by Jacob’s reckless gambling.

She should make sure that Betsy and Susan married well and fast, or they would be living in penury by the time there was snow on the ground. After the wild excess of the summer, it was hard to think of living like they used to.

She felt the hot flush of shame on her cheeks. Just this past week, she had laughed and danced with Arabella at the grocer’s, reminiscing about the way things had been. Faced now with going back to that life, she felt devastated. She had indeed become proud of her station and hadn’t known the depths of it until now.

It wasn’t well done of her.

Her heart felt like it was twisting in a vise. If they were to survive, then all of her attention must be focused on her family.

Not on herself.

Not on Arabella.

What would Arabella think of her?

But Arabella had her own future to plan now. Caroline had never seen her happier than when she had been painting the miniatures on the beach. She deserved better than catering to the Reeves and their messes.

Her stomach churned again as she thought of all those years she had taken Arabella for granted. How many times had she expected Arabella to stop by after she had finished painting for the day, or to coax her for a walk on the bluffs, or to pour her a glass of elderberry wine for a long coze before they both went their separate ways to bed?

No more. Arabella deserved a full and complete life, not a half life lived for her brother, and certainly not lived for her.

* * *

Caroline marched her sisters and Lady Margaret to the assembly rooms the next evening. She was explicit before they left—their goal was to find wealthy men to marry.

“No officers,” she said, glaring at Betsy as they drew on their gloves. “Sensible men with wealth shall do, now that we have lost our own.”

Lady Margaret sighed. “It is a shame how fast one’s fortunes can fall. I have heard of it being the ruin of many a debutante, you know.”

Susan blanched, and Caroline shot a warning glance at Lady Margaret. “There is no ruin here,” she said, trying to sound calm. “All we need to do is act quicker than the rumor mill.”

“You will need to be fleet of foot,” Lady Margaret said. “But I will do my best to help you girls.”

The room was warm tonight, despite the open windows. It was the swell of the summer season, with dozens of gentlemen that she didn’t recognize fetching lemonade for swan-necked ladies who were as pretty as any of Arabella’s paintings.

Thankfully, she soon spotted Arabella as well.

She left her sisters with Lady Margaret and strode over to her.