There Are Plenty More Dukes in the Sea
Samantha Holt
Copyright © 2019 by Samantha Holt
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Kirsten S. Blacketer
Proofed by Cat’s Eye Proofing/Dom’s Proofreading
Cover Art by Book Wizz
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
London, 1818
Angel inched open the door, breath held. Her heart pressed against the bodice of her gown. Perhaps, just perhaps, if she stepped into the room quietly, no one would notice the late hour. The door hinge squeaked, and she winced.
Blast.
Easing one slippered foot through the tiny entrance she’d created, she crept through the gap into her brother’s office. The fair heads of her siblings remained focused on the lawyer who sat facing Angel. The slender man, his gray hair pasted over a balding and splotchy scalp, did not look up.
She let loose a breath and immediately regretted it as the sound seemed to fill the quiet room. Her oldest brother, the Marquis of Eastbrook, gave her the briefest of glances. A lone brow arched. Angel felt her very soul shrivel. Theo was infamous for his stony glares, and she had been on the receiving end of them one too many times.
A smile stretched across her lips. She took a few sideways steps and slipped into the chair next to her mother. The gilded chair gave a little creak when she relaxed into it, and she grimaced. Angel kept her smile in place then glanced at her siblings. Even Seth had a stern expression fixed to his face.
Blast.
She released the smile and pressed her lips into a stern line of aloofness. Lord, the corners of her lips itched to curve already, and her brows felt weighted and unnatural. It was not that she was not deeply sorry their grandfather had passed—the man had doted on them all and had been one of the funniest, sweetest men she had ever known—but there was only so long one could grieve. And frankly, grieving was a messy business, and she did not much fancy partaking in it. Far better to thrust one’s chin up and get on with things in her opinion. She was certain that was the way Grandpapa would have wanted it.
“You are late,” her mother whispered while the lawyer shuffled a few papers.
“Well, you see…there was a problem with my hair. And then I saw Miss Newhurst as I was about to leave, and naturally I could not be rude. And there was trouble with my carriage…” She clamped her mouth shut when her mother arched an eyebrow.
Angel peered at the graying brow. So that was where her brother had learned it. Why had she not spotted that before? Perhaps because their Mama was a soft sort of character and rarely scolded any of them, especially not Angel, the youngest of them all.
Minerva at least spared her a brief smile before turning her attention back to the lawyer. Her sister wore her mourning wear with more confidence than she had ever worn a fine gown of lace and silk. The gray gown was formless and frightful, but Angel had never seen her older sister look more comfortable. Minerva was so shy and retiring that she probably adored how it failed to draw a single jot of attention.
Angel fingered her own gray gown. It would not be long before she could return to wearing bright colors and fine fabrics. She could hardly wait. Gray did not go well with her pale complexion and brought out the darkness under her eyes. The rest of her siblings and even her mother did much better in dark colors than her thanks to their fair hair and alabaster skin. Angel’s own mahogany brown hair looked its best when coiled artfully over a sheath of vibrant silk.
The lawyer cleared his throat, and Angel lifted her gaze. A thin sheen of sweat covered the man’s forehead, and he licked his lips, making Angel frown. Mr. Barton had worked for the family for as long as she could recall and had no reason to be nervous. Her brother might be one of the more powerful men in the country and had a countenance that could frighten many a man, but she could not fathom why Mr. Barton appeared so nervous.
“Well, now that we are all here, shall we begin?” he asked, looking to Theo.
Theo gave a stiff nod. “If you please.”
The lawyer tweaked his cravat and pushed spindly glasses back up his nose. “As you are aware, your grandfather had no sons and there are no male relatives to inherit.”
Angel looked away from the lawyer’s sweaty features. Their grandfather had been a baron of excellent means thanks to some fine investments. Why that meant all of them needed to gather, she did not know. With no male heirs, it was assumed most of the wealth would pass to their mother—his only daughter—and maybe Theo as the oldest grandchild. Goodness knows, Angel would far rather be joining Miss Newhurst at Hyde Park and enjoying the fine weather while trying to spot the Duke of Norwick, who was known to drive his curricle through the park on warm days like today. Though she was not certain she wanted him seeing her in such grim clothes. He would never fall at her feet in this unattractive sack of a dress.
Fixing her attention back onto Mr. Barton, she pressed herself to listen. Did the man have to have such a droning voice? It was horribly difficult to concentrate on his words when he spoke in that monotonous tone.
“My daughter will inherit a sum of one thousand a year for the rest of her natural life and my beloved family home—Holbury Hall.” Mr. Barton glanced up, presumably to look for her mother’s reaction, but she remained a mask of dignity even though Angel knew her mother would be glad that the home where they had all enjoyed such wonderful childhood memories was hers.
Mr. Barton licked his lips and drew out a handkerchief to dab his forehead. “And finally, I, George Lockett, decree that my grandchildren, herein named, will inherit the rest of my fortune in its entirety, so long as they fulfill the following terms.”
Angel drew her attention from the pretty gilding that ran along the edge of the room and shared a look with Seth, who made a face and gave a shrug. None of them had anticipated inheriting anything from Grandpapa, but the Templetons could certainly do with the funds. After their brother had been swindled by his late-wife, they all had vowed to take as little as possible from him, but it was not easy to live on little as Angel had discovered.
“Each person must complete their task to my lawyer’s satisfaction or their share of the inheritance shall be forfeit,” Mr. Barton continued.
The man glanced around the room. Angel’s siblings remained still, brows creased. Minerva pursed her lips and opened her mouth before shutting it again. Theo tugged his jacket straight. Seth leaned in then shifted back in his chair.
Angel huffed. It would always be up to her to speak up for them all, which was ridiculous. She was the youngest for goodness sakes, but they were all too held up by the idea of propriety—even Seth, who prided himself on being quite the rake.
She held up a finger. “Mr. Barton, if I may, what on earth do you mean by ‘task’? And to whom will the money be forfeit?”
The lawyer shifted in his seat and scanned the paper in front of him.
“I was just…um…about to get to that.”
“Well…?” Angel pressed.
“Angel,” her mama hissed.
Chastened, Angel folded her arms across her chest and tapped a finger against an arm.
“Let’s see.” Mr. Barton’s brow puckered. “Ah.”
“What is it?” Theo asked, a hint of irritation edging his voice.
Angel noted he did not get scolded by their mother.
“If you are unable to fulfill your tasks to my satisfaction, all remaining inheritance shall be bestowed upon a Mr. Hastings.”
A sharp inhale of breath echoed around the room. Angel met Minerva’s worried gaze.
“That’s preposterous,” Theo blurted.
“Theo,” Mama scolded.
Angel had no time to be smug that her brother had finally been reproached. How could she celebrate such a tiny achievement when the bulk of their wonderful Grandpapa’s wealth could go to such a beast of a man?
“What the devil was Grandfather thinking?” murmured Seth.
Minerva shook her head. “This cannot be right. He would never give his money to that man.”
Mr. Barton lifted his shoulders. “The will is quite clear. Should you fail, Mr. Hastings shall inherit.”
“He is not even family,” Theo said, his tone bitter.
Especially not after he separated from their cousin and brought utter scandal upon their family when he tried to gain a divorce and ran off with a nursemaid to Ireland. As far as they were all concerned, Mr. Hastings had not been part of the family for a good five years and their grandpapa had been suitably riled at the whole sorry mess. It was unfathomable that he should inherit anything after what he’d done to their poor cousin who passed away only six months after the event.
“You said there were tasks, correct?” Seth leaned back in his chair and waved a hand. “We’ll do whatever it is that Grandfather wanted of us, and that will be the end of the matter.”
Mr. Barton’s dimpled cheeks reddened. “Well, ah, the instructions are extremely specific. All four grandchildren must complete their tasks within two months of this reading.”
Seth gave a smug shrug. “Easy enough.”
“For you perhaps,” said Theo. “You have few commitments.”
“And I had volunteered to help Lady Whitbury reorganize her library. I can hardly back out now,” cried Minerva.
Angel rolled her eyes. As if her sister needed yet another excuse to be buried in books. It would do her good to do something different, of that Angel was certain. “I am sure she will survive without you, Minnie.”
“But—”
Mama lifted both hands. “Perhaps we should find out what these tasks are before we leap to conclusions.”
Theo straightened in his seat. “Quite. Yes. Mr. Barton, what exactly did our grandfather want of us?”
“There are letters for all of you…” Mr. Barton lifted a stack of letters. “Each describes your task.” He handed them out.
Angel eyed her name written in her grandpapa’s slightly shaky handwriting and her throat tightened. She swallowed the knot and turned it over to press a finger under the seal.
“But before you do.” The lawyer dabbed his forehead again before thrusting his handkerchief back up a sleeve. “You must understand that no one can know of your task. The only people who may be privy to your task are the people in this room, including me. I will, ah, assess whether or not it is felt you have completed your undertaking.”
“So we can discuss this with each other?” Theo clarified.
Mr. Barton nodded. “And your lady mother. But no one else.”
“Well, let us get this thing done and then we can ensure that awful man does not get a penny of Grandpapa’s fortune.” Minerva flicked open her letter and scanned the contents.
Angel watched her sister’s brow pucker then her mouth drop open. Her skin turned a strange ashen cast.
“What is it, Min?” Seth demanded.
“I…” She waved the letter at Seth. “Perhaps you should open yours.”
Seth rolled his eyes. “You do not need to be scared of everything, Min. How bad can it be?”
Angel allowed herself a smile. Whatever was in the letter could not be that bad. After all, Minerva was terrified of most things. She spent most of her time reading or writing and spending time with a limited few friends. Anything out of the ordinary practically petrified her.
“Bloody hell,” Seth murmured.
“Seth!” their mother scolded.
With a heavy stomach, Angel glanced at her own letter. What could these letters contain that would shock even Seth? Her senior by two years, Seth had been playing the rake for enough time to have experienced most of what life had to offer. He was the most fun sibling, and she utterly adored spending time with him, even if he did occasionally take his role of rake a little too far. Angel had thought him impervious to shock.
“Theo?” Angel nodded to the unopened letter in his hand.
His shoulders dropped, and he pulled out a penknife to work open the seal. His lips compressed into a thin line.
“Will no one tell me what theirs say?” Angel asked.
Her siblings ignored her. Her mother tapped her hand. “Perhaps you should open yours, dear.”
Aware of her hands shaking slightly, Angel ripped open the letter, ignoring Theo’s disapproving glare of the mess she made of the letter. This was ridiculous. Why was she so terrified of the contents of this letter? Was she not Lady Angel Templeton, sister to a marquis and known throughout London? Nothing scared her. Ever. Life was too short to be worrying about what others thought and what might be hiding around the corner. Their father’s sudden death many years ago had taught her that.
Chin lifted, she scanned the contents of the letter. Her breath caught in her throat. She grew cognizant of her siblings’ gazes upon her.
“No.” The word slipped out of her mouth.
“Well, what is your task?” asked Minerva. “Is it truly awful?”
Angel examined the letter again before meeting her sister’s worried gaze. She swallowed. “I…I have to get a job.”
Chapter Two
“Roo Roo!” A grimy, wrinkled hand thrust up from behind a bush, like a monster propelling up from the depths.
Reuben winced at the nickname and the realization the grime-encrusted hand was that of his aunt’s. Her beaming face followed the hand as she stood and revealed herself from behind the bush. Dirt streaked her fragile face, sinking deep into the folds of her skin. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun and rolled her gaze up and down his person.
“You grow bigger and more handsome every time I see you.” Aunt Jean smeared her hands down a generous gown of green silk. Her fischu and the cap covering her hair were askew.
Reuben forced a smile. “I stopped growing a long time ago, Aunt.” At the age of twenty-seven, he suspected he’d been fully grown for some time, but his aunt was slowly shrinking with age so it was no surprise she thought him bigger, even if it had only been a week since his last visit.
Hands outstretched, she beckoned him to her. He placed his palms in hers, her boney fingers like slender blocks of ice cocooned in his. He frowned to himself. Why none of her staff could keep her indoors, he did not know. The sooner she had someone looking after her, the better. At her age, and with her fragility, she should be inside in the warmth, even if it was a temperate day.
He glanced around the substantial gardens of Kinden House, eyeing between the long lines of sizeable yew trees that were carefully trimmed into tall cylinders. Beyond them, the wildflower meadow was just visible, and when he twisted back, he could view the walled garden in front of the house. His aunt had several gardeners on hand to help with the maintenance of her lands, which begged the question, why was she digging around in the dirt?
“Where is Mr. Higgins?” he asked.
“Oh, trimming the trees I believe.” She waved a hand in the direction of the yew trees, and Reuben fin
ally spotted a ladder leaning up against one, but no sign of the head gardener.
“And what are you doing, Aunt?”
She motioned down to the disturbed dirt at her feet. “Helping, of course. You know, I have one of the biggest gardens in the county,” she confided as though he had never stepped foot in the gardens let alone enjoyed them to their fullest when he’d been a boy. “My gardeners need all the help they can get.”
“Do you not trust us, Mrs. Stone?” teased Mr. Higgins as he approached from behind her. He wiped his hands on a cloth that hung from his belt. “Your aunt has been…helping in the gardens for several hours now, Mr. Hunter. I think it’s high time she took a break.”
Reuben met the man’s gaze and nodded in understanding. Aunt Jean had been growing increasingly scattered over the past year, causing quite a bit of trouble for her servants and gardeners. They all tolerated it with good humor, but Reuben feared it would not be long before she put herself in true danger with her absent-mindedness.
Broad shouldered with thick, red hair that was slowly fading, Mr. Higgins had worked for his aunt for over a decade and would happily tolerate whatever behavior his aunt exhibited, but none of them were paid to be nursemaids nor had the experience of handling an elderly lady with the stubbornness of a mule.
“I have a hankering for a cup of tea,” Reuben addressed his aunt. “I think Mr. Higgins can finish up here, can you not?”
The gardener nodded vigorously, sending a grateful look his way. Reuben glanced down. Whatever Aunt Jean thought she was doing, all she had managed to do was dig a large pile of dirt out from around the tree—and it looked as though she had been using her hands as he saw no sign of gardening tools.
He sighed. His aunt was a clever woman with all the health and vigor of a woman half her age, but her mind was not always there. He loathed to see the impact age was taking on her.
“Very well.” Aunt Jean looped her arm through Reuben’s offered one. “Mrs. Brooks has made some lovely lavender biscuits. We grow our own lavender here, did you know?”
“Indeed,” Reuben murmured as he led her to the house. Regret tugged at his gut. It seemed she could not recall the days when he’d picked that same lavender and proudly brought bunches to his aunt to be displayed in one of her antique vases.
There Are Plenty More Dukes in the Sea (The Inheritance Clause Book 1) Page 1