The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  “Perhaps.” She pursed her lips as she considered the idea. “But how would we find out?”

  “I’m not sure,” he answered. “I think we should probably refer that question to Royce.”

  “Good idea,” she nodded. “And this is the best shortbread, Evan. I’m glad I get to enjoy it before the others arrive and clear the plate.”

  He laughed. “A huge compliment, both from you, my Lady…” he bowed, “and from everyone else.”

  Within moments, as if they had smelled the shortbread, Harry and Jeremy arrived, followed almost immediately by Gabriel. And, as had been predicted, the shortbread biscuits rapidly disappeared.

  “Best leave a couple for Royce,” said Harry, sighing with pleasure as he washed his biscuit down with tea.

  “A couple of what?” Royce walked in and immediately eyed the tea tray. “Shortbread. Evan, you must have read my mind.” He looked at the plate. “So kind of you all to leave me two.” He gazed around the room, eyebrow raised, lips curved in a cynical twist.

  “I have another plate downstairs.” Evan grinned at him. “One has to be prepared in this house.”

  “Good lad,” Royce clapped him on the shoulders. “I think I could eat everything on it right now.”

  Royce sat as Evan disappeared toward the kitchen, only to return moments later with more shortbread, which he made sure to put right next to Royce’s elbow.

  “Right then.” Harry wandered to what Gwyneth was coming to think of as the treasure table. “Where are we with these things?”

  “I may have found initials in the lace of the handkerchief,” she said. “A P and a W. Evan thinks he sees them as well.”

  “Interesting.” Royce looked on as the others took turns in scrutinising the delicate work.

  After a little while, they all agreed that Gwyneth was right in her guess and that those two letters definitely formed part of the design.

  “Well, at least we have found one fact,” she said. “Perhaps the scrolled letters will confirm it.”

  Although they were all eager to explore their newly discovered treasure, the decision was made to wait until the evening, since there were chores that needed to be completed.

  Gwyneth, more than ready to begin, hurried her gentlemen through their meal, her impatience obvious to them all.

  “Go ahead, dear Lady,” chuckled Evan. “We’ll clear while you get everything ready for us in the parlour.”

  She almost danced from the room, with a brilliant smile for each of them. “I will, thank you.”

  So it was that not long after that, she sat in front of the small table staring at the discoloured papers that held words written centuries ago.

  It was a tense moment for everyone; even Darcy sat quietly by the fire and watched her, his dark eyes on his mistress.

  Jeremy looked at the scrolls. “They might be fragile,” he commented. “I have some clean white gloves here somewhere, that I keep for handling the fine china and silver. Let me see…” He turned to a small bureau near the fireplace and began opening drawers.

  As he did so, Gwyneth asked Royce about his meeting and the conversation turned to Wolfbridge matters. She listened, happy that he sounded confident and pleased with the way the day had gone.

  Gabriel made them all laugh when he inquired if there was a possibility of harvesting mice for some sort of profit, because by God he and Jeremy had rounded up at least a hundred or so.

  “And the barn cat won’t need to eat for a week,” added Jeremy, returning with a pair of tin gloves. He handed them to Gwyneth. “Here, my Lady. Your touch will probably be the most delicate and we don’t want to damage anything…”

  Everyone drew their chairs around the table, as Gwyneth covered her hands.

  “All right, then. Here we go.”

  *~~*~~*

  Royce watched her face as she carefully untied the faded ribbon and lay it to one side, her expression intent, her hands steady.

  Jeremy had taken the other pieces and put them on the mantel to give her room, and she gently began to unfurl the rolled papers.

  “Can someone give me something to weigh down the top?” She kept her eyes on the sheets, one hand holding them flat.

  “Here.” Gabriel passed her a shell, smooth and white, that had stood with several others on the bookcase shelves.

  “Perfect,” she breathed.

  The room was silent but for the popping and crackling of the logs on the fire.

  “Well,” she muttered, gently removing the first piece of ancient paper. “Interesting.”

  “What is it?” Harry asked quietly.

  “A letter.” She paused. “I think they’re all letters. Or notes. This one is directed to My Beloved.” She squinted and leaned over. “Yes, that’s it. And it is signed…Ever Yours. No name, just the endearment.” She looked up. “Not much help…”

  “Love letters,” sighed Royce. “It makes sense. What would you want to save forever? Letters from someone you loved.”

  “Why Royce,” Gabriel’s eyes widened. “You’re a romantic.”

  The jest broke the tension as everyone laughed.

  “Let that be a lesson to you all.” He laughed back. “Never be too quick to judge a person’s character. They may have hidden depths.”

  Gwyneth nodded, amused, then returned to her task and separated more sheets as gently as possible. “All look to be in the same hand,” she commented. “And some are torn, or folded and faded.” She looked up. “I’d hazard a guess that someone read and re-read these words many, many times over.”

  “Very likely,” Harry mused. “The fact that they were rolled and stored where they were? Yes, I’d say they mattered a great deal to someone.”

  “Is there a signature or a name on any of them?” Evan asked.

  “Not that I can see at first glance.”

  “Probably not the Fairhursts,” Jeremy observed. “I would guess that these things have been in that wall for a long time. I mean a very long time.”

  Gwyneth continued her perusal of the letters. “There were visits. One is mentioned here that happened in the summer, it seems. Whoever wrote this says ‘thou has filled my heart with joy. To walk with thee under the stars hath been a journey to heaven’. They certainly wouldn’t do that in the winter.”

  “Are any of them dated?”

  Gabriel’s question had Gwyneth poring over the old-fashioned writing again. She shook her head. “I can’t make out anything that might be a date…” she paused. “Wait. Oh…here. There’s mention of something here. ‘How lucky we were to meet at the R. Ex. And how wondrous the day…’”

  She looked up. “Or words to that effect. The writing is quite old fashioned and not easy to read, so it could have been…an exhibition perhaps? I can’t think of any other.”

  “Hmm.” Jeremy’s eyebrows met as he frowned in concentration. “R. Ex. I have no idea what it might be. But the phrasing is old fashioned. I’d almost say perhaps in Queen Elizabeth’s reign or thereabouts. So…mid fifteen-hundreds, perhaps?”

  “Lord, that’s…going on three centuries, give or take fifty years…” Harry blinked.

  “Well, we’re closing in,” grinned Gwyneth. “We now know that P and W fell in love sometime in the middle of the sixteenth century.”

  “That narrows it down,” said Royce, his tone reeking of sarcasm.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” reproved Gabriel. “Every clue should lead us somewhere…”

  “But where, is the question.” Evan voiced everyone’s thoughts.

  “Debrett’s? Would that help?” Gwyneth looked at Royce.

  He shook his head. “If we could get some sort of name to work with, then yes, we might be able to find something, but with only initials and a rough date…”

  “Damn,” muttered Gwyneth. “This is annoying.”

  “Read the rest of the letters, my Lady,” said Harry. “There may yet be something useful.”

  Gwyneth looked around. “Gabriel, would you pull that litt
le table over here? I will lay out these papers as smoothly as possible, so that we can all look. I may be missing something in them.”

  Within a few moments, everyone had gathered to peruse the ancient notes and letters; candles burned bright and silence fell, broken only by the brush of limbs against chairs and the slight rustle of papers against the surface of the tables.

  “Oh,” Jeremy leaned in. “This might be a clue.” He carefully touched the letter. “In this one there’s some odd lines. And I’d guess it’s a woman’s hand, by the way. The letters are shaped very elegantly. She says, ‘our little pleasure groweth apace’,” he looked up, “I’m guessing at some of these words, of course, but then comes this— ‘thou wouldst have pride in what hath been created. C is content, his wish hath been fulfilled.’”

  “Let me see…” Gwyneth craned her neck and read the letter. “Yes, you’re right, Jeremy. Those are the words…and if we assume these letters were written by a woman, then we can deduce even more about these lovers, perhaps…”

  “It sounds to me as if they had a child.”

  Royce’s remark brought every head up as they stared at him, allowing his words to sink home.

  “By God, yes,” Harry nodded.

  “It does make sense,” said Gabriel.

  “An illegitimate one, d’you think?” Evan questioned.

  “Highly likely.” Royce looked at Gwyneth. “Would you agree?”

  She sighed. “I would. Definitely. So that’s one more piece of information we can add to our list.”

  “We have a list?” Gabriel asked.

  Gwyneth rolled her eyes. “I’m about to make one. Let me get some paper.” She rose and walked to the bureau, rummaging through it and completely missing the quick look exchanged by Gabriel, Jeremy and Evan.

  “Here we are.” She returned bearing several pristine sheets, a pen and ink. “Best move the letters. I don’t want to add any more blotches, since they are hard enough to read as it is.”

  “Time for me to set the kitchen to rights for the morning,” Evan stood and stretched. “You don’t need me for lists.”

  Jeremy rose as well. “I’ll give you a hand,” he offered. “It’s growing late, and it’s been a long day.”

  Gwyneth, immersed in her chore, merely nodded. “Thank you for the gloves, Jeremy. I want to finish this list before retiring.”

  Royce leaned back in his chair and glanced at Harry. “Fancy a game of chess before bed?”

  Harry smiled. “You know, that would be just the ticket.”

  He stood and followed Royce to the far side of the room where a chessboard and pieces were stored in a nicely carved box designed just for that purpose. Darcy waddled over and settled down by their feet, content that two of his favourite people were in the same spot.

  Gabriel put another log on the fire for them, patted the pup affectionately, and then walked to Gwyneth.

  “Don’t be too long, my Lady. You need your…rest.” His fingers delicately traced their way up the back of her neck.

  She shivered, understanding. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

  “Very well.” He gave her a slight bow and left the room.

  Her mind drifted to things other than the letters, and with a sigh she looked at the meagre list she had compiled. There had to be more. There had to be a clue or clues yet to be found.

  With that hopeful thought, she carefully re-folded and re-rolled the papers, but instead of tying them, she put them into a container built for such things. A box with inlaid flowers, something she’d seen earlier, ideal for storing valued mementoes.

  “There.” She stood. “I’m leaving these here.”

  Royce and Harry, already beginning their chess match, both nodded.

  “An excellent notion, my Lady,” approved Royce. “Sleep well.”

  “Goodnight, my Lady,” smiled Harry. “Sweet dreams.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  She had no idea what to expect as she walked to her room, but she knew that somehow it would involve Gabriel, and possibly others.

  Even as she approached, she could see a strip of bright light beneath her door, so someone, or several someones, were already there awaiting her.

  Gwyneth paused, struck by a sudden thought. Shouldn’t she be nervous, or shocked or distraught?

  Probably. But she wasn’t. How far down a different road she had travelled since arriving here at Wolfbridge.

  Instead of the shock or outrage society would have insisted she experience, she was simply excited, knowing that behind that door lay at least one man who would take her to the heights of pleasure this night. She loved that man, she knew, as she loved anyone else who might be in there.

  These feelings had grown quietly, nourished by affection, watered by the care and attention she received since she’d arrived, a little less than a year but more than a lifetime ago. She could not choose a favourite, she realised; her heart had expanded to include everyone. Why on earth had she previously thought that love had to be restricted to one man?

  She shook her head and turned the handle of the door.

  Inside, awaiting her arrival, was a steaming tub of water, placed strategically in front of the fire. Surrounding it were thick cloths, a bottle of something purple and three men, all in shirtsleeves, and all smiling at her.

  All she could do was smile back, as the warmth of the room embraced and seduced her.

  “Come, sweetheart.” Gabriel advanced on her, his hands outstretched. “It’s a cold night, and a warm bath is the best thing for it.” He drew her close as he spoke.

  “Let me, love,” Jeremy rounded her, his hands already on the buttons of her gown, loosening it.

  “The water is just right.” Evan grinned, swishing it around. “And here’s your favourite scent to go with it.” The purple bottle tilted to release lavender oil into the tub.

  A lump rose in Gwyneth’s throat, choking her for a moment. She fought it down. “Why do you do all this for me?”

  “Because we love you, darling.” Jeremy’s clever fingers slid both dress and chemise away from her, his touch lingering as he pushed everything from her shoulders down her arms and to the floor. She felt his lips on her back as he arose. “And you should know that by now. There is no other reason…” He nipped her neck.

  Evan stood up and came to her side, his hands still damp. “He’s right.” He touched her, hand on her hip, warm and sweet-smelling. “We love you, Gwyneth. How could we not?”

  Gabriel took his shirt off, then leaned his firm chest against her. “And we want you to love us too.”

  “Oh I do,” she turned her head to him and he kissed her, light, tender touches of his lips.

  “Then let us bathe you. Be our goddess as we worship you.” Jeremy grinned wickedly as he picked her up and stood her in the bath water.

  Gwyneth was fully aware she was no goddess. But watching as the three men divested themselves of shirts and breeches…well, there were some things that might come very close to heavenly, and she was looking at them.

  Then they were on her.

  Touching her, washing her with warm cloths, stroking soap along her limbs and doing what Jeremy had promised—worshipping her.

  Not an inch of her body was neglected. Gabriel pinned her hair high and brought soapy lather to her neck and shoulders, making her moan with pleasure. Another moan came from Jeremy’s detailed attention to her legs and feet, and when Evan began to wash her breasts, her moans turned to sighs and wordless murmurs.

  She was being aroused in all the ways that they could think of, and she wondered if she might just surrender and come right then and there.

  But apparently they had other ideas.

  Once her body had been thoroughly washed, Jeremy and Evan moved to either side of the tub and held up their hands.

  “Stand, if you would? We must make sure your back receives enough attention.” Evan’s hazel eyes glittered in the candlelight.

  Would she ever get over admiring how handsome her
gentlemen were? She thought not, not if there were going to be moments like this throughout her life. Naked, her skin glowing and still wet with bathwater, she stood there, feeling very much like the goddess she was supposed to be.

  Behind her, Gabriel was washing her back, the rivulets of water running over her bare skin softly down past her thighs. She was wet, she knew, not just from the bathwater, but from the arousal they were encouraging.

  She jumped a little at the feel of Gabriel’s cloth between her buttocks.

  “Easy, darling,” whispered Evan. “Tonight we want you in every way there is.”

  “Ohhh…” she murmured as a hand rubbed warm lather into her cleft. “Oh…”

  Her grip on Evan and Jeremy’s hands tightened on hers, as she felt Gabriel’s fingers slowly rubbing around her tight muscles.

  It wasn’t unpleasant, just unusual, and also surprisingly arousing.

  “Relax, Gwyneth,” Gabriel whispered. “Relax and enjoy this. You will like it, love, I promise.”

  She knew what he referred to and hoped he was right. Although she had experienced it once before, she was still hesitant, in spite of the information she had garnered recently from a book.

  Cytherian Tales had looked like a simple novel sitting in the library, and one afternoon it had appealed to her. The author, listed as Lady Corinth, could have been anyone at all. But the contents had proved that assumption to be entirely incorrect.

  The “novel” contained more than a few shorter stories, all purportedly written by women. Women who worked in areas not customarily mentioned in polite society. These whores, for so they were, had the luxury of choosing their clients in a very unusual brothel.

  The scenes were detailed, the actions clearly described, and nothing was held back. It had riveted Gwyneth from start to finish, even as she realised what an enormous help this book would be to women who were ignorant about the pleasures of intercourse, which described most of them prior to their marriage.

  It also depicted many sexual acts of which she was unaware. ‘The Night of Dark Delights’ had been a particularly edifying story, both arousing her curiosity and her desires, even while shocking her.