by Sahara Kelly
“And you will need a couple of black or maybe grey dresses, my Lady,” he agreed. “Not for long, but we must all show respect for the country’s loss.”
“Yes, indeed. I will send a note to the dressmaker in Little Maddington.” She looked around the table, sadness creeping up. “I suppose this will curtail any Christmas revelries.”
“And you weren’t the only one hoping for that,” responded Gabriel softly, leaning to her and putting his hand over hers. “My Christmases have always been…well, let’s just say I can’t remember looking forward to one until now.”
She turned to him, understanding. “Then perhaps we should try to make ours as good as we can. I trust we will still be able to present our play, since it is taking shape so well.”
“Giles says Her Majesty passed away on the eighteenth…” Royce glanced at the note once more. “If we calculate a month of mourning as acceptable, which seems to be the norm, then I don’t see why we cannot celebrate Christmas in whatever way we choose.”
“There’ll be a week beforehand,” pointed out Evan. “Plenty of time to cook all those lovely dishes.”
“And if the weather holds, we can collect pine and holly for the house…” Gabriel’s eyes had lit up. “I’ll have the costumes finished, and the script will be complete by next week.”
“Well then, I concur.” Harry nodded decisively. “All those in favour of putting aside our mourning on December the eighteenth raise your hand and say aye.”
It was unanimous, and the mood around the table lightened considerably.
Royce turned to other letters while the conversation continued, but Gwyneth noticed he had opened the letter from Giles, and his face fell into a very serious expression.
“What is it, Royce?” She asked, as the others fell silent. “Is it bad news?”
“Not really. Giles and Ione are well and happy.”
“I sense a ‘but’ is about to follow that statement…” Jeremy leaned back in his chair.
“Well, Sir Alfred Gylbart’s offer to purchase Fivetrees was refused as we hoped. The Withersbys are well aware of his reputation, and even though they would like to dispose of the property, they will not sell to him.”
Harry frowned. ““That name is too damn familiar, and associated with some things that make my gut churn. He wants Fivetrees, I take it?”
“He does. He’s not going to have it.” Royce’s voice was firm. “I’m glad the Withersbys did the right thing and said no to his offer.”
“I’ll wager that did not make him happy,” muttered Gabriel.
“You’d win, lad.” Royce nodded. “What he will try next, I cannot guess, and neither can Giles. However…” he looked at them, “Giles has been told that someone—unidentified as yet—has begun to examine the possibility of a legal challenge to the ownership of Wolfbridge.”
The silence around the table was thick, and Gwyneth’s heart began to race. “How can that serve any purpose? Isn’t the entail unbreakable?”
“How does Giles know?”
“Has anyone been notified?”
Royce held up his hand as the questions flew rapidly at him. “I’m telling you all that is in this letter. Giles has little information at the moment, merely writing that a friend in a certain records office tipped him off about requests for various documents pertaining to the Wolfbridge situation. Giles, being Giles, immediately guessed that the only reason anyone would want them would be to explore the possibility of breaking them.”
“Fuck.” The oath slid from Harry’s lips on a breath, but since he had spoken aloud a succinct précis of what the rest of them were thinking, nobody rebuked him.
“Is there anything to be done about this?” Gwyneth looked at Royce, and then Harry. “Harry, you’ve had legal experience. What should we do?”
His eyes met hers, and she read worry in them, even though his voice remained level. “At this point, my Lady, we can do nothing. If there are papers concerning the entail, I would like to see them, of course, just to make sure the wording is as we’ve assumed. But other than that, our only recourse is to wait and see if anything comes of this.”
Gabriel blew air out between his lips. “I’m not very good at waiting.”
Gwyneth couldn’t help a chuckle. “None of us are what you might call patient people,” she smiled, “with the possible exception of Evan, who seems to have endless amounts of it.”
He shook his head. “Not in this instance, my Lady. I’m in Gabriel’s camp. I don’t like the sound of this, and waiting to see what falls on our heads is not what I’d choose to do.”
“All right, then. I will find the relevant papers and also write back to Giles asking him for whatever information he has on the legal matters.”
“You know, I wonder if it might help if we could trace Wolfbridge’s lineage, so to speak.” Gwyneth pursed her lips in thought. “If we could identify the owners prior to the original Wolfbridge purchase. Just to make sure that end is unassailable.”
“It would be interesting from a historical perspective as well, my Lady. An excellent idea.” Jeremy endorsed her suggestion. “Plus it would give us something to do over the next few weeks, since our national mourning will put a bit of a damper on things, won’t it?”
There was a murmur of agreement, followed by Evan rising from the table. “Well, just to show our respect for her departed Majesty, I think I’m going to bake a Queen cake.”
“And I’ll show even more respect by eating it.” Gabriel grinned as the mood lifted and laughter once again filled the room.
Chapter Seventeen
Royce went about the business of Wolfbridge as he did every day, but beneath the routine he admitted to himself he was worried.
Once lawyers got involved in matters such as entails, wills, inheritances and so on…well, in his opinion, Shakespeare said it best through the words of Dick the Butcher in the second part of Henry VI. His suggestion, ‘The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers’ still held true for many.
While it was unlikely that the original Wolfbridge entail could be overturned, since Giles believed the matter had involved someone quite high in the pecking order, perhaps even minor Royalty, the questions that could be raised would certainly jeopardise the current living arrangements, and might well bring the mud of scandal down on all of them.
For one woman to be openly residing in a manor with five unmarried men? Unthinkable. No chaperone, no maids, nothing to preserve anyone’s propriety.
Which was pretty much what Lady Aphrodite Wolfbridge intended, of course, but probably hadn’t included on her legal papers.
So one morning in the first week of December, he decided to postpone his usual activities, and begin a search for any documents connected to the Wolfbridge entail.
Logic dictated that such things would be kept in a secure place, most likely in the study, so he methodically worked his way through three of the large shelves, hoping to find something containing loose papers.
As he looked at the fourth in disgust, a tap on the door distracted his attention.
“Enter.”
Gwyneth peered in. “I thought I’d see how you were this morning. Did you want tea or anything?”
“No,” he shook his head. “But your company would be welcome for a bit, if you’ve time?”
“Of course.” She smiled and came all the way in. “I had expected to find you at your desk, but I see you are up and about…”
“I’m looking for papers, my Lady. Important papers about Wolfbridge. There have to be copies here somewhere, and although I could write to Giles about them, I’d as soon find them now, myself.” He stared at the shelf again. “This is the next one I have to explore.” He glanced at her. “Want to help?”
“Yes, indeed,” she gawked at the large number of books that filled the sturdy piece. “You think the papers might be inside a book, rather than in a box for safekeeping?”
“I have no idea,” he sighed. “But since I’ve not found any box
es other than those in the desk, it’s a place to start. Once I’ve cleared them, then I can look elsewhere.” He frowned. “Not that I’d know where…”
“Hmm.” She stared again at the bookshelf, then shot a quick glance at the desk. “You know, I just noticed that this doesn’t match the shelves.”
Royce blinked. “What?”
“Look. The moulding and the wood. They aren’t the same.”
“Gwyneth,” he said, staring at her. “If I’d wanted furniture evaluation I’d have asked for it.”
She chuckled. “Don’t be snippy. What I’m pointing out is that perhaps the desk you’re using was not the original desk in here. And if so…” She raised an eyebrow at him.
He blew out a huff. “There may be boxes in another desk somewhere else. Yes, of course.” He eyed her. “My apologies, my Lady. My impatience overcame me and I spoke rudely. Please forgive me.”
He could see her biting her lip against a laugh and rolled his eyes. “Go ahead. Enjoy the humour. I was wrong. Will that do?”
She nodded, managing to keep her amusement to a light giggle. “Very nicely. You are so seldom caught out, Royce. I should apologise to you for finding it quite entertaining when it happens.”
He sighed. “My Lady, you are…a rare baggage. And I’ll not apologise for that.” He neared her, caught her chin in one hand and smiled down into those rich brown eyes. “One day…”
“Yes, Royce. One day…”
Her expression changed as her gaze dropped to his lips and she licked her own, sending a thunderbolt of lust right down to his breeches.
“In the meantime,” he pulled away, “perhaps you might know where we could find another desk or two? I would imagine there to be more than a few in a house this size.”
“We need Gabriel,” she answered firmly. “He is much better at remembering details like this than I am.”
“Good idea. Jeremy as well. He must have been in every room here at Wolfbridge at one time or another.”
“Since there will be tea shortly, why do we not ask them both?”
“An excellent notion.” He held out his arm. “My Lady?”
She tipped her head in acknowledgement and rested her hand on his sleeve, allowing him to lead her from the study and down the corridor toward the parlour.
Fortunately everyone was there but Harry, who—Royce knew—was at the new school, overseeing the delivery of some wood they’d ordered.
In short order, Evan poured tea, Jeremy seated Gwyneth and Gabriel offered scones.
When Gwyneth told them of their dilemma, Jeremy and Gabriel looked at each other in unison.
“The second bedroom on the third floor,” said Jeremy with a nod.
“That’s the one, yes.” Gabriel endorsed the announcement. “It has the same decorative moulding as the bookshelves, but it’s smaller than yours, Royce. One would assume that at some point either Giles or his predecessors moved the small one out and the larger one in.”
“Well then.” Royce finished off a scone and downed his tea. “I’m off to find it.”
“Wait.” Gwyneth nearly choked on her scone. “Not without me, you’re not.”
“That settles it,” said Jeremy. “We’ll all go.”
Evan threw up his hands. “All right. The tea can wait.”
Thus all of them hurried from the room, following Royce upstairs to the third floor. Originally guests would have occupied the bedrooms, but now Gabriel had one, and Evan’s was at the end. The others were empty. Jeremy and Harry, along with Royce, had selected rooms on the floor below. All were comfortably sized and private.
Royce couldn’t actually recall being here before and said so. “It’s always a surprise to me how many rooms Wolfbridge actually has.”
“It does look quite snug from the outside, doesn’t it?” Jeremy spoke idly as he marched down the corridor to their destination. He flung open the door with a dramatic gesture. “Lady and gentlemen? The desk.”
And there it was, just as Gabriel had described it, a little dusty, but a lovely piece of furniture all the same. The moulding matched exactly, noted Royce, but it was quite a bit smaller than the spreading desk he used on a daily basis.
“Perhaps this was Lady Aphrodite’s,” mused Gwyneth, touching the lovely brass pulls. “It certainly suits a lady. So let’s see…”
She began opening drawers and within seconds gave a little gasp of surprise. “Look. Oh, look…” she pointed inside one of the larger bottom drawers. “Royce, would this be the sort of box you’re looking for?”
He came to her side and sighed in relief. “That’s it. Let’s take a look.” Reaching in, he lifted out a faded green box, the top of which flopped to one side, exposing many papers inside. He didn’t need to remove anything more than the first one.
“And we have it.” His words rang out. “Here it is. A cover letter detailing the contents and addressed to Lady Aphrodite.”
“Excellent,” grinned Gabriel. “We’ve found what we came for. That has to be a good omen.”
“And a first,” muttered Evan, sotto voce. “I probably won’t even have to make a fresh pot of tea.”
*~~*~~*
The box was filled with exactly what they’d anticipated; documents pertaining to the purchase and sequential entail of Wolfbridge Manor.
Lady Aphrodite had kept accurate records, and everything that Gwyneth looked at seemed to be signed and sealed in the appropriate places.
“Interesting reading,” commented Harry. He’d returned to find them all poring over the contents of the box, so he and Darcy had joined them. The pup was clearly tired, taking a moment to sniff his mistress’s shoes, then ignoring everyone and going to his favourite spot for a nap. Royce had passed over the documents, since Harry’s knowledge of such matters was greater than anyone else’s at the table.
“I don’t quite know how she did it,” continued Harry, “but this entail looks tight as a drum. She sets out the requirements clearly…a female family member in a situation of need. There’s a lineage document as well, more thorough than Debrett’s, and yes, there are plenty of women in the line of succession.”
She glanced at Harry. “Anyone familiar?”
“Not really. Although it details those who came after Lady Aphrodite, up to about forty years or so ago. That would be when the desk was moved I suppose, and I expect Giles has the more recent information.” He folded the papers. “I don’t see exactly how one might legally break this arrangement or render it inoperative.”
“Hmm. This could be something…”
Everyone’s head turned as Royce spoke slowly, his gaze fixed on two sheets of paper he had spread out before him on the table.
“What do you have there, Royce?” Gwyneth leaned forward.
“It is a bill of sale. For Wolfbridge, signed by Lord Jerald Wolfbridge, Aphrodite’s husband.”
“Goodness, that must be quite old.” Jeremy blinked.
“Yes,” Royce answered. “It is for the land. There is no mention of the manor itself, so I would guess that it wasn’t even built at that time.”
“Date?” Gabriel shot the question at Royce.
He squinted. “It’s faded. Wait.” He held it up to the light. “Looks like…yes, here it is. The nineteenth of March 1712.”
“Goodness.” Gwyneth blinked. “That’s over a century ago.” She left her seat to look over Royce’s shoulder. “It was purchased from…” She frowned. “Can you read that name?”
“Looks like Markeley.” Royce picked the paper up again. “Yes. Nicholas Markeley to Jerald Wolfbridge. Um…all the details about borders and so on. Parcel of land…” his voice tapered off as he read.
“Oh my.” Gwyneth knew her eyes had widened as she saw the words on the paper. “Royce…”
“Yes,” he said. “Harry should confirm this, but what I’m seeing here says that this sale was for land originally part of an estate known as Pinebridge Mere.”
Jeremy frowned. “Really?”
�
�It doesn’t exist anymore, of course,” said Gwyneth, still leaning over Royce. “According to this, Pinebridge Mere, the property of Nicholas Markeley was to be divided into two parcels. One sold to Lord Wolfbridge, thereupon to be known as the Wolfbridge estate, and the remainder to be retained by the Markeley family and to be henceforth known as…Fivetrees.”
“But…” Evan stared at the two of them.
“Doesn’t that mean…” Gabriel frowned in thought.
“Giles always said that he thought originally all the land was owned by one person.” Jeremy breathed the words. “He was right.”
*~~*~~*
Gwyneth was still wondering about the latest developments as she and Evan walked through the fields to visit Mrs Barnsley that afternoon.
The snow had melted from the lane, leaving great puddles of slush and mud, and she and Evan both had to leap carefully from one side to the other which made their progress slow, and their breaths condense in the cold air like puffs of smoke.
“We should have brought the gig,” muttered Evan, narrowly avoiding a large patch of slippery grass.
“If you didn’t cook such delicious meals we might have,” grunted Gwyneth, doing her own version of a rabbit hopping over puddles. “But I need the exercise.”
“Oh really?” Evan’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “We’ll have to keep you in good health, of course, but there has to be a better way to exercise than turning into a goat on a long walk.”
She laughed back, understanding his meaning, and knowing she was blushing a little as all sorts of images flashed through her mind.
However, when Mrs B welcomed her and commented on her flushed cheeks, she airily dismissed it as the effects of a brisk walk on a winter’s day.
Jane was there, with the baby, and the time passed happily as everyone chatted about various matters, gossiped a little and caught up with the local news.
“Is there any word on the sale of Fivetrees?” Jane asked, cradling a sleeping Clifford in her arms.
Gwyneth shook her head. “No, not yet. Nor have we heard about buying some of the land, but that is apparently of interest to the Withersbys. So I believe they have their people working on the details.”