by Sahara Kelly
How did one describe a moment like this, when one realised how very much one was loved? Because that, Gwyneth knew, was what had put this particular expression on her face. For the first time in her life she was completely, absolutely loved.
Tears stung at the thought; four incredible men had found something in her to love. Five, if one counted Royce, and she would like to. Very much.
Was pride there? Could she see the confidence that her newfound knowledge gave her? A stronger tilt to her chin, perhaps. Or just a wider smile.
These men, and their unstinting affections towards her, had changed her from the woman who planned on shutting her heart away forever, to a woman who openly adored all of them. With her body and her heart.
She trusted—something that was foreign to her. She found solace and security, also unusual.
All these things had made a difference in how she felt about herself, her abilities, her strength and her position here as Lady of Wolfbridge.
How easy it was to do good when such examples surrounded her every day and every night.
And now, for a change, every morning.
What a lovely Christmas surprise—two fine men in her bed.
Jeremy had come in, bearing the usual tea and hot water. The humour between them was good-natured and quite masculine as he chided them for lingering and bid them remove themselves and their hard cocks so that she could attend to her morning toilette. Darcy had accompanied him and frisked around the bare feet, yapping and making little mock attacks on wiggling toes.
She chuckled and noticed with interest that Jeremy’s comment was accurate. It seemed that gentlemen awoke with quite respectable arousals. As he pulled the curtains aside, they were revealed in all their appealing and rigid glory.
But Jeremy was firm about their leaving and said so in blunt terms. They obeyed, laughing and teasing him back. It wasn’t until she actually moved that her body let her know of more than a few sore muscles.
Groaning, she slithered to the floor, grabbed her robe and prepared for the day. Sipping her tea, she looked out the window to see fresh snow had fallen overnight as predicted. Thankful they weren’t planning on any outdoor activities, she began her day with laughter, tea and the affectionate licks and kisses from her pup.
“Where did you spend the night, little one?” She rubbed his ears, sending him into a blissful frenzy. “With Royce, I expect. You like the strong ones, don’t you?”
She paused at that thought and finished her tea. Were Royce and Harry strong? Darcy certainly preferred their company, so perhaps they were, although nobody would call the others weaklings in any sense of the word.
It was an interesting notion that kept her mind preoccupied as she prepared for the hours to come.
Christmas Day. She smiled at Darcy. “We are going to have a lovely time, my sweetling.”
He yapped his agreement, letting his little pink tongue dangle over his chin.
“And yes, I’m sure Evan will have a special dinner for all of us, including you.” She tied her slippers and picked up her warm shawl. “Are you ready to go and see everyone?”
His answering bark was quite clear, followed as it was by a trot to the door.
“Very well then.”
With a smile on her face and warmth in her heart, not to mention a few sore places on the rest of her, the Lady of Wolfbridge and her dog cheerfully departed her chamber for breakfast.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It had been a surprisingly busy day, all things considered. Royce leaned back in his chair as they finished their Christmas meal, and admitted he’d not had a better one that he could recall.
He lifted his glass. “Here’s a toast,” he said. “To Evan, and a Christmas dinner we shall all remember with the greatest degree of pleasure.”
“Hear hear.”
Everyone else’s voice joined in the endorsement and five glasses were raised, making Evan blush with embarrassment.
“I…”
“Don’t even try, Evan,” laughed Jeremy. “You’ve outdone yourself. Just let us say thank you for it.”
“Well I was only going to say…”
“Stop. You always feed us wonderful food. Just sit there and smile, and nod your acknowledgement,” Gabriel ordered sternly.
“No really…”
“We mean it, lad,” grinned Harry.”
“Oh for God’s sake…” Evan sputtered. “I was merely going to point out that you all had a hand in today’s meal. Between keeping the stove hot, popping this and that in the oven, mixing, arranging and basting, not a single one of you didn’t help. So…” He raised his own wine. “I salute you all. Now shut up and finish the pudding.” He nodded firmly. “Then you may all go to the kitchen and clean up.”
The laugh that greeted that statement rocked the room.
No sooner had it died down than everyone stilled at the sound of a knocking on the front door.
“Who the blazes…” Jeremy rose. “Let me see who it is.”
Royce frowned, unable to imagine who might be out of their homes on Christmas Day. A look of puzzlement on the other faces let him know he was not alone in that thought.
Jeremy returned, bearing letters. “I’m shocked, I have to say, but that was young Tom, Thomas Matthew’s oldest lad.”
Royce recognised the name as one of their tenants.
“They all spent the day with relatives in Little Maddington, and apparently these letters were awaiting delivery so they picked them up and Tom just brought them on their way home. They had the cart outside.”
“That’s a surprise,” said Gwyneth. “Personal mail on Christmas Day.”
“We should have given them a plate of something…” Evan blinked.
“We can take some over tomorrow, perhaps,” Gabriel glanced at him.
“Good idea,” Gwyneth approved. “We’ve more than enough mince pies. And if I eat any more, I’ll be having to buy new gowns.” She patted her stomach.
“Important letters?” Harry shot a quick look at Royce.
“I’m not sure. One from Giles…probably wishing us a happy Christmas…” he broke the seal and read. “Or perhaps not.”
The others looked at him.
Royce scanned the letter, then re-read it, aware of the audience, but doing his best to focus on the subject matter, which was complicated. There were several pages and he read them all. Twice.
Then he looked up. “This is…well, it’s lengthy and complex.”
Gwyneth shot him a sharp look. “I suggest we clear away, while Royce takes those letters to the parlour and absorbs the content?” She glanced at the others. “That way he can explain it to us when we join him.” Her gaze returned to his face, and her expression spoke volumes.
“Yes, my Lady. I can assure you I will indeed tell you everything.” He stood. “I think I need to get a couple of books from my study first. So forgive me if I don’t help…”
Jeremy waved his hand. “Go along. We’ll take care of it.”
“The fire’s built up in there. I put logs on earlier.” Gabriel stood as well. “So give it a bit of a stoke up, and we’ll be with you in a bit.”
Royce nodded. “Thank you.”
As he left the room, he heard the chatter begin. The voices of friends, lovers, people who respected each other, joked together, helped and stood with each other in times of need. He’d been a soldier, a leader of men, and many other things in his lifetime. Nothing had prepared him for the strange emotions he’d begun to experience since arriving at Wolfbridge. It occurred to him that he was finally where he had wanted to be all his life, but never realised it.
At home.
Heading for his study, he was amused to find he had a small, fluffy escort. He stopped and looked down. “Well, lad. Walking with me today, are you then?”
Darcy merely cocked his head sideways, looked at Royce and then sat, as if waiting for him to continue on to wherever he was going.
Sighing, Royce turned to his office. “Al
l right then. Come along. We’ve a couple of books to find.”
Together, man and dog turned into the room and after lighting a few candles, Royce carried one to the bookshelves and began perusing the titles.
Darcy made himself comfortable in the middle of the carpet and waited patiently.
“Damn. I know it’s here somewhere…” Royce ran his fingertip across the spines. “Here.” He tugged a thick volume free. “This is it.” He glanced at the dog. “Want to carry it for me?”
Darcy yawned.
“I thought so. All right, sprout. We have what we need. Let me just get a few sheets of paper. Someone will want to make notes, I’ll wager.”
As he collected the paper from his desk, he looked once again at the letter from Giles. “This is going to be a complicated problem, Darcy. And damned if I know how we’re going to handle it.”
As if he understood the emotion behind the words, the little dog gave a tiny whine and stood up, walking over to Royce and putting a paw on his shoe.
“Thank you,” chuckled Royce. “Your comfort is most welcome.”
He leaned over, gathered the dog up into his free arm, and—glancing around to make sure he was alone—dropped a quick kiss onto the pup’s silky head. “Don’t ever tell anyone I did that.”
Darcy’s tail wagged furiously and he snuggled close into Royce’s jacket, content to stay that way as the candles were blown out and the two of them headed for the parlour with the book, the papers and the letter.
The room was empty, which saved Royce the embarrassment of trying to explain why he was carrying a small fuzzy creature who was perfectly capable of walking on his own four legs. He put Darcy down on his favourite spot by the hearth and stoked up the fire.
It was going to be a long evening.
*~~*~~*
“All right then. Are we ready to dig into this letter from Giles?”
Gwyneth nodded at Royce’s question. “I believe so. It sounds serious?”
“It could be,” he answered. “It also poses more questions than it gives answers, but let me give you the gist of it and we’ll start there.”
He picked up the letter. “To deal with one matter first, Jeremy you’ll be glad to know that Orloff the banker, has fled the country after been accused of cheating at cards.”
Jeremy caught his breath. “So it’s unlikely that he was involved in Susanna’s death?’
“That seems to be the case,” nodded Royce. “Otherwise Giles would have said so, and the man’s departure happened in late spring, according to him.”
“That’s a relief,” murmured Evan. “One less villain to concern ourselves with.”
Royce agreed. “So to continue to the meat of the letter, Giles has done an extraordinary amount of research for us, since I told him of the information we’d discovered in the Bible. Having names and dates so clearly identified gave him the opportunity to delve thoroughly into the history of Wolfbridge and its residents.” He glanced at the Bible they’d found, now resting on the mantelpiece above the fire. “Let me give you the basics of what he lays out for us. A lot of it seems to be very similar to what we already know, and our assumptions. So it certainly is satisfying to have them verified. Here it is, then.” He took a breath and began to read.
“In 1560, Lord Nicholas Pinebridge, Bishop, is recorded as the owner of note of a parcel of land to be called Pinebridge Mere.
In 1562, there is a confirmed mention of Wilhelmina Crane being involved with Lord Nicholas, and although married in 1565, the child she bore, Jonathan, bears a marked resemblance to the Bishop, instead of his papa, Colin Markeley.”
Gwyneth took a breath. “As we guessed?”
“We were right,” muttered Gabriel. “Nice to have that confirmed. Gossip has its uses.”
“Well, not formally confirmed, but yes, I agree.” Royce nodded.
He continued.
“Jonathan Markeley weds and has a male child in 1590, named Alfred Markeley. And in 1601, when the Bishop passes on, Pineridge Mere is bequeathed to the Mortmain management of Jonathan Markeley and his heirs.”
“It’s all there, then? Everything we assumed?” Jeremy glanced at Royce.
“It seems so, yes.” He frowned. “And this is truly the crux of the matter. That Mortmain was assigned in 1601 to the Markeley name and heirs.”
“So the family bible has that essentially correct, then.” Gwyneth rose and went to the mantel, picking up the old book with care. She returned to her seat and opened it to the first few pages, running her finger down until she found what she was looking for. “Here. So does Giles verify that Alfred Markeley married Henrietta Trowbridge and has a son named Douglas?”
“Yes,” answered Royce.
“And Douglas’s wife has twins? Michael and Montgomery? Er…in 1663?”
“Yes again.”
“All right.” She smiled. “This is lovely, having all these facts verified. It’s starting to feel as if we know the family, doesn’t it?”
“Possibly,” said Gabriel. “But I’ll reserve judgement on how lovely it is until we know everything.”
“Wise,” said Harry, crossing his leg over his knee. “One never knows if there’s rot lurking in the wood of the family tree.”
“Be that as it may,” Royce cleared his throat, shooting a look around the room.
“Sorry. Carry on.” Gabriel grinned.
“What we didn’t know is that Michael, who did indeed marry Letitia Parr, was a gambler. And a pretty bad one by the sound of it.”
“Ah.” Jeremy looked up. “He’s the one surviving twin. I do remember that.”
“Correct.” Royce nodded again. “And it would appear that instinct was passed to his son Nicholas, who had a gambling habit that was notorious throughout Society at that time. This was barely a hundred years ago, so Giles says there are plenty of documents ascertaining to his wins and losses. The latter were, according to him, considerable,”
“Interesting” said Evan. “Some things never change, do they?”
“There will always be those eager to lose their money on a bet, no matter the nature of the wager,” said Gwyneth. “That is to be expected. But he must have lost quite a lot…?” She looked at Royce.
“Enough to need to sell off part of his property, yes. That’s how Jerald Wolfbridge ended up with the land we’re living on. And Fivetrees became Fivetrees.”
“Which brings us up to date.” Harry frowned. “You’ve confirmed much of what we already know, Royce…what information is there in that letter that is new?”
“This.” Royce picked up a page of the letter. “Giles has established that the Mortmain is still in effect.”
Silence fell while everyone digested this piece of information.
“Um…” Gwyneth blinked.
“But…” Gabriel frowned.
“What does that mean, exactly?” Harry managed to find the words to ask the question trembling on everyone’s lips.
“It means,” said Royce slowly, “that Fivetrees and Wolfbridge are still essentially the same piece of land.”
“So…” Gwyneth struggled. “Do we own it? Do the Withersbys own it?” She sighed. “This does not make sense…”
“I agree,” sighed Jeremy. “My head is going to ache before we’re done with this, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” agreed Gabriel. “But before you start taking powders for it, let’s get to the end. I sense there’s some more?” He shot Royce an inquiring look.
“And you’d be correct,” Royce approved. “This Mortmain business certainly casts doubt on the ownership of Wolfbridge land. But it also casts doubt on Fivetrees as well, since Nicholas Markeley sold Fivetrees in his later years to somebody named Ffolkes. Apparently they didn’t do much with it and the Fairhursts were able to pick it up for a low price. They spruced it up and got it into shape and then the late unlamented Amery Fairhurst moved in. Which brings us pretty much up to date.”
“I still don’t understand. And I’ve got Jeremy
’s headache.” Gwyneth chuckled as she touched her forehead.
“I have my book of legal terms here,” said Royce. “And I need a few moments to check on something. But what it looks like to me, is that Nicholas Markeley should never have been allowed to split the original Pinebridge Mere property into Fivetrees and Wolfbridge. Those sales were illegal, since the Mortmain order remained in effect at that time.”
“And you want to find out if it still remains in effect today?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
Everybody took a few moments to digest that thought, and Royce bent over his book, turning pages, reading, and turning some more.
“I have a question.” Gwyneth tilted her head to one side. “Did Nicholas Markeley, the gambling son of the gambling papa, leave any heirs?”
Heads turned to her, as the implications sank in.
‘That, my sweet lady, is the biggest question of all.” Royce sighed. “And it remains unanswered at this point in time.”
“Damn,” muttered Harry. “That could turn everything into a terrible mess.”
“Well,” Royce lifted his head and closed the book. “I cannot find much about Mortmains when they last as long as this one has. I’m afraid that issue will have to go to wiser heads than mine. Giles assures me he is working on the matter, so I’ll trust him to let us know as soon as he learns anything of import.”
“If anyone can find out what we need to know, it’s him,” Jeremy endorsed the sentiment.
“The bad news…and I’m sorry, but there is some…” Royce squared his shoulders. “Is that we’re not the only ones who have discovered this situation.”
Gwyneth frowned. “Who on earth else could possibly be interested enough to dig around in two centuries worth of land titles?” She sucked in a gasp as the answer to her question popped directly into her mind. “Gylbart.”
Royce nodded. “Giles tells me that once he was informed his bid for Fivetrees had been refused, he apparently initiated inquiries as to the legal ownership of the land. I have no idea why, but he’s probably that sort of person. Someone who hates to be told no. It came as quite a surprise to Giles to learn that Gylbart and his legal associates have already presented a case on one of the court dockets as to the matter of reversing the Mortmain. That would, in effect, put both Wolfbridge and Fivetrees on very perilous ground.”