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

by Sahara Kelly

The first miles passed relatively quickly. It had been sometime since Royce had ridden alone, and a part of him appreciated the silence, and the independence offered by this journey. He had time to think, time to organise some ideas and discard others, and time to catch his breath. For it felt like he lost that breath whenever he saw Gwyneth.

  Taking her, lying with her, inside her, around her? Well, it was certainly upsetting his usual equilibrium.

  He forced his mind away from visions of her beautiful body in the throes of her release, and concentrated instead on how best to protect her, and Wolfbridge, since the two were locked together in his thoughts, and on paper.

  It was the paper end that could be troublesome, he knew.

  So much of England was inexorably wrapped in ancient string. Wills, inheritances, deeds and domains, legal documents that had faded over the years and become a tangled skein of unimaginable proportions. There were heirs apparent, and heirs presumptive. Titles and entitlements.

  His mind swam with the overwhelming mixture of phrases and laws and beneficiaries, and he shook his head at the mess created over centuries when it came to passing along one’s possessions to the next generation.

  He understood the reasoning, of course. Such matters were the foundation of England, of the farms, the forests, the villages and the towns. It had taken millennia to arrive at its current condition and would most likely continue to grow and change.

  Reflecting on these topics brought his mind back around to Wolfbridge. They were all doing what they could to not only maintain, but improve the land. To increase the tenancy, preserve and protect the acreage, using it as effectively as possible, and overall taking care of it. Which was exactly what Royce presumed to be the goal of any good landlord.

  The school was an excellent investment in the future of Wolfbridge. There could be no argument there at all. Education was, in Royce’s mind, the basis for the coming decades and he had no problem when it came to educating the lower classes. A well-read farmer would still farm as well, if not better, than an illiterate one.

  It was considered radical by many, those who clung to the “old” ways, but civilisation moved onward and the world changed as it did so. Such considerations helped pass the time, and soon Royce found himself ready to stop at one of his favourite inns, change horses and perhaps have a little food. His mount would be cared for until he returned.

  And so the journey passed uneventfully, and at last he arrived at the hall of Giles’s London home.

  The man himself hurried down the stairs, a smile on his face.

  “Good Lord, this is a surprise.” He held out his hand and Royce shook it. “I hope this doesn’t presage dire news?”

  Royce chuckled. “No, not at all. But I felt I needed to be here so that we can take a close look at the current situation, without Evan trying to fatten me up or Lady Gwyneth distracting me.”

  “I understand.” Giles clapped him on the shoulder. “Come into the drawing room and tell me about Wolfbridge. I’ll have tea brought in, unless you’d like something stronger?”

  “A brandy wouldn’t go amiss,” sighed Royce. “My arse isn’t as young as it used to be. Too many hours in the saddle and I’m feeling it.”

  “It’s yours.”

  The two men settled themselves, chatting with the ease of old friends, relaxing in front of the fire. Royce gave a brief description of his journey, and Giles informed him that Ione was away on visits for a few days.

  “So your arrival is most timely. I needed company.” He put down his brandy glass. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

  Royce stared into the fire. “So many questions, Giles. So many avenues to pursue. I am bound and determined to protect Wolfbridge and Gwyneth.” He glanced at the older man. “Not just because such a responsibility comes with the position, but because both have trapped my honour and my heart. The land is excellent, the tenants all one could wish for, and Gwyneth…”

  “Yes.” Giles merely nodded.

  “So the threat posed by Gylbart is unsettling, to say the least.”

  Giles took a breath. “As I told you, his pursuit of the land using the Mortmain management as an excuse failed. I spoke with several clerks of the court, and a judge. All agreed that nobody would dare to touch such a matter without plenty of confirmed documentation.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t blame them. I was astonished to learn about the whole Mortmain business, to be honest. Since there is such a strong link to ecumenical holdings, it’s become something that most everyone in the legal profession shies away from.”

  “And I was most relieved to hear it,” Royce agreed. “But Gylbart is now trying something else, you said? And that I did not understand at all.”

  Giles looked sombre. “I learned about it recently. Some legal idiot suggested he might challenge the way Wolfbridge is entailed.”

  “Not Fivetrees?”

  “No. He cannot attack Fivetrees on this level, I believe. The way I see it is that he thinks by upsetting the disposition of Wolfbridge, he could then go to the courts and use that to re-open the Mortmain case.”

  “So by having the law rule that Aphrodite’s will is invalid…”

  “Yes.” Giles nodded. “He will have a much stronger case.”

  “But surely he can’t overturn that will.” Royce rose and paced the room. “It’s been in effect for several generations. It’s established and approved.”

  Giles leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I agree with your point of view. However, Gylbart has hit upon an argument that may well find supporters. A woman, many women, inheriting considerable land simply by virtue of their relationship to the Wolfbridge line. It’s abhorrent.”

  “I don’t see…”

  Giles held up a finger. “Wait. Think about this. That will is now how old…going on a hundred years or so? Times have changed. More women are living long enough to be the only legitimate heirs, especially if they are unwed. And there are plenty of estates where the oldest child is a girl. Where the only children are girls.”

  “I’m missing the point…” Royce leaned against the mantelpiece, frowning at Giles.

  “The point is that men are greedy. And easily threatened. I can name three gentlemen right at this moment, who might well have to fight for an inheritance simply because there is a woman in line for it before them, thanks to an eccentric will or no will at all.”

  “Urgh.” Royce groaned. “Now it makes sense. If Gylbart gets that case approved…those men, and probably others, have something to build on.” He followed the thought through. “So they’ll not hesitate to support his plea…and if they’re wealthy…”

  “Exactly.”

  “This is not good, Giles. Not good at all.”

  Both men were quiet for a few moments. Then Giles reached for his glass and finished his brandy. “Why don’t I show you to your room, you can rest up for a bit, and then we’ll dine. Nothing formal, of course, with Ione gone.”

  “Perfect.” Royce nodded. “And I thank you for your hospitality.” He paused. “Also, I’d like the chance to sound you out on an idea that has just occurred to me. It involves using the law, wills, documents…as much as possible, to our advantage. Not anyone else’s.”

  Giles seemed intrigued. “I shall look forward to it.”

  After settling his guest, Giles returned to his letters and picked up the one addressed to him in a simple flowing hand. It was from Gwyneth. He opened it, leaned back, and readied himself to discover what she had to say.

  “Dearest Giles,

  I hope this note finds you and Ione well and happy, and that London life suits both of you. Of course we miss you, but I cannot but say that Royce fits into the role you left quite admirably. However, there is one difference that I think I must disclose, since it is mostly my fault...”

  *~~*~~*

  Later that evening, when Giles and Royce were engaged in conversation over their brandy, back at Wolfbridge everyone was looking forward to dinner.

 
Evan had decided to create some pies in an effort to outshine Mrs B, and Gwyneth had spent an enjoyable afternoon up to her elbows in flour as she became a student in the art of pastry making.

  The others had, of course, found excuses to visit the kitchen and tease her, making Evan finally banish them all on the threat of having nothing for dinner if they didn’t leave the two of them alone.

  The result turned out to be several excellent pies, and Gwyneth considered herself quite proud of the knowledge her first attempts at pastry had come out so well. Evan earned a large and loving kiss for his excellence in teaching.

  “What do I get when I teach you how to make a roast of beef?” He raised one eyebrow wickedly.

  “Hush. I’ll think of something.” Gwyneth hugged him and left, knowing she had to change for dinner since she had picked up rather a large amount of flour on her person.

  They dined together, commenting on the pies, complimenting Gwyneth and teasing Evan that he might need to find another job.

  Gabriel shook his head. “You mean you’d be happy with Gwyneth in the kitchen all day?”

  “Uhh…” Jeremy paused. “Yes, that is a valid point. So let’s move on.” He waved his hands as the others laughed.

  “I cannot help but wonder how Royce is doing in London,” observed Gwyneth.

  “He’s with Giles. They are probably both doing extremely well and having a very intellectual conversation we mortals, being of a lesser species, would utterly fail to understand.” Harry grinned as he pondered taking a slice of the blackberry or the apple pie.

  “That, my friend, sounds exactly right.” Evan, being a man of great perspicacity, cut a slice of each and put them both on Harry’s plate.

  A few moments of comfortable silence fell as everyone set to, digging into the pies with eagerness.

  “You know, I find myself worrying about Fivetrees,” murmured Gwyneth. “It’s too valuable a building to let slide into ruin.”

  Jeremy shook his head and swallowed a mouthful. “It’s not the house, love. It’s the land. The house itself is certainly worth a few quid, but it can easily be re-modelled or re-designed. Or even demolished and re-built. It’s the land that is the key to that property.”

  “He’s right,” agreed Harry. “Land will always be the currency of the wealthy.”

  “Oh,” Gabriel gazed at him. “A definite bon mot. You should have that stitched into a sampler.”

  Gwyneth giggled at Harry’s horrified expression.

  “But there is a point here,” Gabriel continued, ignoring Harry. “It seems that the land will always be in a somewhat precarious position until the Mortmain business is either confirmed or dissolved.” He pursed his lips in thought. “So we must ask ourselves something. If we were documents pertaining to something as crucially important, where would we be?”

  “Clearly not in London, or Gylbart would have uncovered them already. I’ll wager he put many guineas in the hands of clerks to try to find anything to do with the matter.” Evan tossed his opinion out, and nodding as he received approving looks.

  “Good point.” Harry shot a forefinger at him. “So if not there, then where? The County seat? They must have some records…”

  “Another option, but I wouldn’t want to wager on that. County seats tend to vary in location. And a new monarch would certainly make changes—even from one family to another. Our Lord Lieutenant might not have had that title fifty years ago, and who knows who was in charge a hundred years ago, let alone when the Wolfbridge Mortmain was established.”

  “Perhaps some liturgical records,” volunteered Gwyneth. “We are talking about a religious-linked document. Mortmains were created to preserve church lands. Hence the ease with which our founding Bishop was able to have his land protected by one.” She pursed her lips. “But where that might be recorded? I have no idea.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Jeremy’s mouth turned down. “It doesn’t sound as if there could be anywhere else to look.”

  The ensuing silence was broken only by Darcy, snoring gently by the fire.

  Until Gwyneth took a breath. “There is one place. A logical place.” She looked around the table. “If we had a document vital to our survival, to the very existence of Wolfbridge, where would we put it?”

  “In our strongbox.” Gabriel stared at her. “The one behind the third portrait on the left after the middle door in the ballroom.”

  “Exactly.” She smiled. “That’s it, exactly.”

  “Er…I don’t believe we have the Mortmain papers in our strongbox, dear love.” Jeremy raised an eyebrow at her.

  “No, we don’t. But they might be in the Fivetrees strongbox…”

  This time even Darcy stopped snoring as the implications of that statement penetrated the minds of everyone at the table.

  “Does Fivetrees have one?” Evan blinked.

  “I should think so. Every large home has some sort of a strongbox. Especially if there is a lot of jewellery in the family.” She blinked back.

  “Not necessarily, but it’s certainly worth looking into…” Jeremy stared at the table, obviously lost in thought.

  “I agree.” Gabriel turned to Gwyneth. “We should go and see if we could fine one.”

  “Not tonight, lad,” chuckled Harry.

  Gabriel snorted. “I didn’t mean now. But perhaps tomorrow, if the weather holds.” He turned to Gwyneth. “What do you think, love? Are you up to a trip to Fivetrees? It will give you a chance to make sure the property is secure, and while we’re there, we can perhaps investigate a little and look for a safe?”

  Gwyneth thought about it. Royce wasn’t there to say yea or nay, so it was pretty much up to her, and she could see no obvious drawback.

  “All right. Yes. I think we should. Let’s go tomorrow.” She paused. “And if we find nothing, we can always send a note to Lady Judith Withersby. Perhaps she’ll recall mention of one when she lived here.”

  Gabriel cheered. “I’m excited. It will be an adventure. Perhaps I should bring a hammer so that we can tap on the panelling. I’ve heard that behind old panels is an excellent place to hide things…” He grinned at them all, making them laugh.

  “Just because we were lucky once, lad, doesn’t mean we’ll be lucky twice…” Harry leaned back from the table. “So don’t get your hopes too high.” He sighed and pushed his empty plate aside. “I’ll come too, but I’d better stay away from the pies or I won’t fit through Fivetrees’ front door.”

  “We should all go.” Jeremy stood. “The Wolfbridge contingent invades Fivetrees.” He raised his hand and called for a hip-hip-hurrah.

  Gwyneth rolled her eyes and laughed.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It was actually two days before Harry, Gabriel and Gwyneth tucked themselves into the gig and set off for Fivetrees. The weather had turned unpleasant enough to keep them by the fireside, but as soon as it cleared, they were on their way.

  Both Jeremy and Evan declared themselves content to stay behind since they’d really had their fill of the place, and Gwyneth could well understand their sentiments. What had seemed like a good idea over a wonderful meal now engendered some mixed emotions.

  Fivetrees wasn’t even her property, but it felt like a millstone around her neck. The proximity to Wolfbridge, the possibility of it actually being part of the Wolfbridge history, and the association with the Fairhurst family—all rendered it far from the usual neighbour.

  She tried not to fidget as her thoughts plagued her, but Gabriel, upon whose knees she sat, sensed her discomfort.

  “We’ll be there soon,” he soothed, hugging her and putting as much of his cloak around her as he could.

  She glanced down at him with a chuckle. “Thank you, Papa.”

  “You seem uncomfortable,” he answered, a worried look on his face.

  “I’m not, really. Just not sure we’re doing the right thing today.” She looked ahead to where the topmost chimneys were already starting to appear. “I cannot warm to t
he place. It seems…lost.”

  “A good description,” nodded Harry, his hands firm on the reins as he guided them over ruts and mud. “Many of the older houses have a certain feel to them. They’ve seen so much, it is as if the lives lived within have left impressions on the walls.”

  Gabriel quirked an eyebrow at him. “That, Harry, is quite fanciful for someone as practical as you…”

  “Probably. So don’t mention that I said it to anyone.”

  “I won’t.”

  Gwyneth rolled her eyes at the byplay, but it had distracted her from her concerns about the property they were about to visit. She stared out over the fields, bare now, with little to show for the last season. They’d been left untended, and she wondered if that would be a deterrent to anyone willing to make an offer on the land.

  “Sad fields too,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

  “Yes,” answered Harry. “Yes they are. But sometimes leaving them fallow for a few years isn’t always a bad thing.”

  “They’ll recover,” added Gabriel. “Life goes on.”

  “Not unlike us,” she mused. “We’ve recovered. All of us. And now our lives go on.”

  Gabriel blinked. “It must have been something in the tea. I’m surrounded by deep thoughts and profound statements.”

  Both Gwyneth and Harry chuckled at that comment and then held on as the horse turned the sharp bend into the Fivetrees driveway.

  The house loomed dark and unwelcoming, and Gwyneth shivered, not from the cold, but from the unappealing and empty building before them.

  “Oh dear.” It was a whisper.

  “Don’t worry, my love,” Gabriel dropped a light kiss on her cheek, his lips cool in the winter air. “We will not tarry long.”

  “No, we won’t.” Harry drove up to the entrance and leaped down, tying off the horse to the post by the front steps. “You have the key, Gwyneth?”

  She nodded and left Gabriel’s lap for Harry’s arms as he lifted her down. The steps were bare of snow as they walked to the front door, unlike their last visit.

  “I suppose we’ll just have to hope nobody has been here.” She glanced down at the stone expanse. “Not very comforting, I’ll admit.”