His Unexpected Heiress (Entangled Inheritance Book 2)

by Sally Britton

  As he walked by Adam, who still stood in the center of the carpet with hands clenched into fists, he hesitated. “I am to see Miss Chapple tomorrow. I will inform you of when she intends to take ownership of your late great-uncle’s estate. Good day.”

  No one moved until they heard the door shut behind them.

  Georgiana, despite her delicate condition, propelled herself out of the sofa with great force and went straight for the will. “That horrid old man! What does he mean, leaving me such a pittance?”

  The rest of the family started for the desk, too. Except for Phillipa, who came to stand at Adam’s side. He could not bring himself to examine the document, for the last of his hopes for a good life to dry up and wither away.

  “Why do you think Uncle Gillensford would do that to you?” she asked quietly.

  Adam looked down at his sister, younger than him by several years. It was most likely she had been the only member of their family to show their great-uncle any kindness in his last years of life. Despite being surrounded by selfish snobs, Phillipa had grown into a compassionate person.

  “I cannot understand it,” he answered her at last. The cruelty of taking what Adam wanted, what he hoped would be his, and bestowing it upon a complete stranger had not been enough. For some reason, his uncle had to torture Adam still more by forcing him to act as some sort of steward for the woman inheriting everything.

  Richard turned away from the desk in disgust. “I will have my solicitor go over it at once. This is ridiculous, every bit of it.” He shot Adam a glare. “You will have your deserved share, brother, if you join me in contesting this will.”

  There were cases when a will might be over-turned. It happened often enough that Adam could hang what remained of his hopes on that promise. But what if his brother failed? Then, according to the will, Adam would be left with nothing at all. Nothing but his pittance of an allowance from his father’s estate and, one day, his mother’s portion.

  Adam considered his brother’s offer, measuring the determination in Richard’s eyes against the solicitor who had left without a backward glance. Strangely enough, he would bet on the mustached man before he would his own brother.

  “Do as you wish, Montecliff.” They had never been close. Richard was too full of himself, and too much a fool for Adam to accord him much respect or interest. “I intend to have my uncle’s investments at my command in a year’s time.”

  Richard huffed, his nose wrinkling, before pushing past Adam to get out the door. His wife hurried after him, her too-large eyes wide and the rouge upon her cheeks standing out rather terribly.

  Georgiana waddled, rather like a goose, back to the couch. “Mr. Stalwart will be so disappointed.” She stroked her growing middle. She never called her husband anything other than his formal name, which made the man wince when they were together. It was rare, indeed, to see the two of them in the same room for more than a few minutes.

  The whole family was rather awful, come to think of it. Excepting Phillipa. Adam could not lump her in with the rest of them.

  “Adam,” his mother said, drawing his attention out of his wandering thoughts. He met her cold blue stare.

  “Yes, Mother?” The role of dutiful son was not one he played particularly well, but he was proficient enough that she took advantage of him when she could.

  The dowager countess took him in carefully, as though measuring his abilities. “You are going to meet this little seamstress and you will do everything in your power to keep her from collecting the estate. Doubtless she is some feeble, old creature Peter took pity on. Give her reason to doubt her place. Pretend to help, if you must, but if Richard can prove she is unsuitable in the position he may have a greater chance of wresting the estate from her in court.” She sniffed and raised a handkerchief to pat ineffectually at her nose. “Will you do that, Adam?”

  Another risk to his possible inheritance, but it sounded more plausible. Could he pretend to help this woman while in reality he sabotaged her efforts?

  Phillipa, standing near him, put her hand on his arm in a steadying manner. She would not approve, of course. But then, she was due to inherit a large sum in addition to her substantial dowry.

  “I will manage things well enough, Mother.”

  She gave him a brief nod before calling for her little dog, then she left the room.

  “Adam, you wouldn’t,” Phillipa whispered, though there was really no one left to hear. Georgiana was still pouting upon the couch and everyone else had gone. “The woman obviously meant something special to Uncle, and who knows what sort of circumstances she is from? You are a good man, Adam. Please, do not do what Mother wants.”

  “I have promised nothing, really,” he said, not quite meeting Phillipa’s gaze. “I will decide my course after meeting the seamstress.” He could not help but speak the last word with some derision. Uncle Gillensford had chosen someone in trade, and a woman, to inherit everything Adam had dreamed of? A pointless, foolish gesture. Then he meant for Adam to assist her in running the whole of the estate? The old man had a severely mangled sense of humor. It did not at all match Adam’s memory of him.

  Releasing his arm, Phillipa raised her hands in a helpless gesture. She spoke in an almost pleading manner. “Be kind, Adam. As you used to be.” He said nothing. Philippa withdrew from the room, casting him one last hopeful glance before passing through the doorway.

  Whoever Miss Elaine Chapple might be, Adam had every intention of doing what was best. For him.

  Chapter 3

  The carriage ride from Ipswich to Orford took much longer than Elaine would have liked, mostly due to the way her stomach kept attempting to throw itself out of her body by way of her throat. The only way to keep the anxious stomach where it belonged was by keeping her eyes on the sights out the window and prattling to the people inside the carriage with her.

  William did not speak very much, though he looked out the same window as Elaine. He had put on a brave face, she well knew, to be an example for Nancy. Perhaps he meant to comfort Elaine as well. Nancy viewed the whole removal process as something of an adventure.

  Elaine pointed out the window. “I cannot believe how much the land changes from one point to another. We have not yet gone the full twenty miles to our new home, yet I already sense a difference in the air.” Elaine took a deep breath to emphasize her point. “Look at those long grasses, swaying like the sea. Our fields are not so busy moving about in Ipswich.”

  “We didn’t get to see much of the fields,” Nancy said, stretching to look out her window. “We were always in town. Do they even have a town here?” The tabby cat in the basket beside her mewled when she bent over it, protesting his ill treatment once again. The cat had made absolutely no secret of his strong dislike for the basket. It had taken quite a bit of William’s ingenuity to get the rascal inside in the first place.

  “Orford,” William reminded her, somewhat sulkily.

  “It isn’t as fun to say as Ipswich.” Nancy sighed and drew her legs up onto the carriage seat.

  “Perhaps not, but it is our new home. We must be nearly there,” Elaine assured them when she checked the watch pinned to the lapel of her travelling coat. “Mr. Timmons said we would arrive at two o’clock.” Timmons was the coachman, and in her employment. How strange to have someone working for her. She still struggled to understand how her life had changed so dramatically.

  Mr. Tuttle-Kirk had entered her shop, mustache bristling with excitement, and she had addressed him as she would any customer. When he declared himself a solicitor, and her solicitor at that, she had thought he must be addled.

  Then he had handed her a yellow-painted wooden button.

  Even at that moment, days later with her shop closed up and her belongings all packed in trunks, the little button was tucked into the reticule on her wrist. She hardly dared be without it. The button was the only evidence she had to prove to herself that she had ever come in contact with Mr. Peter Gillensford.

  The c
arriage turned into a lane lined with beech trees, their silvery-gray bark putting her in mind of armored knights guarding the passage. Born in London, Elaine had little experience with rural living before she went to school. The boarding school her father had chosen for her was in Chelmsford, in an old house near the rambling lanes and meadows of the countryside. After that experience, and taking walks in the countryside whenever she could get away, rolling hills and ancient trees had grown dear to her.

  The house came into their view, and Nancy exclaimed, “Is it a castle? Oh, it looks like a castle.”

  “It isn’t a castle,” William replied, glaring out the window from the corner of his eye. “It’s a big house is all.”

  Elaine, for her part, realized her mouth was hanging open and quickly snapped it shut. Big was not the right word for it. The house was enormous. Palatial might be the precise description. The main part of the house was three floors tall, and there were wings on either side coming to the road. The entry to the manor had a small courtyard before it, with elegant flower beds and topiary cut into odd shapes.

  A rising sense of panic crawled upward from Elaine’s chest. She took hold of it as firmly as possible, even going so far as to lay one palm across her collarbone. Mr. Tuttle-Kirk had told her she was wealthy. Had said she need never fear poverty again in her life. But still. A house of a fourth the size of the one she saw out the window would have been more than enough.

  She had thought Mr. Gillensford a poor elderly man, perhaps a cast-off servant. But it appeared he had enough funds to rival a peer. What had he been thinking, leaving such a house to her?

  I am the poor daughter of a tailor. A complete fraud. Everyone who met her would surely see she did not belong in such a place. It was so large and grand, and she suddenly knew herself to be quite small.

  “I cannot believe it is ours,” Nancy whispered, reverently stroking the window as though she could pet the house as she would a kitten.

  The quiet words brought Elaine out of her self-centered worries. The road ahead might be a difficult one, as fraught with bumps and mud as the physical road they had traveled that day. But she would traverse it, would face any number of hardships, for the children under her care.

  The carriage slowed to a stop before the gravel walk, and Nancy cooed one more time. “Did you see the roses?”

  The door opened and the groom, a boy named Freddie, stood aside. A footman appeared, and Elaine took his hand. She saw all the servants now, assembled as though they had been standing and waiting all day when she knew they were not there when they first looked out the window. She tried to count them, but had to stop at twenty when one of the matronly looking women came forward.

  She wore a sensible brown dress, a white cap, and a thankfully welcoming smile. “Miss Chapple, I am Mrs. Mayworth, the housekeeper here at Tertium Park. I hope your journey was pleasant.”

  It had been, until she glimpsed the home given into her care. Elaine put on her bravest smile, trying to recall her lessons on decorum. “It was a lovely day for travel, to be certain. Thank you, Mrs. Mayworth.” She turned and held a hand out to Nancy and William. They had both exited the carriage and now stood, still as statues, behind her. “These are my—” They were no longer assistants or apprentices. What was that word she had decided upon? “—wards. William Thackery and Nancy McComb.”

  Mrs. Mayworth did not even blink at the oddity of a single woman caring for two children. Instead she smiled and lightly curtsied to both. “A pleasure, Master Thackery, Miss McComb. We have prepared the nursery in the east wing for your arrival.”

  They said nothing, and Nancy moved to take Elaine’s hand.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Mayworth.” Elaine kept her smile upon her face, though it did not feel at all natural.

  “May I introduce you to the staff, Miss Chapple?” the matron asked, elegantly gesturing to the rows of people behind her. “We are all assembled, excepting the stable master and grooms.”

  “Yes, I should like to meet everyone.” Elaine bit her tongue before she could say more, or else she was liable to admit it would take her time to learn each of their names and positions. Did real gentlewomen know every member of their staff?

  She walked down the row, meeting first the butler, Mr. Graham, and then a whole slew of people she tried her best to commit to memory. With customers, it was easier. When women requested a particular cut or gown, she assigned their style to their names. It was something of a game to remember that Mrs. Mawberry preferred raspberry colored gowns, and Miss Smallwood insisted only tiny buttons be used upon her riding habit. But here, the maids all wore the same uniform. Truthfully, their uniform was nearly identical to her own navy blue, serviceable gown packed away in her trunk. When she put it on, she would look like a maid rather than the mistress.

  “I was informed you did not travel with a lady’s maid,” Mrs. Mayworth said, unaware of the swirl of names and faces Elaine was struggling to make sense of. “I have assigned one of our maids, Polly Benton, to serve until you find someone to do the job.”

  A chipper looking woman perhaps a handful of years Elaine’s junior curtsied, a single blonde curl escaping from her cap. In other circumstances, Elaine might have wished to be the maid’s friend. As mistress of the house, she doubted that would be a good idea.

  She met the ground staff, a group of gardeners and tree trimmers in brown and green clothing, and she complimented the head gardener on the fine prospect of the house. The old gentleman puffed up like a peacock and thanked her.

  “Have you any fav’rite flowers, Miss Chapple?” he asked. “Anythin’ at all you are especially partial to?”

  “Roses,” she said at once. There had never been enough of them in the village, or in London, for her liking. When they were available, they were too expensive to purchase on a seamstress’s income. “Which you have in abundance.” She gestured to the bushes lining the walk, neatly trimmed, with tight pink buds on each of them.

  He smiled as though she had paid him another compliment and stepped back in the line.

  William shifted from foot to foot, clutching Tabby’s basket. Nancy still held Elaine’s hand. She gave the children a patient smile, hoping they could last a few minutes more under the curious eyes of the servants.

  Thankfully, Mrs. Mayworth announced they had met everyone, and she excused the servants to go about their duties. Only the butler and footmen went through the front doors. Everyone else disappeared along the sides of the house. There must have been doors all about the place to ease the servants’ duties.

  Mrs. Mayworth led the way inside, immediately launching into a history of the estate. “This house was built in 1756, by the Darlton family. Back then, it was known as Darlton Place. Mr. Gillensford purchased it in 1779 and renamed it. There are eight-hundred acres of land surrounding the estate. Of course, it borders on the property which belongs to the Earl of Montecliff. Mr. Gillensford, as you may know, was the third son of the sixth Earl of Montecliff. The current earl is the eighth to hold that title.”

  Nancy tugged on Elaine’s hand while Mrs. Mayworth’s back was turned, and Elaine bent down hastily to determine what the child needed. “Can we play?” Nancy whispered.

  “Not yet, dear.” She gave the girl’s hand a squeeze.

  William huffed and put his basket down. She did not blame him. Tabby was a large cat, and likely squirming dreadfully in the basket.

  “You can see here, in this painting, Mr. and Mrs. Peter Gillensford when they were first wed.” Mrs. Mayworth was pointing to a large portrait to the side of a set of double doors. “Mr. Gillensford had their portrait moved here after his wife passed away. He said he always wanted her here to welcome him home.” The reverence with which Mrs. Mayworth spoke of her late employer spoke a great deal of what she thought of him.

  Walking closer to the portrait, Elaine admired the young couple. The gentleman looked happy, even if his chin was tilted at a somewhat proud angle. She recognized his stunning blue eyes at once. The woman at
his side, a petite brunette, appeared most serene. And her gown was beautiful, a bright and sunny yellow—

  Elaine covered her mouth with her free hand, her reticule dangling from that wrist. The button she had given Mr. Gillensford was the exact color of his wife’s gown in the portrait. What a strange coincidence. It certainly explained his warm reaction to the token she had presented him months ago in her tiny little drawing room.

  “The gown,” she said when Mrs. Mayworth raised her eyebrows. “It is breathtaking.”

  “It is, indeed. It is still in the house, too. Mr. Gillensford ordered that it be preserved, so it is well cared for.” The housekeeper at last walked further into the house, gesturing to a wide staircase. “Would you like to see the nursery, Miss Chapple?”

  Nancy’s little hand squeezed Elaine’s fiercely, clearly communicating her desire.

  “That would be lovely, thank you.” Elaine started to follow the housekeeper when Nancy looked back, perhaps to check that William followed.

  The sudden screech from the normally sweet-tempered little girl made Elaine jump and the housekeeper spin around.

  “Catch Tabby! Catch him, catch him!” Nancy yanked her hand out of Elaine’s and ran for the front door.

  The cat, somehow free from his basket and sitting primly in the middle of the checkered entry floor, reacted to the girl’s shouts by leaping two feet in the air and yowling. William appeared with basket in hand, running at the animal.

  “Shut the door!” he shouted, but who he expected to obey him was unclear. A startled footman started to move in the direction of the open doorway.

  Elaine ran forward, hands outstretched, but though she opened her mouth nothing came out. The scene worsened when Tabby shot away from Nancy and streaked like a bolt of lightning toward the stairs. The butler appeared there, from where Elaine could not be sure, and he bent down as if expecting the cat to run into his arms.