“That sounds complicated,” his father said, scowling. “You managed to get away unscathed, I gather?”
“Barely. We were searching for her father’s will. He told her he left her well provided for, but the solicitor did not have a copy. We suspect the old lady was hiding it, but I wrote to Waverley to ask him to investigate at Murphy’s home in London.”
“Gracious heavens. I was not expecting any of this. What will become of Miss Murphy, then? None of this will have done her reputation any good.”
“I plan on marrying her in truth. I cannot convince her I am not a worthy gentleman.”
“Because you are my natural son, or because you feel you cannot support her?” his father asked bluntly.
“Both, of course. She is a proper lady of the highest character. She deserves far more than I can give her.” Tobin spoke into his glass as he swirled the amber liquid.
“I think you sell yourself short, son. She approves of you?”
“She seems to, but is it because she has no one else and feels all alone?” Tobin shrugged. It was such a strange conversation to be having with a man he hardly knew. “I was hoping you might help me arrange it, sir. The sooner we are married in truth, the safer she will be.”
“Of course. I will see what I can do. There are other things of which you should know.”
Why was Tobin afraid he was not going to like what he heard?
“It may change nothing, but you deserve to know the truth.” His father took a drink and looked away outside, through the window. Tobin waited.
“I was married to your mother when you were conceived.”
“Dia ár sábháil!” Tobin found he was gripping the edge of his seat. “Why have I never heard this?”
Wrexford sighed heavily and set down his glass. “Because my father had the marriage annulled. I do not blame you for being angry. I will try to explain. Your mother and I met when we were young and had nothing more to consider than being in love. She was raised by her uncle, who was the priest at Wrexford. I was home from Oxford. It was the perfect summer—one of my fondest memories. My parents were away most of the time and did not see what was happening. Clara and I married and you were conceived.”
“Needless to say, my father was furious when he discovered what had happened. He petitioned for an annulment on the basis of us marrying under-age without his consent and in the Catholic Church. It was granted and he sent Clara away with a generous pension. Her uncle found someone willing to take her, but I did not learn of your existence until you were five. Clara forbade me to see you.”
As ucht Dé!
“My father forced me to marry as soon as the annulment was granted, and William was born about a year later. His mother died a few weeks after he was born. I was not a good father to him. In truth, I resented him and now he is gone.”
Tobin had no words.
“Are you able to forgive me, son? I should have fought harder to be in your life, but Clara said it made things more difficult for you both. Nonetheless, she did allow me to send you to school.”
Tobin saw the anguish on his father’s face and saw no point in holding on to a lifetime of hate whether what he said was true or not.
“Aye, I forgive you.”
“Then, hopefully, you will not mind that I petitioned the Crown to reinstate my marriage to Clara so you can be named the rightful heir.”
Bridget finished her bath and dressed for dinner, but Tobin had not returned, so she went on down to the drawing room. He was not there either.
She heard the men talking farther down the hall and moved towards the voices to join them. As she approached the door to the study, she heard Lord Wrexford telling Tobin his parents’ marriage had been legitimate and he was petitioning the Crown to have him claimed as his rightful heir.
Bridget was going to be sick. She clutched her stomach as the reality of what was happening sank in. The tables were turning in the opposite direction and quickly. She did not know what to do. If Tobin’s circumstances were truly changed, then he would need a wife of his own station. The gap between them would be far wider, if he were to be an earl, than it had been before. If only she knew about her father’s will! It would hurt to let Tobin go, because she cared deeply for him. She knew he cared for her as a friend—he had said so—but it would not be enough. In a daze, Bridget began walking back up the stairs to her room. This was a hard blow, indeed. Now she better understood Tobin’s hesitancy to marry her before.
Tears threatened, but she was too upset to fully cry—something she had done very little of since Waterloo. Yet what could she do? Despair did not begin to describe her feelings at the moment. She had lost not only her father and brother, but apparently she would have to fight her crazed family for what was her rightful inheritance.
She heard Tobin returning, so she looked in the glass. A positive fright, with red eyes and blotchy cheeks, looked back at her. Quickly she ran to the basin and began to splash her face with water. Would Tobin tell her? If he did, she could be nothing but happy for him. After the life he had led, he deserved every bit of this good fortune. Was she strong enough to do what was right?
When Tobin entered, he looked as glum as she felt. Was he not happy with the news he had heard? He threw himself into a chair.
Bridget frowned. “Whatever is the matter, Tobin?”
“Everything. I do not know where to begin,” he replied with his familiar scowl.
“You were speaking with your father. What did he say?” She hoped she sounded calm.
“That he is going to try to have me instated as his heir.”
Bridget tried to look surprised and waited for him to explain.
“He was legally married to my mother, but the old Earl was able to have it annulled because they were under-age and my mam was Catholic.”
“Gracious,” Bridget said, trying to control her emotions. “How do you feel about it all?”
“I cannot say. It made sense when Wrexford explained it, but I still cannot fathom such a thing. Very likely nothing will change.”
“You will certainly still be you,” she said kindly, “though if you become the heir to an earldom you will need to look higher than me for a wife.”
Tobin growled. “Now who is being ridiculous? I do not know that I rightly want all of this, though Wrexford did say he had already signed over one of his properties to me. He says it produces a nice income if managed well. Do you have a fancy for being a farmer’s wife?”
“I fancy being your wife no matter what you are, Tobin.” That much was true.
He reached forward and took her hands. “I do not deserve you, lass.”
“How did your father react when you told him we were not married?”
“He did not bat an eye, and said he would see to the arrangements.”
Bridget nodded. A few minutes ago, that would have been a relief to hear. “I wish we would hear back from Waverley. Then we would know how to proceed.”
“We will hear soon. At least we do not have to await our fate at Dungarvan. Speaking of which, my father would like to host a small gathering. Would you mind?”
“I have no objections as long as Lord and Lady Dungarvan are not on the guest list.” She gave a wry laugh.
“I still think it is strange that she invited Wrexford to your father’s funeral.”
“I can only think she thought to strengthen ties with him by inviting him to see his son. Whatever the case, I am grateful she brought you and he back together. You might never have known the truth.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” He shook his head in obvious dismay.
“You had best dress for dinner,” she said, rising from the sofa. “Everything will turn out, Tobin. Even if you are not made the heir, you have lost nothing.”
“Like hen’s teeth.”
“What was that?” She looked at him oddly.
“I said I have gained me a wife and a house.”
“Of course you did.”
When they came down
stairs to the drawing room, Bridget expected a quiet evening getting to know Lord Wrexford, but there was a messenger at the door.
Wrexford took the letter from the butler.
“It is for you.” He handed Tobin the letter.
“It is from Waverley,” Tobin said as he opened the seal.
Bridget struggled to keep from snatching the letter from his hands. She felt her heart speed up and her palms grow damp with nervousness. So much was riding on the will.
“Please say it is good news,” Bridget said while Tobin was still reading. She could not bear it any longer.
Tobin shook his head, but finished reading before he looked up. “I am afraid not, lass.”
“What is wrong?” Bridget asked quietly.
“It is about your inheritance,” Tobin said. “Waverley said there was no will to be found in the London house, but took the liberty of consulting his man of business. He will petition for your father’s possessions to be turned over to you as next of kin. However, your dowry is gone. That account was emptied some time ago.”
Bridget could not prevent soft whimper of despair from escaping. “By whom?”
“He says the only name on the register was Murphy, so if your cousin stole it, it is virtually impossible to prosecute. I am sorry.”
“Then it is fortunate my son and you are to wed. He will be able to care for you properly with or without a dowry,” Wrexford chimed in.
Bridget did not feel fortunate at this unexpected turn of events, and was surprised at Wrexford’s willingness to consider their marriage.
A second note was attached to the first for Lord Wrexford, and Tobin handed it to him before coming over to take Bridget’s hand.
“I am sorry, lass. I know you were counting on that dowry, but we will find a way.”
Bridget forced a smile and then noticed Lord Wrexford appeared to want to tell them something.
“Is it bad news, sir?”
“I do not know, but Waverley says they have requested Tobin’s certificate of birth and that we should come to London before the appeal goes before Parliament.”
“Why would it matter?” Bridget asked.
“So I can be paraded like a goose before Christmas to see if I am an adequate specimen,” Tobin snarled.
“Something like that, I am afraid. Parliament can amend the letters patent or the courtesy title could be made a peerage in truth with a writ of summons. Otherwise, the title goes into abeyance upon my death.”
“All dependent upon the marriage to my mother being reinstated,” Tobin clarified.
“Yes. It would be hard to deny you as rightful heir with a valid marriage,” he said. “But first, we will hold our small gathering to celebrate your home-coming.”
Chapter 14
Something was not right with Bridget. Ever since the day before, she had been morose. It was understandable following the news that her dowry was long gone, but she had been different even before dinner. Was she not happy about the possibility he would inherit? Tobin could understand that. He was not sure how he felt about it himself.
When he went down to breakfast, he only found his father there, dressed for riding.
“Good morning, son,” his father said pleasantly as he looked up from his papers.
Tobin was not sure he would ever get used to hearing ‘son’. He used to long for his real father, so why was he so reluctant to embrace him now?
“Good morning,” Tobin replied, finding himself wanting to slip back into his Irish brogue though his father’s speech held no more than a slight lilt. They had tried to break them of that habit at school; Tobin remembered well the lashings he had had when he refused.
“I would like to take you out to ride around the property and visit a few of the tenants,” Wrexford said, as Tobin filled his own plate. Tobin had not been on a horse since the day after Waterloo. His wounds were healing, but they still pained him. He suspected a piece of shrapnel was, even at the moment, trying to rear its head from his thigh.
“I can try, sir, I have not ridden since receiving my injuries.”
“Oh,” he said. “I had not realized, although I do suppose the wound on your head is recent. Were there any others?”
“Four in total. I had some shrapnel lodged in my flesh from the blast,” Tobin explained. “The one on my head was the worst.”
“We can try and always turn back if needs be.” Wrexford was perfectly understanding. He was nothing at all as Tobin had imagined him to be. The memories from seeing him as a child were vague at best, and Tobin realized he had formed his impressions of him from his experiences with Kilmorgan.
“I imagine you think it is premature to teach you about the estate, but I visited London and pleaded my case soon after your brother died.”
Tobin felt his brows rise in surprise as he halted his forkful of kipper halfway to his open mouth.
“Wellington had already told me about you and your success, and I knew then that you would be capable to take over. Very likely you are more capable than Kilmorgan, who was raised to it.”
Tobin was silent for a moment and sipped at some coffee without tasting it before he spoke again.
“What does my mother think of this? If you have me declared legitimate, would that not reinstate your marriage?”
“I confess I have been too much of a coward to speak with her in person after she did not respond to my letter. In fact, I had hoped to have an answer from the Crown and seek you out to let you know after the deed was done. Is that dreadful of me? I know it is very selfish.”
“I think you should let Mam know,” Tobin answered quietly. He was not sure how he would have reacted with a fait acompli from his father had he found him on the Continent, but now he was soon to have a lady wife, and Tobin needed to be able to support her in the life she deserved. Like it or not, he would do it for her.
“I have kept track of Clara, of course. I know she was widowed some years ago and has a daughter.”
“My sister, Rachel.” Tobin nodded. She was married with two of her own children so far, so at least the stain of becoming illegitimate would not harm her greatly.
“I had thought to present Clara with a settlement for what she endured. I know my father paid her off and sent her money to support you, but I have no illusions that it was adequate to support her, even now.”
Tobin thought back to the small cottage he had been brought up in, compared to this grandiose mansion, and had no idea how his mam was supporting herself since her husband had died. He needed to find out. He had sent her money as often as he could since he had left home—Waverley had always been a gracious employer. Nevertheless, Tobin had not seen her in years and had it been enough to sustain her? Bridget was correct—he needed to remedy the fact that he had not seen his mam. He would like to take Bridget to meet his mother. Finishing his breakfast, he was a little excited about the thought and wanted to tell Bridget, but when he returned upstairs, she was not in her room and her maid thought she had gone for a walk.
Tobin frowned. There was no harm in that, of course, but why had she not even said good morning or left a note?
He decided to leave her a note so she would not think she had been abandoned. Bridget was used to being independent and she was also grieving. Tobin would not mind a little time alone himself, to think about all the changes that seemed to be happening without his control. It made him wonder how much control people really had over their own lives. They liked to think they did, but perhaps they were simply instruments of something greater and had little say at all. He could certainly believe that after witnessing Waterloo.
Tobin wrote a note for Bridget and changed into his riding gear. Rarely of late had he worn civilian clothing, and he realized how shabby his wardrobe had become. If it embarrassed Wrexford… well, it had been a reality for Tobin before.
Two large Irish grey hunters, some of Ireland’s finest were being held by grooms on the front drive. Tobin hoped he did not disgrace himself. He was able to mount wi
thout too much pain and followed his father on the tour of the estate.
From one end of the property to another, Tobin did not wonder at the notion that a good deal of Dublin or London could fit within the boundaries Wrexford owned. There were miles and miles of rolling hills before they reached the home farm and tenant farms. The hills were dotted with sheep on one side and cattle on another.
Even there being only a possibility that Tobin could inherit was more than he could fathom. He knew nothing about running an estate or a farm. How many people would be dependent on him? No one had ever really been dependent on him other than his fellow soldiers.
They rode through the village, which looked much like any other, but it was named for his father’s title. Thatched cottages with colourful walls were set one next to the other, the brilliant flowers of summer pouring out of their windows and crawling up the walls. Meanwhile, vegetable gardens filled the small spaces of land they had. A beautiful stone church with a steeple stood watch over the village, and small shops lined the High Street.
Wrexford waved to everybody and people waved back, not seemingly out of duty but out of genuine friendliness. Wrexford introduced Tobin to a few gentlefolk who stopped to talk to them, but he could scarcely take it all in. The village and its tenants seemed to be happy and well cared for. Tobin saw no signs of neglect, which again surprised him. Was his mother as well taken care of? The village he had been brought up in was not so far distant, but was not on Wrexford land as far as Tobin knew.
They passed by the vicarage on their way back to the house, and they were invited in for tea. Tobin did not know if he was ready to face that yet. Social niceties were, for the most part, beyond him. Thankfully, Wrexford declined but mentioned the gathering he was holding in his son’s honour.
Tobin looked at his father in surprise, who did not notice his son’s chagrin. They rode back a different way from that they had come, taking them along the dramatic cliffs which could be seen from the house. Even at the height of summer, the wind was a fierce force and Tobin could not imagine how the elements would feel in winter. He was beginning to tire and long for a rest on his lavish bed. He scoffed to himself at how quickly he was becoming used to luxury. Then, as they rounded a sharp curve along the path, Tobin spotted Bridget, sitting on a rock looking out over the sea.
An Officer, Not a Gentleman Page 13