The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3)

by Rebecca Connolly

“The last will and testament of Sir Kentworth Jameson Edmund Howard-Dale of Rosennor Hall, Hampshire, England.” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk nodded to himself as though he were reading the document for corrections rather than for their benefit. “I, Sir Kentworth Jameson Edmund Howard-Dale of Rosennor Hall, Hampshire, England, do declare this to be my last will, and revoke any wills previously made. I direct my executors to pay any enforceable standing debts accrued and to make necessary arrangements for the burying of my body, as indicated in the enclosed document for such terms. I also direct my executors to pay any expenses incurred in the administration of my estate.”

  Larkin shifted in his seat restlessly, stopping when the sound of it became audible when no other sounds came from the room.

  Mr. Tuttle-Kirk glanced up, then returned his attention to the parchment. “I bequeath to my cousins Jocinda, Marvin, and Cressida, should they still be living, the china given from their mother to mine on the event of her marriage as well as the hutch it has been displayed in since that fateful day. They will find it remains in the same pristine conditions as it was received, having been cleansed on occasion. Also to these, my only living immediate kin, should they still be so at the time of this reading, I give the tapestry that hangs above the blue room, as it was won in a card game in my youth and taken from their own home. Thus ends the legacy I leave to them.”

  Larkin clamped down on his lips hard, every muscle in his body straining to keep him from looking over at the living dead at this news.

  Again, he heard the faintest giggle from the group to his right, but he equally refused to look there.

  Best to be safe in these matters.

  Someone to his left scoffed in outrage, though it had the distinct edge of wheezing to it, and then the three of the crypt rose and stormed out of the room. If the dead could storm. It was more if an awkward, creaking, hasty shuffle while they tottered as if near to falling to their death with the exertion.

  “And all that remains of King Arthur’s court have now departed to join the others in their place of rest…” Larkin murmured to no one in particular.

  A choked sound that could have been a laugh was heard from the other group in the room and this time Larkin allowed himself to look.

  She of the fairest beauty stared straight ahead, her expression composed in the utmost, though her throat seemed to tremble, and her mouth was pinched. Her eyes flicked to him for only a moment, then returned to Mr. Tuttle-Kirk with more intensity than he had seen in her before.

  Did Larkin make her uncomfortable? He didn’t usually have that effect on a woman, he wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea let alone with a woman so evidently attractive. He’d have to think on that, though he doubted they would have much interaction after today. If she was in this room with him, they would have to be relations in some way, and he’d never quite accepted the notion that marriage between cousins ought to be acceptable.

  But then he’d never found any of his cousins to be in any way attractive, so the point had been moot.

  “Now that we’ve cleared that up,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk said with a bit of a merry laugh that seemed out of character for him, “let us proceed with the bulk of the document, hmm?”

  Larkin nodded in lieu of barking for the older gentleman to get on with it. If Mr. Tuttle-Kirk was also an executor of the will, it might rest with him to make any addendums as he saw fit. He mustn’t give the man any reason to cut him off if there was something more valuable than china, a hutch, and a tapestry to be given him.

  And that was quite an almighty if.

  Mr. Tuttle-Kirk cleared his throat once more. “To the eldest living offspring of my father’s cousin Elinor Roth, nee Howard-Dale, more of a sister to him than any of his sisters by birth were, I bequeath the original estate of Rosennor Hall with the lands thereunto affixed.” The man raised his eyes and nodded at Larkin. “That would be you, Mr. Roth.”

  Larkin’s jaw dropped, unable to hear the frantic pounding of his heart as it thudded ominously against his ribs.

  Rosennor Hall. And its lands.

  All his.

  Belatedly, he felt his mother patting his hand in excitement, though it could have been a cold fish for all the vigor it brought to him.

  His lips pursed on a question, though what that question would be he hadn’t quite figured yet.

  But Mr. Tuttle-Kirk wasn’t finished yet.

  “And to the eldest living offspring of my mother’s sister Nell,” he continued, though he paused and indicated the young woman with a finger. “Which would be you, Miss Anson.”

  Miss Anson straightened with expectation, making Larkin smirk. What could she expect to receive when he had the estate and lands? Poor thing.

  “I bequeath all extensions to the original structure of Rosennor Hall, including all renovated rooms, wings, and additional buildings erected on the estate since the end of entail on the date of twenty-four March seventeen hundred eighty-two, as well as all lands added unto the estate after the aforementioned date.”

  Someone gasped in the room, and Larkin couldn’t be sure if it was Miss Anson, his mother, or himself.

  Perhaps it was all three.

  There followed an expanse of utter silence, and then several voices cried out in unison.

  “WHAT?”

  CHAPTER 3

  Sophia stared at the strange man and his stranger white facial hair without blinking for so long her eyes burned with it.

  She had inherited an estate. Well, part of an estate, at any rate, and land.

  But so had the handsome and snappish Mr. Roth.

  Who actually had Rosennor Hall?

  Mr. Arthur sat forward on his chair a bit. “Pardon me, Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, but would you… Would you kindly say that again?”

  “Or explain it better?” Mr. Roth added in a harsh growl.

  Sophia glanced over at him, her brow furrowing. Really, it wasn’t Mr. Tuttle-Kirk’s fault that things were so unclear, and if he would only give the man time, everything would be explained.

  No doubt Mr. Roth was only excessively irritable due to the sudden restriction of what he thought his due inheritance.

  Greed could certainly be found in the oddest places.

  “I can assure you, sirs,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk soothed, completely unaffected by the confusion and irritation of the rest, “that all is explained in the will. Sir Kentworth was remarkably thorough in the details of this matter.”

  “I should hope so,” Sophia murmured to herself. “The particulars seem to be the most important.”

  Mr. Roth snorted loudly, and Sophia glared at him.

  He met her glare without any hint of shame or remorse. “They do, indeed,” he drawled with more sarcasm than she thought a human being could infuse into so short a phrase.

  She would have spat at him, were she not forced into being ladylike at the moment. She could see the beauty of the disgusting action unfold in her mind, the spittle landing squarely in his face. It would be considered a handsome face by anyone who hadn’t interacted with him personally.

  Knowing him, even for as brief of a time as she had, she could honestly say the spittle would have improved him.

  “It is actually rather remarkably simple,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk continued with the same light laugh as before. “Extensive, but simple. It would seem a contradiction, but truly it is not.”

  “A contradiction in a will,” Mr. Roth grumbled with a shake of his head. “Wonderful.”

  Did the man never shut up? Sophia rolled her eyes and felt a growl rise up in her throat.

  Mrs. Arthur patted her knee very gently. “Steady, Sophia,” she murmured in stern though soft voice.

  “Rosennor Hall is a grand place,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk informed them, his mustache curving and stretching into a smile. “Built in the fourteenth century. The original stone wall is still in place in some areas. An entail was placed upon it in sixteen forty-two, and it endured an expansion project or two since its original construction. All of that, and the original lands, whic
h equates to around five hundred acres, goes to Mr. Roth. A very fortunate settlement, I should say, sir.”

  Mr. Roth nodded, smirking in such a superior manner that Sophia felt ill in his presence.

  Or perhaps that was just his nature at work.

  “Then what does Miss Anson have to her name?” Mr. Arthur asked with the gruffness Sophia had come to expect of him when he was not particularly pleased. “If Mr. Roth has the estate entailed to him…”

  “He does not, Mr. Arthur, if you’ll pardon the interruption,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk said, his tone rather jovial for such a business matter.

  Surely this was no time for amusement.

  “How’s that?” Mr. Roth demanded.

  Sophia glanced over and saw the man on the very edge of his seat as though he would literally spring up from it in outrage.

  She rolled her eyes and gave Mrs. Arthur a longsuffering look that earned her a faint smile from the older woman.

  “The entail I spoke of,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk continued in the same manner, “ended in seventeen eighty-two, as the will states earlier. Mr. Roth’s inheritance consists of that particular structure, that is, what was entailed as then. It is the classic version of Rosennor Hall, and there is an existing contingency that cannot be legally undone without extensive financial strains forbidding the breaking up of that original estate.”

  Sophia was almost dizzy with the confusion swirling around her, no matter how the kind but strange solicitor made it seem simple. She sensed she was not alone.

  “So…” Mr. Roth said slowly, and rather stupidly, “I have Rosennor Hall?”

  Mr. Tuttle-Kirk nodded. “Yes, sir. But also, no, sir.”

  Sophia barked a laugh entirely unsuitable for the occasion, and covered her mouth to stifle it. She saw Mr. Roth glare at her out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t spare him a full glance.

  “There were, during Sir Kentworth’s lifetime,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk told them, looking down at the document before him again, his tiny spectacles glinting in the light of the room, “a number of expansion projects and additions made to the original estate. None of those are considered part of that original estate, and Sir Kentworth was very clear about the distinction. The west wing, the ballroom, the stables, the greenhouses, two parlors, and, I believe, a very lovely breakfast room.” He looked directly at Sophia then, winking. “That all goes to you, Miss Anson. As well as the additional five hundred acres that were added to the estate shortly before the death of Sir Kentworth’s grandfather.”

  Land and part of an estate. A very strange part of the estate, it was true, but a legitimate claim, nonetheless.

  Sophia grinned without shame and felt Mrs. Arthur clutch her hand almost painfully tight. She returned the pressure.

  After a lifetime of instability and hardly a thing to her name but her own intelligence and nature, she had an inheritance that could give her a future worth something. She could rise above what she had thought her life capable of and become something more. She had no romantic notions, and hardly a notion of matrimony at all, but she was intelligent enough to know that, eventually, a good marriage would keep her secure in life.

  Now she had a chance of that.

  “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

  Sophia’s jaw dropped and she gaped openly at the troll in a weskit currently frowning at the very capable, wonderful, caring solicitor being so very good to them. “I can think of one or two more ridiculous things in this room,” Sophia snapped before she could stop herself.

  He whirled in his seat, his lip curled in a snarl.

  “There’s more,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk overrode, still somehow pleasant despite the building feud.

  “Oh good,” Mr. Roth grunted, his attention still unfortunately on Sophia, which seemed to make her both feverish and chilled. “More.”

  Sophia sniffed and turned to face the solicitor. “Please go on.”

  “Yes, by all means,” Roth sneered without taste or manners.

  Would it be too much to hope that the man also inherited all of the waste produced by the animals on the estate? It would suit him so perfectly; it would be a kindness.

  She would be happy to offer the waste from her part of the estate, and might make a gift of it as it was. She was rather kind in that regard, always thinking of others.

  “Mr. Roth, you have the original Rosennor estate,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk went on. “Miss Anson, you have the expansion and additions to Rosennor estate.”

  “This much we know,” Sophia murmured, her brow furrowing.

  Mr. Roth only scoffed, snorted, or snuffled to himself, the exact nature of the sound was unclear, but his disgust was evident.

  Very evident.

  Mr. Tuttle-Kirk smiled at them both. “Neither of you own the furnishings within the part of the estate that is your inheritance.”

  Sophia blinked once, twice, and when her third blink rendered nothing altered in the slightest, she coughed once.

  Still nothing.

  She found herself looking at He-Who-Irritated-All, and he stared right back at her. Neither of them had the same disdain they had been so actively nurturing the entire interview. Instead, she saw reflected in his expression the same bewilderment and blatant stupor she felt filling all of her mental capacity.

  Being united in anything with him was intolerable, and she screwed her face up with the pain of it, returning her attention to Mr. Tuttle-Kirk. “How… is that possible, sir? We own our respective parts of the estate, but nothing within the rooms we own?”

  “Aside from the bedchambers you will choose to stay in, that is correct.” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk nodded his confirmation, and removed his spectacles. “Provided you choose to stay at the estate at all. It is not contingent, especially given the further details of the estate itself.”

  “Further details?” Roth demanded. “What further details could there possibly be?”

  Again, Sophia felt the same way, but she refused to reveal that in her expression.

  It would be too much to agree.

  Mr. Tuttle-Kirk suddenly shuffled through some papers on the desk, sending quite a few scattering in various directions. “Let me see, let me see…”

  That was not in any way consoling. For all Sophia knew, the rest of her inheritance lay scattered on the floor among the papers there. Though what else she could have hoped to obtain from this unknown late relative was beyond imagining.

  A faint tapping sound was suddenly heard, and Sophia glanced over to see Mr. Roth tapping his foot and staking his knee so repeatedly it rather reminded her of a mangy dog she had seen in the country once. Perhaps he, too, was infested with fleas and doing his best to be rid of them.

  Despite his apparently clean and neat appearance, it would not have surprised her one iota.

  “Ah ha, yes,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk said with a little laugh that made absolutely no sense in any context. “Here it is, here it is. Marvelous.”

  “What’s so marvelous about this madness?” Mr. Roth muttered just loud enough to be audible.

  “Shh,” his mother scolded. “You may yet inherit a well, and the spirits within.”

  Sophia bit down on her lip hard as Mr. Roth rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like to have relations that were missing some part of their full mental capacity, but surely it was a trial. How did one avoid laughing at regular intervals in such company?

  Perhaps it was not amusing to him anymore.

  That sobered her creditably. A ridiculous mother was rather like an invalid mother, she reckoned, and there was nothing at all amusing in that.

  “The cattle that is to be found upon Mr. Roth’s inheritance belong to Miss Anson,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk announced as he compared the will to whatever paper he currently held. “And the sheep and goats upon Miss Anson’s land belongs to Mr. Roth.”

  He turned the paper to show them the map of the estate lands, not that any of it made the remotest bit of sense.

  Still, Sophia n
odded with all due deference.

  “And what’s this about her having the stables?” Mr. Roth demanded. “What need does she have for stables?”

  “The same as you have for sheep, I expect,” she retorted before anyone else could say anything. “But do feel free to wave as you pass the breakfast room in the mornings as you go to eat elsewhere.”

  “At least I have something remotely resembling a house,” came the rather loud rebuttal, considering the close quarters of the room. “Imagine only have one wing and a scant few rooms scattered here and there. Do enjoy leaping from square to square, Miss Pawn, and watch out for my castle.”

  Now Sophia did snarl and swing her legs around to the side of the chair to more fully face him. “I shall trample you with my cattle, sir, and bid you clean my stables with your own bare hands.”

  “I’m not entirely sure where your food will come from,” he shot back, matching her position and canting towards her in his chair. “I have the kitchen, after all. Perhaps you can kill your fatted calf and grow tomatoes in your greenhouses, hmm? Do enjoy.”

  Sophia’s jaw tightened and her chin lowered. “Listen, you pompous, preening, pathetic…”

  “Please, Mr. Roth, Miss Anson,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk urged in a sympathetic tone. “The conditions, if you please. I must finish.”

  Mr. Roth stared at Sophia as though the fight were just beginning, and he was eager to let it commence. He grinned with a vindictive light she had never seen in another human before, and it made her wary. “By all means,” Roth said as he waved a hand towards the solicitor. “Miss Anson was just getting to the best part; we must draw this out and see what happens next.”

  “I say, sir,” Mr. Arthur protested as he rose from his seat and squarely faced him, his moderate girth rising as he puffed his chest out, his hands forming fists at his sides. “Where are your manners? This young woman is beneficiary, same as you, and it is not at all gentlemanly to be so uncouth. She is a lady, and you will treat her as such.”

  Mr. Roth raised a brow. “You would have me believe she is well-bred as well as well-behaved? I see no evidence of that.”