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

by Sahara Kelly

  “By God, it’s cold out there.” Evan walked to the fire.

  “And the sky is leaden,” observed Jeremy, following him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed by nightfall.”

  “Oh dear,” Gwyneth frowned. “Are we prepared?”

  Five faces looked at her.

  “Um…for what, dearest Lady?” Gabriel’s eyebrows rose.

  “Well, you know…wood for the fires, food…that sort of thing.” Flustered, she waved her hands, a little embarrassed at being the cynosure of all eyes.

  “Don’t worry at all, my Lady.” Jeremy turned his back on the fire and warmed his rear end. “We’ve been laying in plenty of wood, we have a pantry chock full of supplies and a couple of boys ready to earn themselves a few pennies should we need anything shovelled.”

  “And the horses?” Royce asked.

  “Ben is now in the stables permanently,” Harry answered. “I helped him settle, and he has pretty much everything he needs. Plus he has some friends who like to come over and give him a hand with the horses now and again. If it snows, they’ll all be stable bound, but he’s well supplied.”

  “I might take them over a few decks of cards,” chuckled Jeremy. “Just in case.”

  “Well then, I think I can put aside my concerns.” Gwyneth recovered her countenance. “You’ll have to excuse my worries. My last experiences with snow and cold were…let’s just say very unpleasant.”

  “None of us would ever let anything like that happen to you again, my Lady.” Evan spoke quietly. “We’d give our lives to prevent it.”

  “I know. And I’m so grateful to each and every one of you.” Words from the heart. “But now we should turn to more pleasant things. Gabriel. How is the design for the school coming along?”

  “Come and see.” He beckoned them to the table.

  She willingly crossed the room with the others to peer at the sketches he had made.

  “These are excellent,” said Royce, turning over papers. “Well done.”

  Gabriel blushed. “I really just thought about what I would have liked in a school when I was a boy.”

  Knowing his past, Gwyneth spoke quickly, lest someone ask a question related to Gabriel’s unfortunate childhood.

  “Is that slate?” She pointed to something he’d drawn on the largest wall.

  He nodded. “Yes. For several years now, the use of individual slates has been vanishing. So silly when one piece for the teacher will do quite nicely.”

  “An excellent idea,” said Jeremy, looking over Gwyneth’s shoulder. “Although I’m sure we’ll need at least a few slates for the children…”

  Their conversation became general, with everyone making further suggestions, praising Gabriel for his efforts and then considering if they themselves could participate.

  “Evan could certainly teach cooking,” observed Gwyneth.

  “The boys would love that,” Royce quipped.

  “I wouldn’t mind teaching a bit of reading,” offered Jeremy. “It would be nice to put my education to some use.”

  “Reading has to be one of the most important subjects,” nodded Gwyneth. “Although I hope we can find a permanent teacher.”

  They talked their way through the next couple of hours and finally sat again after Harry had thrown fresh logs on the fire.

  “It will work,” said Jeremy. “This school—it will work. It has to. We need more tenants who can read.” He turned to Royce. “It would be a help, yes?”

  “Absolutely yes,” sighed Royce. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  Gwyneth knew he was right, and as she retired to her room later that afternoon, she wondered if Jeremy’s prediction was viable. To introduce the somewhat daring notion of a school for the children of tenants…well, it was a bit radical. And if the parents weren’t in favour, then what hope was there for a school at all?

  Somehow, she felt that it was up to her to convince them how important a good education could be.

  If only she could work out how to do that.

  She was still thinking about it when she sat down for dinner and voiced her worries aloud over the table.

  Harry and Royce looked thoughtful, Jeremy frowned, silent as Evan ladled out bowls of fragrant soup and passed them along.

  “Christmas is approaching, you know,” remarked Gabriel, tasting the soup and sighing with pleasure.

  “Er…yes.” Gwyneth blinked at him.

  “Well, I was thinking that perhaps we could do something for the tenants that would show how useful reading could be?”

  “Such as?” Harry asked.

  “Um…” Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “You’ll probably think it a silly idea.”

  “Any idea would be good, Gabriel,” encouraged Royce. “Since we’ve none at the moment. Tell us what you’re thinking.”

  “How about performing a play?”

  His words seemed to catch everyone by surprise, including Gwyneth. She glanced around at the others, seeing their expressions of astonishment.

  Harry recovered first. “You know…when you think about it…”

  “I’m not sure how that relates to our needs,” Evan frowned into his soup. “Although it’s a lovely idea.”

  “Well that’s the thing, you see.” Gabriel leaned forward, his enthusiasm palpable. “We certainly couldn’t do a Shakespeare play, since that would be above the audience and probably do little more than bore them.” He grimaced. “They tend to bore me, to be honest.”

  “And I’d say we could eliminate most, if not all, of the classics.” Jeremy sighed. “There goes my education.”

  Gwyneth joined in the laughter.

  “I like the idea, though, Gabriel,” approved Royce. “But I also have doubts about how we would go about it.”

  “Oh that’s easy,” Gwyneth leaned back in her chair, her soup bowl empty. “We shall have to write our own.”

  *~~*~~*

  Royce found himself enormously amused by the way his fellows threw themselves into the idea of writing a play.

  After dinner, during their customary time in the small parlour with brandy, the discussion began in earnest.

  Jeremy’s enthusiasm didn’t surprise him. The man was happiest when having outright fun, and after what he’d been through, it was good to hear him laugh. Evan cheerfully encouraged him, a gentle persuasion that spoke volumes about the depth of their friendship.

  Gabriel eagerly suggested a variety of scenarios, and Royce could almost see the pictures he was obviously conjuring up in his mind.

  Even Harry contributed his share, coming up with several ideas which were completely impractical but quite ingenious.

  Finally Royce gently tapped his brandy glass, and silence fell as all eyes turned toward him.

  “My Lady, as you can see you have a well-functioning troupe of players, writers, and dramatists. Not to mention scenic artists and costumiers. So perhaps we might winnow down some of these suggestions.” He looked at Jeremy and Evan. “I’m afraid we can’t re-create the invasion of the Vikings. Evan, it was brilliant of you to suggest the battle of Agincourt, but again—impractical.”

  Gwyneth was sputtering with barely contained laughter, but Royce continued.

  “Gabriel, I have absolute confidence that you could easily costume an entire division of Greek soldiers, not to mention their ladies. But again, performing our version of Lysistrata would be an impossible challenge.” He sighed. “May I remind you all that our primary purpose was to encourage children to read? Aristophanes’ play isn’t quite the thing for little ones of any age, as far as I am concerned.”

  “You’re right. They’d miss the point, wouldn’t they?” Gabriel shrugged. “I can do an awful lot of classical draperies with some of that muslin I found in the attics, though.”

  “We’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” soothed Gwyneth. “And Royce is right. We have to determine the best way to encourage reading and writing in children…” she paused for a moment, “and possibly in their parents a
s well, come to think of it.”

  “And I’m sure we will,” Harry commented. “Perhaps if we all made a list of the things we think children will find interesting and stimulating. Then we’ll go over them and pick out the most common. That will give us a foundation upon which to build our play.”

  “Excellent notion.” Jeremy grinned and raised his glass. “I vote aye.”

  All the other glasses were lifted high, the toast endorsed, and the motion carried.

  A slight movement outside the window caught Royce’s eye. “Aha,” he rose and investigated. “We have snow.”

  The others followed him, all staring out onto a dark and gradually whitening scene.

  “It’s pretty,” murmured Evan.

  “Cold,” shivered Gwyneth.

  Immediately, arms went around her. “Back to the fire with you, my Lady.” Gabriel urged her to her seat as Evan drew the curtains firmly across the glass.

  Jeremy poured a little more brandy into their glasses. As he did so, he shot a glance at Royce. “I’ve been meaning to ask. With Trick and Jane at her parents’ house now, with the babe, what is going to happen to Fivetrees?”

  The question seemed to have caught them all by surprise, and Royce cursed inwardly as the implications flooded his mind.

  “Damn,” he whispered.

  Gwyneth looked at him. “My goodness, Jeremy’s right. It’s empty, I assume, because the girl staying with Trick and Jane certainly isn’t going to want to be there alone. I’ll wager she never returned the night the baby came.”

  “Agreed,” Royce said slowly, his mind rapidly turning matters over. “We should go over there, and soon, I think. If, for nothing else, just to make sure all is secure.”

  Gwyneth nodded. “Tomorrow? If the snow is not too bad?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, we must. And depending on what we find, we’ll have to notify Giles, I suppose. He will ask the Withersbys what they want to do with it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Damn place is a bit of a millstone around our necks now, to be honest.”

  “Is it costing Wolfbridge?” asked Harry bluntly. “From what I’ve heard, it’s a huge house that’s not of much value to anyone.”

  “No, it’s not costing us anything. There is the matter of the fields and our request to purchase some acreage. We’re still waiting to hear on that, I think?” She looked at Royce and raised her eyebrows.

  “True,” he replied. “And I’m hopeful the sale will be approved, even though it means breaking up the estate. Unfortunately, there’s a bushel of legal wrinkles to be ironed out before proceeding with any kind of transaction. But that still leaves us with a monstrously ugly building.” He sighed and stood. “So our first move must be to survey the place and see if there are any clear options as to what to do with it.”

  “And Trick and Jane must make sure their belongings are gone…” Evan tilted his head to one side. “They have been there for a while, so we should let them know. Or at least confirm that they’re not planning on returning?”

  “I’m pretty certain they’re not,” Jeremy commented. “There’s some talk of them taking over a relative’s house, since she’s not well and Mrs B has room for one, not a growing family.”

  Gwyneth nodded. “Yes. I heard that Mrs Fields was having a bit of trouble with her lungs. She’s Mrs B’s sister-in-law, I think.”

  “A large family, I take it?” Harry’s brows lifted in question.

  “Oh yes,” smiled Gwyneth. “They’ve been at Wolfbridge for generations and could probably run the whole place as well as anyone else.”

  “Mrs B could, that’s for certain,” remarked Gabriel. A general laugh greeted his observation, along with nods of agreement.

  Royce rose. “Well, I’m for bed. Tomorrow looks to be a busy one, what with play lists, and a Fivetrees visit.”

  “My Lady, you’ll come to Fivetrees?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “And…Gabriel?” He turned to Evan and Jeremy. “Can you spare him? He has a good eye for details.”

  Gabriel grinned proudly as the other two men nodded.

  “Excellent.” Royce crossed the room. “Then I shall bid you goodnight.”

  He left the light and warmth of the parlour to seek solace in his own chamber. It had become his sanctuary, a large room in one corner of the building. The windows were thus on two walls and the sun shone freely across his modest bed. No massive carvings for him, but a comfortable mattress over which he could sprawl if he wanted to. The serviceable bureau matched, and he even had a separate room for bathing and personal needs.

  It was ideal for him, an ex-soldier with few belongings.

  It would not have served the man he was supposed to be, of course. Viscounts weren’t usually expected to sleep in the second-best bedroom.

  He sighed as he drew the curtains back to see fat flakes of snow drifting around outside his window. Praying it wouldn’t amount to much, he undressed, shivered, and slipped naked beneath the quilts, drawing them up to his chin and waiting for his body heat to warm them.

  One remaining candle burned low, its light flickering softly against his eyelids.

  What would the others say if they knew he was a titled aristocrat? How would they react if they knew his military history? If they should find out his disgrace…

  Sleep eluded him, though. His attempts to think calm thoughts were overridden as the well-remembered sounds of cannon fire slid into his brain.

  The thuds shaking the ground, the smoke, the stench—some from the bodies littering the ground around him. And over it all, that unspeakable fool of a commander, ordering what was left of his division to rush the guns. It was suicide, certain death for them all, and a pointless manoeuvre.

  Pulling the quilt up around his ears, he tried to block out the memory, but as always, it haunted him, crystal clear in his imagination. The moment his protests had been ignored, the moment when what was left of his military square had been ordered to march forward into that fatal cannon fire.

  The moment he shouldered his rifle and took matters into his own hands.

  The sound of the shot that took his colonel’s life, but saved two dozen of his men and countless others.

  Once again he relived the moment that had changed his world, but once again he found he could not regret it. He probably never would, even though it had cost him dearly. Whispers had followed him from the battlefield back to England, whispers with enough truth in them to hint at a terrible disgrace. He knew he had to renounce his title and all but disappear. He’d met Giles some years later, and now here he was, at Wolfbridge, living what was becoming the best life he could imagine.

  Did he regret the Earldom? Not at all. Could he return to the title if he wanted to? Yes, he was certain he could. A long enough time had elapsed now, and the war was no longer of any interest to Society. But why bother? There was no property to it, just status; the silly idea that a title meant he was a better man than the one he stood next to.

  Which was completely wrong.

  He shuddered and turned over, wrapping the quilts firmly around his ears, and shifting his mind deliberately to Gwyneth. Probably not the most sensible thing to do, but the chilly bed guaranteed that his consequent arousal would be short-lived.

  She enchanted him, he realised. Not just because of her appearance, which he found most appealing, but because of her sharp mind, equally sharp wit, along with her determination to be as in control of her life, and Wolfbridge, as she could.

  The business of the play was quite ingenious. The fact that it was all designed for the benefit of her tenants was…well, little short of impressive. She was indeed a true Lady of Wolfbridge, right down to her toes.

  And then there was the rest of her body. And her eyes. And her lips…

  Chapter Thirteen

  The following morning dawned bright and chilly, the rising sun illuminating a magical landscape—white with snow.

  Fortunately, there had been a light dusting rather th
an a heavy fall, so Gwyneth, Royce and Gabriel were able to tuck themselves up into the gig and travel to Fivetrees without much difficulty. Other than being quite squashed together.

  With Royce driving, Gwyneth had to sit on Gabriel’s lap, and after he’d muffled them both in thick blankets, he gave her a big hug. “Warm enough?”

  She nodded. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”

  The two men laughed aloud at her quaint phrase, and the journey to Fivetrees was accomplished with all parties in good humour.

  In spite of her deep dislike of winter, incurred by her miserable experiences at Kilham Abbey, Gwyneth could not help but admire the way the sunlight glittered so brightly off the trees and fields.

  As they passed, there would be a shimmer of fine flakes drifting from branches stirring in the light breeze, and as the sun grew warmer, the occasional large mound of snow fell with a plop to the ground below. Already the lane over which they drove was turning from white to mud.

  “It is so pretty,” she murmured.

  “It even makes Fivetrees look attractive,” added Royce. “Here we are.”

  The looming towers and sharp-edged rooflines appeared as they rounded a bend. The snow softened them, and she had to agree that today, it looked less formally intimidating. But it also looked…soulless.

  She said so, and both men reacted, Royce shooting her a quick puzzled glance, and Gabriel tightening his arms around her.

  “Perhaps it’s the empty windows,” she mused aloud as they turned into the drive. “Or perhaps the lack of movement, light…smoke from the chimneys. I don’t know.”

  Royce carefully negotiated the rutted surface, then pulled them up in front of the door. “Or both,” he said, as he prepared to jump down. Then he paused.

  “That’s odd.”

  “What?”

  “Look on the steps. Up to the top. Do you see? Wait, let me tie off the horse and I’ll help you down.”

  Alighting from Gabriel’s lap was a hardship, since their shared warmth had been most pleasant. But within moments they joined Royce next to the gig, staring at the entrance to Fivetrees.