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

by Sahara Kelly

  Royce chuckled at that, and Giles gave him a mock salute.

  “I agree with everything that’s been said. I haven’t been here as long as the rest of you, that’s for certain. But having a home like this, with good people, doing good things for tenants and children—it’s as close to paradise as I think I’ll ever get.” He looked at Gwyneth. “If you would accept me as one of your husbands, I would be proud to hold that title.”

  “Wait,” said Gwyneth. “What about the land? If Gabriel owns it, can we still live here?”

  “I’m not about to evict you, love,” he quipped with a grin.

  “No, I didn’t mean that.” She looked at Giles. “You know what I’m trying to say…”

  “I do,” he smiled. “And it is a complex situation. However, nobody can deny Gabriel’s right to inherit, not just Wolfbridge, but also Fivetrees. Those documents are unassailable. This information is already in the hands of the Withersbys, and it will probably necessitate a couple of meetings in London in the spring.” He gave Gabriel a wry smile. “That is unavoidable, I’m afraid. But I don’t believe Judith and her husband are particularly interested in the land anymore. They’re unlikely to do anything other than pat you on the back and let you get on with it.”

  “But with what?” Gabriel looked worried. “I know nothing about being a landowner…”

  “I completely understand.” Giles’ voice was soothing. “Here’s something to consider. If you, Gabriel, as the owner of the land, decided to offer an extended lease to your friend Earl St. Arvans, for a time to be decided upon, I doubt such an arrangement would occasion any comment at all. And it would be quite legal.”

  “Would that make Royce Lord Wolfbridge, even though he’s already an Earl?” Gwyneth blinked in confusion.

  Giles shook his head. “No. The Wolfbridge title ended with Jerald. The “Lady of Wolfbridge” we use today is strictly an honorary title. Which means you can use it, if you prefer not to be the Countess of St. Arvans.”

  “I’ll have to consider that,” she answered. “In effect, there wouldn’t be much changing, would there? Certainly not enough to give people cause to talk. And no one would think anything of the others remaining here…” Gwyneth mused aloud.

  “Exactly. These alterations in titles and land are pretty much all on paper. Nothing would substantially alter the way Wolfbridge is currently run.”

  “So I wouldn’t have to be responsible for Wolfbridge myself?” Gabriel bit his lip.

  “No. Absolutely not,” confirmed Royce. “Unless you want to, that is.”

  Gabriel’s look of horror answered the question very clearly. But he hadn’t quite finished. “What of the future, Royce? Who will inherit all this?”

  “That will be up to you, as the owner of note. But you know, there’s plenty of time to decide a matter like that.” Royce smiled at him. “We’ll talk about that in a few years.”

  Gabriel slumped. “All right.” He looked around. “I still can’t believe I actually have something of my own. And not just a cottage…a whole damned estate. I’d never have imagined it in a thousand years.”

  “Sometimes life surprises us,” Gwyneth smiled. “I’m so glad it’s you, Gabriel. So very glad. And you know, I’ll wager that someone thought you belonged here. You had the Wolfbridge motto on you when you came here, didn’t you?”

  He looked at Giles, who nodded. “You did. You did indeed.”

  “It’s a mystery,” said Gabriel. “But I like mysteries. Especially when they end well. I suppose someone must have given that to me at some point in my life, but damned if I can remember who or when.” He looked at Giles and Royce. “Thank you both. It’s not much, but it’s all I have at this moment.”

  “We understand.” Giles smiled. “And the details will work themselves out, given time.”

  “Well, that sounds just right to me,” approved Gabriel. “Provided you don’t become too impatient with questions. I’m sure I’m going to have a few.”

  “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t, lad,” Royce grinned back.

  “So that leaves you, my Lady.” Giles dipped his head respectfully. “We need your decision.”

  Gwyneth looked around her, at her gentlemen, Jeremy, Evan, Gabriel, Harry and Royce. At Giles who had saved her life and shown her a new and better one, filled with joy and laughter and above all the love of these men.

  Was this what she wanted? Would she be happy living here, growing old with them as her husbands?

  There was really very little need to spend much time pondering the question.

  “Well, Giles, here’s my answer…” she took a breath. “Do I want this? Do I want these men as my husbands until death do us part? Yes. Most definitely yes. I do.”

  Epilogue

  “I do.”

  The aisles of St. Polycarp’s were filled with applause as Gwyneth, Lady of Wolfbridge, wed Royce Hadley, Earl of St Arvans with her final pronouncement.

  Giles, who had been welcomed back for this occasion by the congregation, many of whom he’d known for years, acted as best man for the bridegroom.

  And next to the bride, bursting with pride and glowing in her Sunday best, was Mrs B, playing out a lifetime fantasy of being a matron of honour.

  To either side, the groomsmen completed the unusual wedding group. Jeremy and Evan stood beside Royce, and Gabriel and Harry stood beside Gwyneth.

  In their elegant—and very formal—finery, the spectacle was breathtaking. Gwyneth, the glorious bride, on the arm of her new husband, kept her amusement to a wide smile as the service ended and they walked toward the door.

  “Well, that went well,” she murmured. “Vicar Thomas didn’t bat an eyelid at the names on the licence.”

  “Of course. Giles arranged it.” Royce gave a tiny shrug. “Nothing would have dared to go wrong.”

  Ione smiled at them from the end of a pew as she waited for Giles. “Beautiful,” she mouthed, earning her a quick kiss on the cheek from Royce, and a laugh from the surrounding congregation.

  It was a merry group that disposed itself into the flower decked carriages for the journey back to Wolfbridge where a large spread awaited them courtesy of the tenants of Wolfbridge, who had pretty much taken over the wedding breakfast, under the firm hand of Mrs B and Jane.

  Trick was there, of course, adding his congratulations and hugs, his little son under the close eye of about a dozen mothers darting from one room to another.

  It was a wonderful party, and Gwyneth clapped her hands when she heard music from the ballroom. She looked at Royce.

  “Don’t look at me, the others did it.” He pulled her behind him. “See?”

  On the small dais, now spruced up with ribbons, several of the tenants sat with instruments, a couple of fiddles, a drum or two and a lute.

  The music was infectious and set feet tapping within moments of the first notes.

  And so the wedding of the Lady of Wolfbridge to the man everyone knew as Royce, but who turned out to be an Earl after all, became legend in the area, a fairy tale ending for people everyone liked.

  Giles and Ione charmed the partygoers, promising more visits and chatting about everything and anything.

  Gwyneth danced with each of her new husbands, making sure, by way of subtle whispers, that they knew this was their wedding day.

  Giddy at the thought of having husbands now, rather than gentlemen, her heart trembled as each of them took her in their arms. Their eyes were filled with nothing but happiness, and even Gabriel, whose foot had yet to heal properly, managed a respectable turn or two around the floor before she called a halt and ordered him to rest.

  “Just what I needed. A bossy wife.” His eyes laughed at her as she laughed back.

  “Wait until tonight,” she whispered, as she walked him to a chair.

  In fact, as the party wore on, that sentiment grew steadily amongst the wedding party. The husbands were eager to be alone with their new wife every bit as much as she yearned to be alone with them.
<
br />   And much later, when Wolfbridge was quiet once more, the only light anyone might have seen from outside was in the Lady’s bedchamber.

  Where Gwyneth and her new husbands celebrated their marriage in a variety of ways that gave satisfaction to them all.

  Sated, exhausted and in a state of blissful happiness, she looked at her husbands, naked, beautiful, tired and smiling. “I wish I could paint you all. Right now. Like this.”

  That statement was greeted with amusement.

  “I would title it…hmm, let me see…” She gazed at Royce, beside her, relaxed, with his head on his arm, watching her. Then Jeremy, tucked against one leg, Evan tucked against the other. Harry was half behind her, his hand caressing her shoulders and Gabriel was in his usual place, stretched full length across the bottom of the bed on his stomach, his head turned toward her and resting on his folded arms.

  “I would title my painting The Rightful Lord, and let everyone try to guess which one of you I meant.” She gave a tired laugh. “They’d never know it was all of you.”

  *~~*~~*

  Early spring…Wolfbridge Manor

  “Good morning, love.” Evan held a chair out for Gwyneth as she came into the parlour for breakfast. “It’s a fine day for your visit to the school.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” She sat and accepted his kiss. “I am to read them a story today. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Jeremy, already at the table, nodded. “I’ll drive you over, Gwyneth.”

  She smiled back. “Perfect.”

  Harry came in, yawning. “I tossed and turned last night. Missed you, love.” He too kissed Gwyneth.

  “Well, I’m only one woman. You have to let me rest now and again.” She touched his hand.

  “We know.” Gabriel appeared with a tray of bacon. “And you need a good breakfast to keep up your strength.” He winked at her as he set down the platter.

  Gwyneth frowned, swallowed twice, and then froze.

  “Gwyneth…?” Harry looked at her.

  “Excuse me…” She pushed away from the table, dashed outside and promptly vomited all over the budding azaleas.

  “Dear God, are you all right?” Gabriel was right behind her and the others appeared, worried looks on their faces.

  “What happened?” Royce hurried out.

  “Gwyneth. She is sick.”

  Royce grasped the situation and led her back inside. “You need water.”

  “I’ll get it.” Evan sped off, returning in next to no time with a glass.

  She sipped thankfully and then let them seat her once more. The scent of the bacon curdled in her stomach. “It’s the bacon,” she winced. “Something about the smell…”

  Gabriel straightened, and she saw him look at Royce.

  “What?”

  “Sweetheart,” Royce knelt by her chair. “Have you had your courses this month?”

  Surprised by the blunt question, she frowned in thought. “Um…no, now you come to mention it. But I was busy. I haven’t really paid attention. They’re probably just late…” Her voice tapered off as the implications dawned.

  “I…I…no,” she stuttered. “I can’t be.”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Royce. “To be blunt about it, we’ve been filling you with our seed quite regularly. All of us.”

  “But…”

  As reality set in, five men looked at each other and began to grin. Big, wide grins turned into laughter and back-slapping.

  “We’re going to be fathers,” said Gabriel, his voice filled with awe.

  “I still don’t think it’s possible.” Gwyneth raised her chin. “Why now? You’ve been filling me, as you so aptly put it, for ages. Why now?”

  “It was time.” Harry rested his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t question miracles, love. Just accept it.”

  “No. I still don’t believe it.” She touched her stomach. “Impossible.”

  She stuck to that statement for the following months, to everyone’s amusement, even as her belly curved and grew.

  She insisted that the odd movements both she and her husbands could feel were just indigestion and it was Evan’s wonderful cooking that had resulted in the increase in her weight. Finally, one day at the beginning of December, she was forced to admit the truth, and took to her bed with Mrs B and Jane at the ready and all five husbands in the room. Nobody was going to miss this major event.

  Several hours of hard labour followed, and most of the men were pale and sweating, wishing they could help Gwyneth as she struggled to give birth.

  But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a tiny head appeared, followed by the rest of him. A son.

  Royce, who handled the delivery, blinked and paled. “Wait. There’s another one.”

  And sure enough, a girl followed.

  “Dear God. Twins…” Gabriel’s voice was hushed as the two women cleaned the babies and then put them into Gwyneth’s arms. Her husbands flocked around her, admiring the hair, the noses, the little fingers and toes.

  “Yer a wonderful mama, dear,” praised Mrs B. “Cleaned up perfectly, yer did. Lots more of them little ones’ll be on the way soon, I expect.” She shot a grin around the room.

  “Let me enjoy these first.” Gwyneth said weakly.

  “Now yer rest up, keep to yer bed for a day or so, and you’ll be just fine.” She stared at Gwyneth. “But yer don’t share it fer at least a month, dear.” The look was pointed. “If yer get my meanin’.” The look this time encompassed the five men in the room.

  “I do indeed,” Gwyneth nodded. She was extremely sore, and love them though she did, the thought of any man near those places made her wince.

  “Yer got names then?”

  “We do, Mrs B.” Gwyneth smiled at her gentlemen. “We decided that if it was a boy he’d be named Giles, and since we have a girl too, she’ll be Aphrodite. We wanted to honour the two people who are really responsible for all of us being here. We just didn’t know we were going to be able to do both at once.”

  Little Giles cooed and yawned.

  Little Aphrodite wriggled in her arms.

  Under cover of the conversation, Gwyneth leaned to her babes. “You are very lucky, little ones,” she whispered. “You have five Papas to take care of you.”

  The babies, being not quite an hour old, ignored her.

  Two years later, when Gwyneth gave birth a second time, she said the same thing again. But this time she had to have extra help holding her newborns, as Nicholas, Lucy and Rosamund made their debuts.

  So at last, each husband had the wife he loved, and five children had five Papas ready to lavish affection on them.

  And the Lady had managed to not only keep the most important people in her life as her family, but to give them a family of their very own. And, coincidentally, a son to inherit all their happiness along with their property.

  Wolfbridge had finally become the home it was always meant to be.

  THE END

  In case you missed the first two novels in this series, here they are. Both are available not only in digital formats, but also in print for those of you who like to hold a book in your hands now and again.

  Thank you for choosing this book – I hope you enjoyed it and will try some of my other stories, all of which are available on Amazon.com, and for your Kindle Unlimited subscription.

  About the Author

  British born and bred, Sahara Kelly has enjoyed reading for many decades, beginning in her childhood with books by Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer and Barbara Cartland, among others.

  Arriving in America with her almost-complete collection of Leslie Charteris’ Saint novels, all the original James Bonds, and a passion for Monty Python, Sahara’s new life eventually expanded to include a husband, offspring, citizenship, and a certain amount of acclimation to her new surroundings.

  She never quite managed to attain a level of comfort with the American way of spelling, however, and creating a Regency novel offers challenges in that regard. So you
’ll see words that British readers will recognise, but American readers might perhaps find unusual. It’s a choice… should one write an English romance using English spelling? She has come around to that belief, and now enjoys that extra “u” which has always seemed so colourful…

  After more than two decades of writing, Sahara is now enjoying the greater freedom offered to authors by the rapidly expanding independent publishing scene, and looking forward to many more such experiences.

  Being freed of external controlling restraints has opened doors—for Sahara and many other writers. There are now no impediments; no obstructions barring the path from writer to reader. Which is, in many ways, exactly as originally intended when that first storyteller sat on a rock outside her cave, tugged her bearskin around her shoulders and smiled at her kids across the open fire with the words “Once upon a time...” (or however it sounded several million years ago.)

  To find out more about Sahara Kelly and her writing, please drop by her website and visit her at:

  Sahara Kelly’s website

  This is where Sahara shares none of the intimate details of her life but will present you with a list of books she'd like you to buy so that she can go do research on a beach in Aruba and be pampered with massages accompanied by drinks with umbrellas in them. She’ll send you a postcard. Thank you.

  When not dreaming of lazing on tropical beaches, Sahara has a modestly active social presence on the Internet. Take a look:

  Follow Sahara on Twitter

  Friend her on Facebook

  Follow her on BookBub

  Get lots of her news from her Amazon page

  Also By Sahara Kelly

  (*- co-written with S.L. Carpenter)

  Mistletoe for Prudence, A Christmas Novella

  The Wednesday Club, Book Five

  A Lover for Lydia

  The Wednesday Club, Book Four

  A Garden for Ivy