He reached out a hand, his fingers trembling slightly, and picked the button up as delicately as if it had been a precious gem. “Dear me. Is this what that child at the door gave you?”
Elaine nodded mutely.
“It is the exact color….” His voice trailed away as he studied the little bit of painted wood. “Miss Chapple.” He raised his eyes to study her. “I believe this is precisely the sort of sunshine my wife would have loved. I thank you for it.” Then he tucked the button into his coat and put both hands on the arms of the chair, pushing himself up. “I must be going. I have taken up too much of your time.”
“Nonsense, sir. It has been a pleasure to meet you.” Elaine hurried before him, opening the door to the front room. The rain still fell against the glass. “Are you certain you need to leave? It is still drizzling, and I hate to think of you walking about in the cold.”
He smiled, a warmer expression than she had seen from him thus far. “My dear young lady, you needn’t worry over me. I promise I will keep dry.” He bowed to her, then went out the shop door.
Where might he go? It was too wet for anyone to be out in such weather. And she had let him leave, without so much as an umbrella. Elaine hurried back to her little parlor, where William and Nancy had begun to relax.
“William, where is your umbrella?” she asked, trying not to sound too urgent.
The boy released a deep sigh. “You’re going to give it to the old man?” He knew her well and did not always appreciate her gestures to others.
Elaine hurried to promise, “You may have mine until I replace it.”
William disappeared up the steps to their bedrooms, two small connected rooms that were part of her rent. He came back down, not quite as swiftly as she wished, and handed it to her. She took up her own umbrella from its hook in the kitchen and hurried back out to the front of the shop, through the door, and into the street. She went in the direction Mr. Gillensford had walked, her umbrella open overhead and William’s tucked tightly under one arm. She was out in no more than a mob cap and her work dress, no gloves upon her hands, but it could not be helped.
Rushing down the walkway, her eyes swept up and down the street, in search of a faded dark blue coat. At last she saw him, approaching a carriage, his back to her.
If her lessons had allowed for a lady to shout across a road, she would have called his name. As it was, she hurried forward, but stopped all at once when the carriage door swung open and a man dressed in fine livery handed Mr. Gillensford inside. She stood, quite frozen, at the edge of the street.
The carriage was quite fine, with four matched horses stamping about as if impatient to be off.
Someone shouted, startling her into jumping backward as they hurried by with their donkey and cart. When she looked again, the carriage across the road had started to move, servants atop its box.
Mr. Gillensford, whoever he was, would have no need for William’s old umbrella.
Chapter 2
As a third son, Adam Gillensford had never expected much from life. His eldest brother would hold his father’s title, the next eldest a lieutenant’s position in the military, and he must then take up the church or the law. Neither profession suited him. He enjoyed life too much to be a sour-faced vicar and had not the patience to study dusty tomes while wearing a ridiculous wig. He briefly considered turning to a life of piracy but traveling by ship had never agreed with him.
Reflecting on that childish fancy while sitting in his brother’s library, slouched down into a deep green chair, he nearly smiled. But the present company would not have appreciated even that much of a show of merriment. They were meant to be in mourning, after all, and as somber as the grave. Even if no one other than himself and his youngest sister would actually miss the person whose passing forced them into black cravats and laces.
“Do sit up straight, Adam,” his mother said abruptly, and he moved to obey without thought.
With piracy as an unsuitable option, Adam had but one course of action, or so his mother decreed. He must marry a wealthy young woman who recognized the advantage in a connection to his family. Mercenary marriages had always made him shudder when he heard of them. Still. It was an option he did not dismiss at once.
There was always that hope that his great uncle, a third son who had done quite well for himself decades before, might leave him an inheritance. As a boy, Adam had been in awe of the old man. Indeed, Mr. Peter Gillensford had given Adam the best advice of his life.
He could almost hear the old gentleman’s voice, creaky with age even years and years before. “Know what you want, boy, and go after it with your whole soul,” the man had said, whispering the words in Adam’s ear as though they were a prophecy.
Of course, Adam recognized them for what they were now that he had grown. Peter Gillensford had lowered himself to trade and had lived by the idea of going after what he wanted no matter the cost. Now Great-Uncle Peter was dead, and the family had come circling like buzzards to pick over what he had left behind.
Adam’s grandfather had been Peter’s eldest brother, and the Earl of Montecliff. Grandfather’s inheritance included the very home in which Adam sat, waiting upon the solicitor to make an appearance. His grandmother he had never met, but his mother held the distinction of being the dowager countess. Sitting across the room from him, in a stiff-backed chair upholstered in purple velvet, she wore the title the same way she wore her mourning attire—with a sour scowl.
Grandfather had one son, Adam’s father. Adam’s father sired three boys and two girls before he died. Adam was the youngest son with two sisters beneath him in age.
“It only makes sense,” his mother said abruptly, pulling him from his memories, “that Uncle Peter leave the land to the earldom. It is right there, joining at our southern border.” She did not appear to address any one person, but the room as a whole. Mother always did enjoy an audience.
Adam’s eldest brother, Richard, was quick to agree. “Indeed. It was his duty, of course, to help the family. With no children of his own, what else would he do with all of it?” He leaned back against one of the bookshelves, meeting Adam’s eye briefly before smiling in a most smug manner. Richard, the current earl, rubbed his hands together before him as he spoke. “It will be a great addition to our property.”
Richard’s wife, Amelia, simpered and dabbed at her nose daintily with a handkerchief. “The dear old man. How good of him to think of the family.”
“We have not seen the will yet,” Georgiana, the eldest daughter, spoke firmly. She cast Amelia a look of great disdain. “He may surprise us all and leave the whole of it to the Crown.” She squirmed in her seat, both hands upon her swollen middle. She never seemed to be comfortable when she was with child. While Adam could never experience such for himself, he did feel a measure of pity for his eldest sister.
Philippa, the youngest of the family and closest to him in nature, said nothing. She sat next to their expectant sister rather eclipsed by Georgiana, in size as well as perceived importance. That had nearly always been the case.
Catching Philippa’s eyes, Adam offered her a wink. Her lips twitched upward briefly, then she lowered her stare back to her lap.
If their late great uncle had thought of Philippa in his will, that would be enough. As much as Adam wished to inherit, Philippa needed more independence from their family. At two and twenty, the girl ought to be married. Instead she remained at their mother’s beck and call, forced to consider atrocious suitors during the season.
“Where is that blasted solicitor?” Richard muttered, pushing away from the wall. He glared at the door as though he might summon the man through sheer force of will. “This is what comes of sending for him rather than going to London myself. I might have saved all of us the trouble of waiting in such an intolerable manner.”
“Nonsense. It would have taken us twice as long to learn of your great uncle’s generosity.” Their mother preened, her too-large curls knocking about her head like twin corks
crews. She did not hear the lack of logic in her words and Adam remained too indolent to argue the matter.
A knock reverberated through the old stone hallway, each hard rap against the wood by the iron knocker felt as much as heard. The solicitor had arrived at last. Poor man.
The women in the room began to adjust skirts and pat at their heads, seeking rebellious lengths of hair to put into place. Except Philippa. She had to turn her attention to assisting Georgiana with a cushion behind her back and a pinching hairpin.
Adam sank down into his chair again, wishing the matter over and done with.
The butler stepped through the doorway and bowed. “With your permission, my lord, Mr. Tuttle-Kirk has come to see you.”
“Yes, yes.” Richard waved the butler away. “Bring him refreshment and all that.”
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk entered the room as the butler scuttled out of it.
Whatever it was Adam expected to see in his great uncle’s solicitor, Tuttle-Kirk was not it. He was a smallish man, bald headed but with a mustache thick enough to make up for the loss of hair atop his head. He moved with speed, as though something nipped at his heels, and went directly to the desk after making a general bow to the room. He started talking at once.
“Good afternoon, my lord, ladies, sir. I beg your pardon, but my carriage took a wrong turn. I felt certain I knew exactly where we were going, but I became slightly lost.” He opened his sachet of papers and shuffled through them.
“We are glad you are come at all, Mr. Tuttle-Kirk,” Richard said, exchanging a disbelieving look with Mother.
The solicitor turned about, his mustache quivering as he spoke. “Indeed. First, allow me to offer my deepest condolences. I have handled Mr. Gillensford’s legal business for many years. I found him to be an honorable, wise gentleman. I am sure you feel his loss keenly.” Though the words were given with the formality they deserved, Adam narrowed his eyes.
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, for as flustered as he acted, was taking the measure of all the people gathered in the room. His bright eyes took in everyone from behind their spectacles; Adam would be surprised if the man’s assessment of them was inaccurate.
He sat up again and leaned slightly forward, performing his own inspection. Of median height and build, nothing immediately set Tuttle-Kirk apart from other men. Nothing other than his exceptionally large and well-groomed mustache. But there was intelligence in his eyes and confidence in his bearing. The man would be a formidable opponent should he wish to be.
Tuttle-Kirk’s gaze met Adam’s and paused, his white eyebrows lifting ever so slightly, as if to say, Good, we understand each other. Then he shuffled the paper in his hands again until he found one of thicker stock. “Here it is. Normally these are made over on parchment, but Mr. Gillensford insisted on nearly plain paper.” His mustache twitched, but whether over approval or dismay regarding the frugality, Adam could not tell.
“We shall begin by stating most clearly that this last will and testament was given in the presence of four witnesses, including a magistrate and members of the House of Lords. Mr. Gillensford insisted. The will was written in full, two months ago.”
“Near the end,” Richard’s wife simpered. “As though he knew.”
Tuttle-Kirk barely glanced over the paper at her. “Let us begin.” He started reading out the legal and Latin terms at the beginning, stating over again what he already said about Uncle Gillensford’s state of health and mind. He read through a list of small, singular items to be given to certain friends and loyal servants, as well as burial arrangements which had already been seen to.
Adam had started to sink into his chair again, his mind wandering from the stuffy room to the stables and fields.
“‘Whereas these things are accomplished, I must now turn my attention to my family,’” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk said, bringing Adam’s attention back to the present time and place. Mr. Tuttle-Kirk cleared his throat. “‘To my niece-in-law, Fredericka Gillensford, Dowager Countess, I leave my late wife’s ruby and pearl brooch. The Dowager Countess borrowed it twenty years ago and never gave it back, so she might as well take it for a gift.’” Tuttle-Kirk’s mustache did not so much as twitch as he read those inflammatory words, but Mother’s jaw fell nearly to the floor in her shock.
“What did you say?” Even Adam winced, though used to her shrill shouts of indignation. “How dare you accuse me of thievery.”
Tuttle-Kirk kept reading, causing him to go up in Adam’s estimation. “‘To Richard Gillensford, Earl of Montecliff, I leave my second-best pipe.’” It took every bit of Adam’s concentration to keep from laughing. Tobacco gave Richard terrible headaches, which he made certain people knew should they dare to blow a puff of smoke within his vision. “‘To his wife Lady Montecliff, I leave the cushion which offended her so upon her last visit.’”
Amelia gasped. “Well, I never.” Adam suddenly wished to know the story behind that bequeathment.
“‘To Mr. Henry Gillensford, an honorable officer in the military, I leave fifty pounds and his choice of one horse from my stables, upon his return from the Continent.’” It was a pittance, but Henry hardly needed more than that, given his success in the army.
Adam ought to be next. He sat straighter and leaned forward, gripping the arms of the chair. His great-uncle knew Adam would have almost nothing. Having been in that position once himself, Uncle Gillensford would not leave him destitute. He had never angered or insulted the old gentleman. Once, long ago, he had thought himself the favored relative. He had certainly spent a great deal of time in his uncle’s home.
“‘To Mrs. Gregory Stalwart—’” His sister, Georgiana, hated her married name. “‘I leave fifty pounds and my mother’s large silver platter.’” Odd, but Georgiana appeared indignant. At least he had left her something of value, rather than a pipe or cushion. What had Richard and Amelia done to put the old man so out of temper?
And why had Adam’s name been skipped?
“‘To Lady Phillipa, my youngest grand-niece, I leave two-thousand pounds. I also leave her my wife’s jewelry, kept in safety at the Bank of England in London.’”
Adam startled. That was a grand amount, even for someone like Phillipa. She had a dowry of fifteen-thousand pounds and was still young enough to wed. But his sisters were younger than Adam. Why were they on the legal document above his name?
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk adjusted the will in his hands, his eyes sweeping across the document. “‘To Miss Elaine Chapple of Ipswich—’”
“Wait,” Adam said, the single word escaping from him rather more sharply than he intended.
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk stopped and lowered the parchment in his hands. “Yes, Mr. Gillensford?”
Adam cleared his throat, avoiding looking at the others. “You skipped me, sir. You read all the family names except for mine.” An oversight. That was all it was. The mistake of an old man who ought to retire or sell his practice to a man with an eye for detail and organization.
The old solicitor narrowed his eyes at Adam, and his mustache twitched in a decidedly irritated manner. He held the will up and made a show of reading it, his mustache moving as he mumbled each word to himself.
At last he spoke. “No.”
What?
“No?”
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk peered over the top of the paper again, eyebrows raised. “I did not miss your name, Mr. Gillensford. It comes later. Now, if you will excuse me. There is a proper way to do these things.” He lowered the paper enough that his prodigious mustache could be seen again, and Adam found himself watching the whiskers tremble and lift as the solicitor spoke.
“To Miss Elaine Chapple of Ipswich, seamstress, I leave my considerable estate and all its income to be used by her as she sees fit, with the stipulation—”
Adam shot to his feet, sending the chair clattering backward to the floor. He began his statement with a rather colorful word that caused all the women in the room to gasp. “Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, what nonsense is this? First you skip my name and now you attempt
this odd—no, this cruel display of humor. My uncle would never leave his property to a complete stranger, someone we have never even heard mentioned by him before. What are you playing at, sir?”
“Perhaps we should fetch the magistrate,” he heard his brother’s wife whisper.
“We might need to,” Adam snarled over his shoulder at her. “Murder may very well be committed if this man does not read that cursed document correctly.”
Aside from narrowing his eyes, Tuttle-Kirk appeared quite unaffected by the display of temper. That only served to anger Adam further.
“Mr. Gillensford,” the old man said with an impatient shake of his mustache. “I assure you that this document is legal, binding, and correct. Your great uncle was very specific about Miss Chapple’s place within it. As I have said, if you will exercise some measure of patience, I will come to your part in the bequeathment momentarily.” He bowed his head over the paper again, reading more swiftly.
“‘Miss Elaine Chapple, of Ipswich, seamstress, I leave my considerable estate and all its income to be used by her as she sees fit, with the stipulation that she lives there for one year. My great-nephew, Mr. Adam Gillensford, I admonish to act as her guide in matters financial and social. Should my great-nephew refuse, he inherits nothing.’”
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk paused, briefly giving Adam a glance that seemed to say “I told you I would get to you.” Then he cleared his throat and continued. “‘If he proves helpful to Miss Chapple, after one year he will receive the entirety of my assets not tied up in the estate as his own, stocks and shares in every venture wherein I have invested my money.’” Tuttle-Kirk put the will down, somewhat forcefully, upon the desk he stood behind. “‘Any who contest my last will and testament will herewith give up the right to inherit anything at all.’” The pronouncement rang through the room almost harshly, though Tuttle-Kirk made it with the same matter-of-fact air as he read the rest of the words.
“That is the whole of what was to be read to the family,” he said bluntly. “This is your copy of the document, should you wish to read over it again. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.” He gathered up his case, ignoring the cold silence of the room.
His Unexpected Heiress (Entangled Inheritance Book 2) Page 2
