The Widow's Christmas Surprise

by Jenna Jaxon

  “No, my lady.” Shifting from one foot to the other, he shook his head. “I came to tell you that I rode out to the Tates’ farm this morning.”

  “Oh.” Frowning, some of the joy went out of Maria’s heart. Poor Mrs. Tate would be so distraught at having to move from their comfortable home at this time of the year. The weather had held off the past week or so, but when Maria had visited Kersey Hall yesterday she’d been chilled to the bone by the time they’d returned. “I am so sorry for her. How is she faring?”

  “As well as can be expected. Timothy, the oldest boy, is trying his best to do as much as possible for his mother. He’s only eleven years old, but hereabouts that’s considered almost a man. With help he could possibly run the farm come the spring.” Mr. Granger stared at her, then looked away. “If they are still there in the spring, that is.”

  Something in his glance gave her pause and she peered at him more closely. “But Lord Kersey ordered you to replace them with an able-bodied tenant.”

  “And I told him I would advertise the tenancy in Wickford.” His deep blue eyes flashed with a wicked gleam. “However, everyone in Wickford knows that farm was leased to Jonathan Tate. I’ll lay a wager with you, my lady, that no one in Wickford inquires about that property. And as I did not suggest sending an advertisement to London, or any other large town, I think it’s fairly safe to say that Lord Kersey won’t even think about the Tates until the new year.” Mr. Granger’s grin reminded her of her William’s smile as a boy when he had been up to something. “When he finally realizes there have been no inquires, I can plead some confusion about the instructions. If I manage this correctly, young Tate and his mother will have the crops half in the ground by the time Lord Kersey is aware they are still on the farm. Hopefully, by then, we will be able to convince the earl that keeping the Tates on the land will be the best course of action.”

  Maria beamed at him. Such a truly kind man. One willing to risk his own position to see a wrong righted. If Lord Kersey found out about the subterfuge, he might very well sack Mr. Granger. The new earl had struck her as a gentleman who wanted things according to his orders and would let nothing stand in the way of his getting it. “Thank you, Mr. Granger. From the bottom of my heart.”

  Despite the intuition that it was a mistake, Maria allowed her eyes to meet his, and fell headlong into the unfathomable blue depths. She clutched Jane closer to her, as if the baby could help keep her steady.

  Intense to the point it excluded everything else, his gaze captured her, held her as tightly as he had her child. If they stood any closer he’d be able to hear the hammering of her heart. A yearning she’d not felt since William had left with the army that long-ago morning assailed her now. A longing for a man’s arms to hold her tight. For this man’s arms to keep her safe from every hurt the world could throw at her.

  As if coming up out of a chilly pond, Maria gasped and stepped back, clutching Jane to her so hard the baby squawked in protest.

  “Not at all, my lady. I am glad to give the Tates a chance to remain in their home.” Mr. Granger now turned toward the window, seemingly absorbed in the blustery day.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Granger.”

  Both Maria and the steward jumped as Jane’s words made her presence known. How long had she been standing in the room? From the narrowed eyes she turned on Maria, she’d witnessed more than Maria cared to have to explain to her cousin.

  “Good afternoon, Lady John.” He bowed to Jane and his face assumed a pleasant mask. “I had merely come by to inform Lady Kersey about the fate of the Tate family. She’s taken an interest in them since the autumn, you see, and I thought she’d like to know that they have been informed of Lord Kersey’s decision to change the tenancy.”

  “Very thoughtful of you, Mr. Granger.” Jane’s face was pleasant, but her voice held just enough frost to let Maria know that they would be discussing Mr. Granger’s visit in detail and for some time to come. “I am certain my cousin is grateful for the most current news about the Kersey tenants.”

  “Indeed I am, Cousin.” Maria jumped to the steward’s defense. Jane could give all the looks she liked. She was still grateful for Mr. Granger’s intervention on the behalf of the Tates. “I believe I told you that Mrs. Tate had become my special cause?”

  Brows raised to a painful height, Jane marched to the sofa and sat. “Perhaps you did mention something about Mrs. Tate.” She held out her arms for her namesake. “Do sit down and have tea with us, Mr. Granger. I am certain you can regale us with fascinating tales of all of the tenants.”

  Maria handed the baby over to her cousin and sighed. Jane was a dear, but she had her own notions about what was and was not correct behavior for Maria. But this time, if it saved the Widow Tate, Maria was going to have a say in things.

  “Thank you, Lady John, but I have some business I must attend to that will not wait. I just stopped in to give Lady Kersey word.” He turned to Maria. “I will keep you informed, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Granger.” Godspeed, she added silently. “Please do let me know if there are any further developments.”

  “My lady, my lady.” With an elegant bow, he left.

  Before Jane could utter a word, Maria rose and rang the bell.

  The door opened almost immediately. The butler had obviously been hovering about.

  “Tea, please, Saunders.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  When he had gone, Maria strolled back to the sofa and gingerly lowered herself onto it, steeling herself for the blast.

  “What do you call yourself doing, Maria Kersey?” Jane hissed, apparently in deference to the baby who was going to sleep in her arms. “Making sheep’s eyes at Mr. Granger.”

  “I was doing no such thing.” Oh, goodness. Jane had entered well before Maria had been aware of her presence.

  “Do not tell me what I did and did not see. I hesitate to think what kind of scene I would have come upon five minutes later.”

  Maria had to draw a deep breath to keep herself from denying what her cousin had so obviously witnessed. “I cannot help it if I like the gentleman, Jane. Hearts cannot be ruled.”

  “As your current circumstances show very clearly.” Her cousin shook her head and pressed a kiss to the sleeping baby’s cheek. “I do not see anything wrong with Mr. Granger as a person, my dear. He is a gentleman and very kind and rather handsome into the bargain. But you must always keep this little one in the front of your mind, Maria.” She lifted the child in her arms, rocking her gently. “You don’t have yourself alone to think of this time. You must do what is best for little Jane.”

  Maria sighed again, deeper and more heartfelt. Her cousin was right, of course. She could not ally herself with a gentleman who could not provide well for her and her daughter. No matter how relentlessly she was drawn to him.

  * * *

  “This just arrived for you, my lord.” Chambers offered the Earl of Kersey a silver salver with a single letter upon it.

  Lord Kersey looked up from a book on Nash’s architecture, a glass of brandy half full in his hand. He plucked it from the tray and waved a hand of dismissal in the direction of the butler. God, it felt good to have servants to wait upon one hand and foot, as the saying went. He had adjusted to his new life with astonishing speed, although Margery had not taken to being the Countess of Kersey as well as she might. He shrugged and looked at the letter. She’d come around eventually.

  Franked in London and sealed with a blob of black wax. The seal was unfamiliar . . . Kersey cocked his head to and fro. He’d seen this seal before, but where? Pausing before he ripped it off, the peculiar-looking crest caught his attention. Three stars pierced by a lance or spear . . . Clarke! It was from the family solicitor, by Jove.

  Kersey relaxed back in the chair and popped the seal. He’d met with Mr. Hezekiah Clarke in London some months ago about assuming the Kersey title and estates and had thought that meeting sufficient to get everything in order. Apparently not. He unfolded
the letter, winced at the sight of the spidery handwriting, and began to read.

  Dear Lord Kersey,

  I regret to have to inform you of a piece of gross negligence that has befallen your family’s account with Grimes and Clarke, Solicitors. The incident has only just been uncovered by the office, and the clerk responsible has been dealt with.

  In order to rectify the situation, I will take care of the matter personally. I plan to arrive at Kersey Hall on Monday, November 24th, with all the necessary documents. If three o’clock is convenient, my lord, I will see you and the Dowager Countess of Kersey at that appointed time.

  Yr ob’t servant,

  Hezekiah Clarke

  Kersey cocked his head. Why on earth did the solicitor want to meet with the dowager countess? Had they uncovered an unknown legacy left her by one of the lady’s kinsmen? Did the woman indeed have money? He tapped the letter against his hand. Best to see the lay of the land before involving the lady in something that might amount to nothing more than a paltry bequest of pin money.

  And something niggled in the back of his mind, urging him to discover what this “gross negligence” was and how it affected him and his family before telling Maria about it. He’d meet with Mr. Clarke alone. If the findings warranted it, he’d have the dowager countess fetched from Francis House, and not a moment before.

  Chapter Seven

  Cold November rain sheeted down the windowpane in the downstairs receiving room, the flickering light of the candles casting awkward shadows in the somewhat gloomy room. Lord Kersey raised a cut-crystal glass of Madeira, a prickle of anxiety brushing the hairs at the nape of his neck. Ever since Mr. Clarke’s letter arrived, he’d brooded about what the “gross negligence” might have been. Surely nothing he need be overly concerned about.

  However, if the matter had been important enough to bring the wizened little Clarke—who could be no younger than seventy years old at the least—out in such wretched weather on a two-day journey, something had to be seriously amiss. Kersey swallowed the last of his wine and allowed the sweetness to soothe him, recalling happy times in Virginia. Whatever the situation with Clarke turned out to be, it could do nothing to upset his elevation to earl. Of that he was certain. Mr. Clarke had confirmed it with him when they met in October. There really was nothing to get upset about.

  And yet Kersey’s foreboding had grabbed hold of him so firmly that when the mantel clock chimed three, he jumped as if the chimes were a pistol shot. He must get control of himself. He glanced at the sideboard. There was more Madeira there, but he didn’t think that would help. He’d also instructed Chambers to supply him with a decanter of cognac, just in case he required stronger spirits. The brandy might steady him, but he didn’t wish his senses impaired while listening to Mr. Clarke’s revelation. If only he were through this cursed waiting. Where the devil was the man?

  Unable to sit still a moment longer, Kersey rose and paced to the sideboard. He set his glass down and stared at the decanter filled with beautiful amber-colored brandy, licking his lips. Perhaps a small taste would calm him sufficiently. He reached for the bell-shaped bottle just as the door opened. He jerked his hand back, raised his chin, and strode forward as Chambers ushered in Mr. Clarke.

  “Mr. Hezekiah Clarke, my lord.” The butler bowed and withdrew, leaving Kersey to stare at the stooped little man, so thin it seemed he might have been blown to Kersey Hall by the gusting wind.

  “Mr. Clarke, so good of you to come. Please have a seat, sir.” Kersey indicated the cerulean-blue flowered sofa. “Would you like a drink?”

  The little man settled himself on the cushions, his black leather case at his feet, and waved the offer away. “Thank you, no, my lord. I wish to have this business settled as quickly as possible. You cannot know how aggrieved it has made me ever since the negligence came to light. I have scarcely been able to eat or sleep.” He stared balefully at Kersey, his eyes enormous behind the lenses of his small oval glasses. “This sort of carelessness has never been tolerated in the firm, as it could irreparably tarnish the otherwise spotless reputation my family worked hard to attain for the past one hundred years.”

  Truly alarmed now, Kersey sat on the sofa beside the solicitor, fine sweat popping out on his brow. “How serious is the situation, Mr. Clarke? And how the devil did it happen?”

  “As to the seriousness of the matter, I will leave that to your estimation when I am done with the explanation.” The solicitor’s lips thinned to a sharp line. “How this state of affairs came to be is most decidedly due to the inattention of a very inept junior member of my firm who, I will tell you quite frankly, has been sacked with no reference whatsoever.”

  Kersey sat back, dread trickling coldly through his veins. Whatever had occurred was likely of some monumental consequence for Clarke to speak so disparagingly of his employee—or rather former employee. The decision to forgo the cognac had been a bad one. “What did the man do?”

  “It is what he didn’t do, my lord.” Fishing in his capacious black bag, Mr. Clarke came up with a handful of papers, which he sorted through, muttering to himself as he laid each one aside. At last he plucked up a single sheet of foolscap, creased as if it had been a letter at one time, and refocused his attention on Kersey. “The foolish man in question did not think to put this letter into my hands, nor even to tell me of its existence until last week.” His hand shook so that the paper created a slight breeze. “Instead, he filed it—or rather I should say misfiled it—in the folder with the papers for the Kaster estate, a minor client of ours who just last week made a new will. Which action caused us to open that file and discover Jenkins had put the document intended for the Kersey file into that one by mistake.”

  Suddenly very curious about the paper Mr. Clarke held before him, Kersey squinted at it, trying to read the uppermost line, but the scrawling handwriting revealed nothing to him. Steeling himself against the catastrophic revelation he now knew would be forthcoming, Kersey swallowed hard and asked, “What was the document your clerk misfiled, may I ask?”

  “The previous Lord Kersey’s last will and testament.”

  The slight groan as all his breath left Kersey’s lungs might have escaped Mr. Clarke’s notice, but Kersey didn’t think so from the man’s startled expression. Still, it might be all right. No need to panic yet. It could be nothing more than a tempest in a cream pot. The previous earl might have done as Kersey had thought earlier and left his wife pin money or a favorite painting with sentimental value. “What does it say?”

  Mr. Clarke blinked, as if coming out of a deep fog. “Where is the Dowager Lady Kersey, my lord?”

  Trusting to his instincts, Kersey took a breath and let a lie rise smoothly to his lips. “Still prostrate with grief over the death of her husband, I’m afraid, Mr. Clarke. She truly is in a very delicate state. The previous Lord Kersey was her second husband. The first one she lost scarcely two years ago in the Battle of Waterloo. The double tragedy has quite devastated her.”

  “I am so very sorry to hear that.” The solicitor did look genuinely sorry for the dowager countess’s bad luck with husbands.

  “I told her of your intended visit, but she sends her regrets that she cannot receive visitors at this time.” Donning what he hoped was a somber expression, Kersey shook his head. “Perhaps it would help if I could convey some of the information to her tomorrow.” Now for the coup de grace. “If her husband left her something that might make her burden even a little easier to bear—a favorite chair of his, or the carriage that they courted in—I would be happy to pass the information along to her. It might lift her spirits so well she will leave her bedroom for the first time in months.”

  Mr. Clarke studied Kersey’s face, then pursed his lips. “I am afraid that I cannot divulge that information to anyone but the dowager countess, my lord. You may, however, tell her that there is an inheritance for her and her daughter—one with which I believe she will be very pleased.” The solicitor’s gaze slid away from Kersey’s. “
I will write to her shortly with instructions regarding it.”

  Kersey froze, a deep-seated dread appearing from nowhere. Mr. Clarke’s guarded manner made him wonder just how much of the earldom’s holdings his predecessor had given away. Forcing himself to focus, Kersey cleared his throat. “Are you certain it’s not a forgery?”

  “One of the first things I investigated, my lord, I assure you. My firm may already be liable for misplacing this document. I did not wish to have the will contested on top of that.” Clarke’s voice rose an octave. “No, the witnesses have confirmed that this was the will of Alan, Lord Kersey, written on April 22nd, 1817. His lordship sent the will on to me in London and died later that day.”

  Kersey swallowed hard, then managed to ask calmly, “And you can give me no idea of what this inheritance will take from the earldom’s assets?”

  “Until I speak with the dowager countess, I am afraid not.” Clarke hesitated, then nodded. “I can only say that there will be a significant change to the Kersey resources.”

  Dear God. Kersey sat back in stunned silence, trying not to show his anguish at this blow. A significant change. That could be anything from the unentailed jewelry to a minor property to one of the five major estates. Thank God Kersey Hall, the largest of the properties, was entailed and therefore safe. His mind whirled feverishly, calculating how much income might be lost to the little dowager countess. He’d pored over the account books as soon as he’d arrived at Kersey Hall, and been gratified to learn how prosperous the earldom was. Change that income by even a small percentage and he might barely be able to scrape by on this estate, much less live a stylish existence in the London townhouse. If indeed that terraced house in Mayfair was part of the entail. In time, the other entailed properties could be made to produce more, but it would be slow going. He and Margery might even have to remain here and eschew Society for the Season. He shuddered at the idea.