“Does she know?”
The solicitor blinked. “Does who know, my lord?”
“My betrothed. Lady Christina,” Jay ground out patiently. “Is she aware of the contents of the will?”
Mr. Strate considered this question for a moment. “I do not know, my lord. Certainly Lady Thanet knew, for she and I discussed it at length after your father’s death, but whether or not she told her daughter of the contents, I have no idea. And, your father instructed me specifically not to reveal the contents of his will to anyone but his widow.”
“I see. And the earl? Where is he?”
“He is at Oxford, my lord. He is apparently quite a serious student.”
“I see. Is there anything else I should know?”
Mr. Strate was silent for a moment, drawing his thin eyebrows together in a slight frown. “I do not think so—except that you have less than two months to fulfill the terms of your father’s will. Your father passed away on July 29th, 1856.”
“I see.”
Mr. Strate began to rise. “Well, then, will that be all, my lord?”
Jay eyed him uncertainly. What was he to do now? Then something struck him.
“You said that Lady Christina and my sister were living in the dower house?” The man nodded. “Is the main house closed up, then?”
“I don’t believe so, although it may have only a small staff. Your steward, a Mr. Roderick Milton, has rooms in the house.”
“And the earl? What of his estate?”
“A Mr. Lyon of Lyon and Mayer handles that estate. I believe that the earl receives a quarterly allowance through them. Mr. Lyon would, I assume, be happy to answer any inquiries. A quarterly allowance is also sent to Lady Christina through your steward. Lady Christina has, understandably, not been happy about that arrangement. A full accounting of the amounts is contained in those documents as well.” He nodded toward the stack of paper resting in front of Jay.
Jay nodded. “Very good, then. Thank you for all your help.” Jay rose to his feet, signaling the end of the interview.
Once he was gone, Jay sank into the chair behind the desk and put his head in his hands. What was he to do now? His father had effectively put him in a corner and he didn’t know whether to laugh at the old man’s audacity, or curse him for the debacle he had created. His father wouldn’t have known about the gypsy, so he had arranged matters the way he wanted them to be.
“So what do we do now?” Brand broke into his thoughts.
Jay slanted him a glance. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
Brand grinned good-naturedly, showing white, even teeth. “Of course, I am, but I am sure you’ll tell me when you calm down a little. I’m sure the solicitor flinched more than once.”
Jay stared off across the spacious room. He hadn’t planned on anything so complicated interfering with his life. And he certainly hadn’t planned on taking a wife until he was ready to. Until he found the right one. The one he was supposed to find. Perhaps he should let it go. After all, the title meant little to him. He’d never aspired to it. In fact, never expected to come into it. And what about your sister? a small voice asked him. Don’t you even want to meet her?
There was the rub. After being answerable only to himself for the last eighteen years and not having to watch out for anyone except Brand occasionally, suddenly he was responsible for a younger sister, an earl, and betrothed to the earl’s sister. What a tangle.
“My father revised his will shortly before he died. Probably because I never responded to any of the summons he sent during the year after Aaron’s death, he decided that I was uninterested in my heritage. He had no way of knowing that I never received any of them. I suppose the will is written in the normal way, except for the last paragraph. In that one he nullifies everything left to me unless I honor the betrothal contract drawn up between myself and Lady Christina Kenton before the fifth anniversary of his death. If I don’t, or refuse, then Lady Christina—not my sister, mind you, but Lady Christina—inherits everything.”
His restlessness got the better of him and he paused to stand and cross the burgundy carpet to the sideboard. Pouring himself another drink, he turned to Brand and continued.
“What he has effectively done is disown me. The only way back into the family is to marry the woman he has chosen. I suspect that if he could have, he would have left her his title as well.”
Brand whistled. “He thought of everything, didn’t he?”
Jay took a sip of his drink, resisting the urge to gulp it down and pour another one. “He probably thought he did. He obviously didn’t consider what might happen if I refused to marry her and fought the will in court.” Jay was silent for another moment, before adding, “It’s just fortunate that I’m not already married—something else he obviously didn’t think of.”
Brand grinned. “That widow in Charleston nearly snared you, didn’t she?”
Jay grimaced at the reminder of an episode he’d rather forget.
“But why leave everything to Lady Christina and not your sister?” Brand asked.
Jay shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe because my sister is so young, he assumed that Lady Christina and her brother would take care of her. And he didn’t leave her penniless—a substantial dowry is allotted for.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “Then again, perhaps he assumed that Lady Christina would need the extensive lands and fortune behind her in order to marry well after waiting for me all these years. Twenty-two isn’t really so old, though. Makes me wonder what she’s really like.”
“I suppose you’ll just have to go and find out, won’t you?”
Jay smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Raising his glass in a mock salute, a beam of sunlight caught the amber liquid, making it glow.
“I suppose I shall…eventually.”
*
Tina looked up from the herb bed she was weeding. Familiar footsteps crunched the gravel behind her and she turned to see her sister approaching. Dressed in a simple blue muslin dress, her long, dark hair tied back with a blue ribbon, Felicia was obviously a budding beauty. Of course, Tina admitted to herself, she was somewhat biased, but she thought her sister quite lovely and was positive Felicia would eventually make a brilliant splash when she made her debut.
“Mr. Milton is here,” Felicia announced.
Tina sighed. “What does he want this time?” she said more to herself than Felicia, who responded nevertheless.
“How should I know? I don’t trust him. So, I avoid him as much as possible.”
“Yes, I know. I don’t trust him either, but as long as we live here, we don’t have any choice but to be civil. He holds the purse strings, after all.”
Felicia made a very unladylike noise, her blue eyes darkening. “I don’t see why we should be civil just because he controls what is already ours. If we up and left tomorrow, he wouldn’t bother to try to find us.”
Tina got to her feet, arching her back to work the soreness out. She didn’t trust Roderick Milton the way her stepfather obviously had. Until their brother, Jon, took complete control of his own inheritance or until the current marquis made an appearance, she and Felicia had no place to live but at Thane Park. That meant being somewhat polite to the person who held their livelihood.
Removing the leather gloves she wore, she handed them to her sister. “Since you don’t care to be cordial to Mr. Milton, why don’t you finish the weeding? I was almost done, so it shouldn’t take you very long.”
Muttering something about preferring to be cordial to wild boars, Felicia took the gloves and Tina headed toward the house. The late afternoon sun reflected off the windows of the house, their sparkling reflection reminding Tina of the jewels her mother often wore when they entertained. On the heels of the recollection came memories of her mother and with it, a stab of pain at her loss.
Often Tina found herself wondering “Why?” when it came to her mother’s death. It seemed so senseless, but she’d been taught from a very young age not to
question the vagaries of life, so she kept her wondering to herself. Death was just another facet of life, her great-grandmother would have told her. We all experience it eventually. She just wished her mother had not experienced it so soon.
Stepping into the back hallway, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the dimness and smoothed down her gown. It was wrinkled and stained from gardening, but she felt no compunction to change for Mr. Milton. Moving slowly down the hall, she wondered again why he was here.
Roderick Milton stood before the empty drawing room fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the opening. As she entered, Tina wondered if he was looking for something among the ashes. He was a tall, well-built man in his late thirties with brown hair and flat gray eyes. She’d long ago relegated him to the category of town dandy. He never seemed to fit in as a country gentleman, his style of dress and manners too foppish and smooth to be sincere. A friend of her former betrothed, Aaron, he was later hired by Aaron to help manage the properties belonging to the family when the marquis’ health began to fail. Her mother had not approved of him, nor trusted him. However, since he and Aaron spent little time at Thane Park, preferring Collingswood because it was closer to London, it had not been an issue.
After Aaron was killed, Mr. Milton briefly aspired to take his place in her affections, but, due to her mother’s intervention, nothing had come of it. Aaron’s death had devastated the marquis such that he paid little attention to the estate, leaving Mr. Milton in place and only occasionally looking over his activities.
“Good day to you, Mr. Milton. To what do we owe this visit?”
She did not bother to sit nor offer refreshment, thereby assuring the visit would be short. It was rude to do so, but she could only endure so much of Roderick Milton’s company. That he insisted on treating them like dependents irked her—especially since he was the one who should be dependent on them. He was but an employee. Unfortunately, her stepfather had given him too much control and it had gone to his head.
Turning abruptly, a grimace crossed his face as his eyes fell on her. She resisted the impulse to pat at her hair or brush her hands across her cheek to displace whatever dirt might have accumulated.
“It seems the new marquis has finally made an appearance in London.”
She fought to control her expression, deliberately schooling it into calm disinterest. “What has that to do with me? I daresay Felicia will be more interested in her brother’s whereabouts than I.”
“Come now, let’s not play games.” Disbelief colored his remarks, and his posture became rigid. “You know what it has to do with you—or have you conveniently forgotten the betrothal contract?”
“It’s not binding,” she answered. “He was not a party to it so he should not have to honor it.”
Tina wondered, as she had often of late, if the only reason he hadn’t driven them away was because of the betrothal contract. If the new marquis showed up prepared to honor the contract and she couldn’t be found, he might have to explain himself and his actions.
“So you plan to continue living off his charity?”
The question surprised her. “I do not consider living here charity. It is my home as well as Felicia’s. At the moment we have nowhere else to go, else we would not even be here.” She paused for a moment. “He is responsible for both Felicia and myself, for now. Fortunately, his responsibility for me ends upon my brother’s twenty-fifth birthday.”
He glanced around the room and she knew that he was taking in the faded draperies and carpet, peeling wallpaper, and worn furniture. It screamed genteel poverty. There was no fire in the fireplace, the ashes from the previous evening having yet to be cleaned out.
When he turned to face her again, she nearly recoiled from the flicker of hatred she thought she saw in his eyes. “Your brother doesn’t turn twenty-five until next year. Have you given more thought to what you will do this year?”
“I have already given you my answer to your offer. Felicia and I will manage somehow. We have no other choice.”
“There is always a choice, my lady,” he countered with a sneer as his eyes narrowed. “As others have learned to their detriment.”
“I suppose we shall have to wait and see what the marquis has to say about those choices,” she countered. Drawing herself up, she said coolly, “Until then, I suggest that you continue your normal practice of ignoring us. Good day, Mr. Milton.” And, deaf to Mr. Milton’s furious sputtering, she inclined her head briefly, turned, and left the room.
Needing a moment to herself, she slipped into another small parlor just down the hall. The furniture in this room was rarely used and, therefore protected by dust-covers. Sinking into one of the uncovered chairs and slowly massaging her temples, she forced herself to relax and slow her breathing. She didn’t know what it was about Mr. Milton that seemed to unbalance her so thoroughly, but she couldn’t seem to be in his presence for more than a few minutes before she was tense and out of sorts, her perpetual calm threatening to crumble. Even a momentary encounter left her feeling shaken and disturbed.
She was too sensitive, her great-grandmother would have said. She could feel his hostility. Her mother often told her that facing up to something helped you to stay in control of it and yourself, and she had always tried to acknowledge the feelings, but not let them overwhelm her. Today, however, his animosity was almost tangible, seeming to sap the very life from her.
Choices indeed! She would not marry that creature. Two months ago, he informed her that her stipend from Felicia’s father would run out at the end of July, on the fifth anniversary of his death. At that time, he stated, he would no longer allow her to inhabit the dower house. As steward of the estate, he’d said, he had to ensure the estate did not support charity cases. He had then offered to marry her, thereby allowing her to stay—and move back into the main house. She refused, but later worried that her refusal might eventually come back to haunt her.
But, no longer. After eighteen years, the prodigal had returned. She hoped it meant she and Felicia would have some protection against Roderick Milton. At the very least, she no longer needed to worry what would happen to them come the end of summer. It would be nice to move back into the main house as well, but she wasn’t counting on it. Even with the marquis there, she would not feel comfortable living under the same roof as the steward.
Hearing the front door slam, she waited and listened for the sound of the curricle leaving before emerging from the room. Feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders, she sighed and headed back outside into the garden. Felicia was seated in the grass, her face lifted to the sun. She turned in Tina’s direction at her approach and Tina hoped Felicia wouldn’t notice her agitation.
“What did he want?”
Tina didn’t immediately answer, sinking down into the grass beside her first.
“Well?”
“He came to inform me that your brother is back and in London,” she answered, and was startled by Felicia’s squeal of delight. For a moment Tina just stared at Felicia in open-mouthed astonishment, taking in the wide smile and sparkling blue eyes. It never occurred to her that Felicia was waiting for her now-oldest brother to return. She’d never met him and barely knew of his existence.
Felicia leaned over and threw her arms around her sister, squeezing merrily. “That’s wonderful! Oh, that’s just wonderful. I wonder when he’ll come to see me. Do you think he’ll like me? He never met Mama, so he won’t know I look like her, will he? Do you think he’ll let me go to London for a season next year or the year after? Do you think he’ll let us buy some new gowns? Should we write to Jon and let him know?”
Tina, somewhat dazed by all the sudden questions, answered slowly. “I don’t know. Mr. Milton didn’t say anything about him coming here, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t even ask how he knew. But, yes, I think it would be a good idea to write to Jon and let him know.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll come anyway, won’t he? Mr. Milton woul
dn’t have told us if he didn’t think my brother might come and make him go away, right? I hope he does, too. I hope he makes Mr. Milton go far, far away and never come back. That will be just plain marvelous!” she ended with a dramatic flourish.
And, so saying, she jumped up and skipped off in the direction of the kitchen, probably to inform Cook and Milly that their fortunes were about to change.
Tina watched Felicia go with a sigh. Relieved the marquis had returned, she was still unsure of the ramifications. The betrothal contract came to mind.
She might have told Mr. Milton it wasn’t binding on the new marquis, but she wasn’t sure. From what her mother said, the new marquis might not want to marry her. He might resent being forced into it. If that were the case, he might not bother to show up in Devon for months, preferring London just as Aaron had. She hoped Felicia would not be disappointed.
But, if he didn’t show by the end of the summer, she’d just write him and demand that he present himself. Or perhaps she’d take Felicia and travel to London. She was counting on the marquis’ presence to relieve the steward of his control of the purse strings. There was so much that needed doing around the house. She glanced back up at the warm brick building. The rooms on the third floor were all closed up. It didn’t matter because she and Felicia had no need of them, but they could use more help.
Tina didn’t mind the gardening, or the occasional bit of housework, but Milly and Cook were loath to allow her to do much more, so many things just didn’t get done.
She sighed again and got to her feet. If the marquis didn’t present himself soon, she’d write her brother. It was nearing the end of the term, so Jon could go track the marquis down. For Felicia, the two of them would ferret out Old Nick himself and invite him to visit. She just hoped the marquis didn’t turn out to be the devil incarnate in the end.
*
Roderick Milton watched in astonishment as Tina deliberately turned and walked out of the room. He couldn’t believe she had intentionally turned her back on him, dismissing him like she would a mere servant. How dare she?
The Gypsy Legacy: Marquis Page 2
