Amberley Chronicles Boxset II (Amberley Chronicles Box Sets Book 2)

by May Burnett

“Unfortunately, yes. Due to the lack of information on Lady Madeline’s survival,” the solicitor returned, without betraying the slightest real regret. “However, now the situation has changed, since Lord Desborough insists on recognizing Mrs Durwent as his daughter, -“

  “Come, Robbins, that horse has left the stable,” the Earl said impatiently. “She is my daughter, and there’s an end to it.”

  Jonathan remained outwardly polite, but the implication that the Earl’s solicitors had been urging him to deny Cherry’s identity and claims was not lost on him. He mentally increased the pound of flesh he would extract in retaliation.

  “As you say, my Lord.” The solicitor bowed briefly. “Taking as a given that Lady Madeline and Mrs. Durwent are one and the same person, and the legitimate issue of Lady Mariah Desborough, here is an itemized list of the properties and possessions that formed the trust in her favour when it was dissolved in 1811.” He handed three sheets of closely written foolscap to Jonathan.

  He perused the document, taking his time. Jonathan already knew in general terms what the trust had included at the time of the sixth Earl’s death, but from what he now learned, the fortune had significantly increased during the years since Lady Mariah’s disappearance.

  “Brandy?” the earl asked, already pouring from a heavy decanter into a blown glass tumbler.

  “Thank you,” Robbins said, accepting a glass.

  Jonathan shook his head. He made a point of not drinking alcohol when engaging in business, until after the successful conclusion.

  “You will note that the bulk of the trust consisted of a large sum in the funds,” the Earl took over, when he saw that Jonathan was done. “When the trust was dissolved, I dedicated these funds principally to my wife’s and younger children’s portions.”

  “Very commendable.” A less prudent or family-minded man than the Earl might well have gambled the money away or rebuilt his Hall in larger and more splendid fashion, in which case nothing would be left to reclaim. “I fully realise that it will be difficult to undo these decisions in a short time.”

  “Then there is the issue of whether the trust should be reconstituted,” the Earl continued. "All the original trustees are dead, yet the beneficiaries, in the person of Cherry and your future child or children, are still very much alive.”

  “Naturally the trust should be re-established,” the solicitor opined. “My great-uncle was one of the trustees, and though he is no longer among us, the firm of Robbins, Wrexham, Chester and Robbins is able and willing to take up the task again.”

  The Earl and Jonathan exchanged a long look.

  “I do not necessarily agree,” Jonathan said. “The trust was only meant to last three generations, as I understand it, so my wife’s children will be the last generation it covers. And given that the original trustees have erred so grievously, I see little point in re-establishing that trust at this point.

  “Nor do I,” the Earl supported him. “It makes more sense to establish a new trust instead.”

  Jonathan nodded. “So, what are your suggestions on how to deal with Cherry’s rights?”

  “We have drawn up an offer,” the Earl said. “As you will see, I am aiming to give Cherry all she is owed, but will require your indulgence regarding the payment schedule. My daughter Anthea’s dowry is already signed away – Robbins here negotiated with Winstanton’s solicitors over most of the summer. Overall, within five years the entire sum will be transferred.” He handed Jonathan another document, in his own handwriting this time.

  Jonathan’s eyes flew over the notes and columns as he hid his amazement. Only his long practice in business allowed him to retain a neutral demeanour. He had fully expected the Earl to haggle over the total, to bring him down to half or less of the original claim, and in truth he might obtain rather less than that if he had taken the Earl to court on Cherry’s behalf – an action that neither he nor she would ever have countenanced. Surely the Earl knew as much. No, this offer was clearly based on the Earl’s own sense of what was right towards his eldest daughter. Mr Robbins’ faintly unhappy air told him that the legal advice the earl had received must have been very different indeed.

  “Thank you, on Cherry’s behalf,” he told his father-in-law. “Cherry is concerned about her younger siblings, however. How will this impact their futures?”

  “Irmaline’s dowry will be less generous than Cherry’s,” the Earl explained, “and William will not inherit as much as he would otherwise. Both are still too young to mind or in William’s case, to even know about this. Anthea’s dowry is already committed, that is why it will take some time to repay Cherry all she is owed.”

  “She would never want Anthea or Irmaline to suffer any disadvantage,” Jonathan said. “Personally, I am not so sure an extra-large dowry is necessarily advantageous. Without her large dowry young Lady Anthea might not have contracted her engagement to a young man who strikes me as highly mercenary.”

  “Surely not,” the Earl said, startled. “Winstanton is almost as rich as I am.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lord,” Robbins interposed, “but the way the Viscount’s representatives behaved as we ironed out the settlements, constantly referring to their instructions, did strike me as somewhat greedy. I was not going to comment on it, but I have often observed that wealth and a mercenary disposition go together excellently well.”

  The Earl frowned. Jonathan said nothing for a full minute, hoping the similar impressions of two completely independent witnesses would have some effect.

  “I shall have to look into this,” the Earl said at last. “But let’s get back to our current business, gentlemen.”

  “Speaking as my wife and future children’s legal representative,” Jonathan replied, “this offer is eminently acceptable. I shall discuss with her to what extent she may reciprocate your generosity, Sir, in favour of your younger children. We can settle these details at our leisure during the rest of our visit.”

  “Then we have an agreement in principle, subject only to Cherry’s suggestions in favour of her siblings?” The earl pressed.

  “Yes.” This had been much quicker and easier than Jonathan could have anticipated. He had expected the Earl to deal with the issue as a shrewd businessman would have, but clearly the nobleman operated on a different level when concerned with family issues. His respect for the man had doubled in the last hour, even as he wondered how the Earl had ever managed to increase his huge fortune with such an attitude.

  “I shall write to you with the exact instructions within a week or so,” Desborough said to Robbins, clearly in dismissal. “Thank you for your advice, and coming down from London at short notice.”

  “We are always at your service, my lord,” the solicitor said. “Even if our advice is disregarded, we shall continue to offer it to the best of our ability.” He shook hands with Jonathan. “May I ask for the direction of your own solicitor? There will be many details to settle yet.”

  “Henry Beecham, but he may not want to deal with those details himself,” Jonathan said. “I shall let you know if I engage someone else. Thank you, Mr. Robbins.”

  Left alone with the Earl, he said, “I would not mind that brandy now.”

  “Here you are.” A glass was pressed into his hand.

  “I am quite aware,” he probed delicately, “that your solicitors’ advice must have been rather contrary to what just transpired.”

  “True,” the Earl allowed, “But when they advised me to pretend not to believe that Cherry is my daughter, I ceased to take them seriously.”

  “If their former partner was one of her trustees, there is a possible conflict of interest there,” Jonathan commented. “We can draw out the repayment schedule over more than five years, you know. I am already rich enough, and Cherry will never lack for anything again, even without that new fortune.”

  “I was not aware quite how rich you are,” Desborough said gruffly, “until Robbins reported to me what they had found out.”

  Jonathan
shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

  “I regret that I implied, at our first meeting, that you might not be a suitable husband for Cherry. From what I now hear, you could look to the first families for a wife.” Jonathan remembered with a flash of guilt that this had indeed been his intention less than a year ago. “And Cherry seems happy with you, which is the most important consideration after all.”

  “Thank you.” This was a day full of surprises. “She is a little concerned for her sister Anthea, as I hinted earlier. You do not see it, as he behaves himself differently around you, but Winstanton does not show the degree of kindness and respect to your daughter, that would promise a happy future together.”

  “Surely my wife would have noticed if there was a problem as bad as all that,” the Earl said, clearly unwilling to discuss the matter further. He cleared his throat. “Robbins reported another fact of which I had not been aware, that Cherry’s husband shot himself, and has only been dead for a year. That could cause unpleasant gossip if it leaks out. But from what I learned, I am not sorry he is out of the picture. A wine merchant, was he? Did you know him?”

  “No, and I am glad I only met Cherry when she was free,” Jonathan admitted. “From what she has told me, it was not a happy marriage in the end, but his suicide and bankruptcy were still unexpected. She has weathered very difficult times just recently, and come through with flying colours. If there is gossip about our marriage and the fact that our child will be born less than nine months after the wedding, it will not be nearly as bad as what she endured this time last year. Besides, I shall shield her to the best of my ability.”

  The Earl nodded, deep in thought. “More brandy?”

  Jonathan declined, and went to report back to Cherry that she was going to be a very rich woman in her own right. If he knew her at all, she would insist on giving big junks of the fortune back. It was pleasant to be in a position to be generous. So many people were not.

  Chapter 22

  Sometimes the body knows before the mind.

  Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823

  The theology tome he was studying proved dry and in places illogical. As he tried to make headway in an armchair of the library, Charles was relieved at a timely interruption.

  “Mother has asked me to deliver food baskets to some of the tenants,” Lady Anthea told Cecily, reading nearby. “Would you like to join me?”

  Miss Trevor decisively shook her head.

  “If you want company, I would be pleased to provide an escort,” Charles offered.

  “It is boring to visit sick people you have never met before,” Cecily warned him, finally raising her eyes from the heavy volume on her lap.

  “Yet such may be an important part of my future duties.” He would have seized almost any excuse to interrupt his theological readings for an excursion outdoors, in the fresh air. That he would accompany Lady Anthea was merely a bonus.

  “You are very welcome to come along,” she said with that sunny smile of hers.

  It emerged that his bulk and a dozen baskets were too much for the modest gig she drove on such errands. Charles offered his curricle, slightly more capacious. Soon they were tooling along at a brisk pace, with Charles at the reins and Lady Anthea at his side.

  “It is a relief to get out of the house.” She was echoing his feelings. Lady Anthea glanced upwards at the clouds racing across the pale sky. “Though we had better not dawdle, I do not trust the weather to remain dry.”

  “Do you often take food to your father’s tenants?”

  “It is a tradition, though I sometimes wonder if we are merely going through the motions. None of our tenants should be so poor as to depend on charity, but that is reckoning without the inevitable sickness and accidents. Also, some of the older people have no family to look after them properly.”

  “It would indeed be best if nobody needed charity in the first place,” Charles agreed, as he carefully took a sharp turn. The safety of his passenger was uppermost in his mind. “But I very much doubt either of us will live to see the day.”

  “I make sure that the baskets always contain some delicacies, in addition to staples. Having a good cook and several assistants who do nothing else all day, allows for much greater variety, and dishes that a frazzled mother cannot easily produce on her smaller stove. The children are especially fond of the sweets I have the cook include.”

  “I see. Does your mother usually see to this task herself, when she is not busy with guests?”

  “She does not greatly like it, while I don’t mind, so I have taken over these rounds since I was seventeen.”

  “And will you do the same when you are living at your future husband’s estate?”

  Anthea pressed her lips together. “I daresay, if there is a need,” she said after a moment. “Talking to people in hard circumstances has taught me a great deal about the injustice of fate. For instance, one of these baskets is for old Mrs Toberlin. She had six children. Only one survives - a middle-aged daughter with a clubfoot who never married, and hobbles about most painfully. Their story reminds me of the tribulations of Job. How do you propose to explain God’s mercy to people so afflicted, when you are a vicar?”

  “That question confronts every Christian who goes around the world with open eyes,” he said after a moment, hiding his surprise at her choice of subject. “I hope my theological studies will offer a more convincing answer than I have found so far.”

  “I doubt it. The vicar, a learned man, only told me that it is not for us mortals to understand or judge the Lord’s inscrutable ways.” Her voice expressed her dissatisfaction with that evasion.

  “You do not sound very admiring of the Church’s teachings,” he ventured after a short pause. “Do you disapprove of my plans for the future?” And why should it matter to him what she thought? She was not yet twenty, a mere infant.

  “It is not for me to approve or disapprove, but you seem too alive, too dashing, for such a staid career and life.”

  “What kind of life would you consider suitable for me, then?”

  “How should I know, hedged about and protected from any real knowledge of the world? You have already travelled far, and do not need to work at anything that does not interest you. How many men would love to change places with you!”

  “But it would be a waste not to bend my abilities to some useful purpose,” he objected. “I had believed to have found it when I accepted that posting in St. Romain, but colonial administration does not satisfy me. Nor do I plan to live outside England again for such long periods.”

  “You don’t feel any urge to explore jungles untrodden by white men, have new species of butterflies named after you, or mine for diamonds in the African wilds?”

  “Not at all. There are enough daredevils who can do all that, with my goodwill.”

  “What about politics? Father gets very absorbed in battles regarding new bills. When those ancient hanging offenses were abolished this summer, he went on about it for several days. Drawing up the laws, or reforming them at least, sounds like a worthwhile task.”

  “In theory,” he agreed, “but the reality and practice are not at all as you probably imagine. The constant horse-trading and compromises that form the essence of politics would not suit me.”

  They had arrived at the first cottage on Anthea’s route. As Charles held the horses, his companion nimbly climbed down, pulled a basket after her and entered the cottage with a cheerful wave of her gloved hand.

  He could not look away until she had passed out of sight. Charles swallowed. His was a severe case, and no cure in sight.

  After handing the horses to a half-grown lad slouching around the yard, not without misgivings, he followed Anthea into the cottage. She was listening to a thin, overworked woman surrounded by six children of various ages. From the way these eyed the basket sitting on the bare wooden table, Charles could not doubt that it was highly welcome.

  “Good morning, my lord!” the woman said t
o Charles, with an awkward deep curtsey. “That will be your promised, my lady? The Viscount?”

  “No, this is Mr. Charles Denham,” she corrected. “And this is Mrs. Cully.”

  Charles smiled. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Cully. You have a fine brood here. Six? Does the lad holding my horses also belong to you?”

  “Yes, that is Jordan, and he has an older brother too, Jem, - if he is still alive.”

  Charles blinked. “Is there doubt on the issue?”

  “Mrs. Cully’s eldest son was impressed by the Navy,” Anthea explained, “and has not been heard of for almost three years now, is that right?”

  Mrs. Cully nodded gloomily. “Jem cannot write, mind, so it would not be easy for him to send word.”

  “He is drownded!” a small girl said dramatically. Her brother’s possible fate did not appear to trouble her unduly.

  “Let us hope not,” Charles said. “My best wishes for your Jem’s safe return, Mrs. Cully.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  They left after a few minutes, and continued towards the next family.

  “Too bad the young man is absent, she could certainly do with more help,” Charles commented as he signalled to the horses to depart.

  “I am not so sure,” Anthea said thoughtfully. “Jem is something of a scamp, by all accounts, and bone lazy.”

  “Do you know him personally?”

  “Not really. Though we are much of an age, I don’t think I have talked to him since I was about ten or eleven. But everyone knows everybody’s business in a small community like this.”

  “Will Mrs Cully wonder why you are not squired around by your own fiancé?”

  “Let her wonder, I care not. Lord Winstanton is not likely to ever take much of an interest in our tenants’ welfare.”

  He looked at her sharply, wondering at the bitterness in her tone. “Forgive me, but if you see his faults so clearly, then why –,” he broke off. “I beg your pardon, I was forgetting myself. Concern for your happiness made me speak out of turn - this is really none of my business.”