Shock sizzled through Leah. No wonder Henshaw viewed the three of them with condescension. She knew enough about the law, however, to understand that Mama’s marriage to Papa before Leah was born meant she was not illegitimate. A shudder racked her at the thought—at least she did not have that stigma to blight her life.
‘This...’ Miss Fothergill sucked in an audible breath, and when she spoke again, she sounded close to tears. ‘If this is true, it changes everything. I do not know what I shall do.’ Her distress was palpable and, again, Leah resisted the urge to pat her hand.
‘You mentioned the current Lord Tregowan earlier,’ said Miss Croome. ‘Does that mean our father is dead?’
‘He died eight years ago, and the title and the Tregowan estates—which were entailed—passed to his heir. Falconfield and the London house were brought to the marriage by Lady Tregowan and he left them to her. He’d fallen out with the current Lord Tregowan’s father years before, and so refused to leave his heir any more property than he was forced to under the entail.’
‘Have you proof of this?’ Every principle she held dear urged Leah to reject the solicitor’s words. Her darling mama, fallen from grace? Her beloved papa, not even her true father? Nausea rose to block her throat.
‘I have had copies made of Her Ladyship’s will, which you may take with you when you leave,’ Henshaw said. ‘It confirms your paternity.’
‘Would you kindly get to the point swiftly, Mr Henshaw?’ Miss Croome’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the solicitor. ‘Clearly you are unhappy, and I, for one, will be pleased to leave this fusty old office behind. You mentioned bequests, so please say why you have summoned us and be done.’
‘Very well. Lady Tregowan of Falconfield Hall has passed away, and it is my duty to advise you that she left the three of you her entire estate, to be divided equally between you, subject to certain conditions.’
Leah froze, barely able to comprehend his words. Her entire estate?
Miss Croome leaned forward. ‘How much is it worth?’
‘It is substantial. It comprises Falconfield Hall and its land, which, as I said, is near to the village of Keynsham on the Bath Road, plus a town house in London, and various funds, the income from which, in the past year, amounted to over fifteen thousand pounds. You are now three very wealthy young ladies.’
Miss Fothergill gasped and swayed in her seat. Leah, still reeling herself, opened her reticule and handed her smelling salts to Miss Fothergill. Beatrice. Her half-sister.
Excitement exploded through her. She had family. She would be wealthy. She would no longer have to earn her living as a put-upon governess. Except...as quickly as it had risen, her elation subsided. Her current post was not drudgery—she loved her life at Dolphin Court, and she adored Steven and Nicholas, as well as baby Matilda, and the boys adored and relied upon her in their turn. How could she turn her back on them? The very thought dismayed her.
And what about Papa? Her stomach churned. He wasn’t her father. Worse, he had known it. But he had been the best, most loving father she could ever have wished for—to take pleasure in this news of unexpected riches seemed disloyal, almost as though she would be rejecting Papa in favour of a man who had seduced her beloved mama.
A sharp prickling in her nose warned of imminent tears and she surreptitiously pinched the bridge between thumb and forefinger.
Oh, God! I have sisters! How often as a child had she prayed for a sister or a brother, prayers that had gone unanswered? Until now. And, of a sudden, she had two of them. But they were complete strangers. Her mind whirled as violently as her stomach, but she strove to keep her inner turmoil hidden.
Beatrice handed back the smelling salts, smiling shyly. As Leah tucked the bottle back into her reticule she wondered where the other two women lived and if they would ever meet again. That thought triggered another. She frowned.
‘You mentioned conditions?’
‘Ah. Yes. They are quite straightforward. For a full twelve months from today the three of you will have the joint use of the two properties, and your living expenses will be met out of the income from the funds as mentioned. After that year, providing you have met the further conditions of the will, you will inherit your share of Her Ladyship’s estate outright.’
‘What further conditions?’ Miss Croome... Aurelia...demanded.
‘I am getting to that, Miss Croome. The conditions specified in the will are that you will reside in London for the entirety of the coming Season and you will remain under the chaperonage of Mrs Butterby, who was Lady Tregowan’s live-in companion, until you marry. After the Season ends you will have the choice of whether to reside in London or at Falconfield Hall, but you must each of you marry within the year.’
‘Marry?’ Miss Croome’s upper lip curled. ‘Why?’
‘As Lady Tregowan failed to consult me in drawing up this final will, I am not privy to her reasoning.’ Henshaw’s lips thinned. ‘I dare say Mrs Butterby will be able to enlighten you.’
Leah raised her brows, exchanging mystified looks with the other two—her half-sisters. ‘And if we do not marry within the year?’
‘If you fail to wed, Miss Thame, you will forfeit the major portion of your share of the inheritance, which will then be divided between the other two sisters. You will be required to return any purchases made during the twelvemonth period, other than purely personal items such as clothing. So, jewellery, for instance, or carriages, or even houses, will be forfeit. A cottage on the Falconfield estate will be provided for you to live in, and you will receive a lifetime annual allowance of two hundred pounds so you are not left entirely destitute. Plus, there are two final stipulations. If any of you wish to sell your share of Falconfield Hall, the others—or, strictly, their husbands—will get first refusal. And, finally, you must not marry your father’s—that is, the late Lord Tregowan’s—successor, the current Lord Tregowan, who is a distant cousin.’
Leah frowned at the final condition. The aristocracy were usually keen to keep their land and estates together. ‘Why?’
‘As I said, Lady Tregowan sought neither my services nor my advice.’
An uneasy silence fell in the room and Leah used the time to attempt to collect her thoughts. Uppermost was the news she would have to marry, but she had long ago dismissed any likelihood of marriage. If she ever wed, she would want...need...a marriage like that of her parents: warm, loving, respectful, happy. She would never settle for putting her life and now her fortune—how strange that sounds—in the hands of a husband who did not love her. She had seen too many examples of such unions in her time as a governess, and she had no desire to be trapped in such a marriage herself.
She harboured no illusions about her prospects—she was already six-and-twenty, and she saw herself in the mirror every day, with her sharp nose, high cheekbones and pointed chin; her tall, lanky figure; her red hair and freckles. She had learned from bitter experience she was not a woman to stir romantic feelings in any man. The only two men who had ever shown any interest in her had both seen her merely as a means to an end.
Her father’s curate, Peter Bennett, had courted her, but she’d learned too late he’d only done so in order to curry favour with Papa. When Papa died and Leah—with no prospects other than having to earn her own living—was forced to vacate the vicarage, Peter quickly revealed his true colours by turning his back on their informal understanding. Instead, he’d immediately set out to win the favour of the new vicar, who possessed two daughters.
And then there had been that dreadful Christmas when she had been working for Lord and Lady Petherton. Their eldest son and heir, Viscount Usk, had come home with two friends for the festive season and had promptly set out to charm Leah. She had been wary and had resisted him until, on Christmas Eve, he had captured her under the mistletoe and pleaded for a kiss. His single-minded pursuit of her had lulled her instincts... She had fallen for his p
rotests that he adored red hair and freckles, and she had allowed the kiss. Even returned it. Whereupon Usk had pushed her aside and crowed to his friends, ‘Got her! Told you I’d do it. Five pounds from each of you!’
She would never forget that humiliation, nor the shock of being turned away before the New Year after Usk’s parents had learned of that wager. They had been painful lessons, and she had learned to be cautious where gentlemen were concerned. She had little doubt her half-sisters—both of them younger and far prettier than Leah—would have more chance of finding husbands.
‘Ahem!’ Henshaw broke the silence with a cough, then shuffled through the stack of papers on his desk. He handed one document to each woman. ‘As I said, I have had copies made of the will—’ he rummaged in his desk drawer and withdrew three small leather pouches ‘—and here is a purse of money for each of you, to offset any interim expenses before you arrive in London. You will no doubt need a little time to prepare for the change in your circumstances and to leave your old lives in good order, but I would urge you to allow time in London for your new wardrobes to be made before the Season proper begins after Eastertide.’
Leah stowed her copy of the will and the purse in her reticule, her mouth dry as uncertainty flooded her all over again. What would this mean for her future? She’d become accustomed to changes in her life since Papa’s death, but each change had become harder and her soul yearned for safety and stability. Her chest squeezed with pain. Papa. He wasn’t even her real father, but he’d been all that was kind and loving, all that she could have wanted in a father.
‘All I require is your signatures to this declaration, confirming you have been advised as to the contents of the will and the conditions attached to your inheritance, and then you may leave,’ Henshaw said.
Each woman signed the document in turn and Leah was appalled to find her hand was shaking. Surreptitiously eyeing both Aurelia and Beatrice, she identified signs of their own stress as they avoided making eye contact.
‘Three post-chaises will be waiting outside to transport you home,’ Henshaw continued. ‘You must arrive at the London house—the address is in the will—at the very latest on the day after Easter Sunday, that is, by the fifteenth of April, or your share will be forfeit. Mrs Butterby is already in residence and preparations to accommodate you are under way. Do you have any questions before you leave?’
‘I do.’ Aurelia’s voice faltered, her face bright red. Leah was alarmed to see her eyes sheen with tears. ‘Might I...may I go to London immediately? Will I be allowed to live in the town house straight away?’
For the first time Leah spotted a glimpse of compassion in Henshaw’s expression.
‘Yes, Miss Croome, you may.’ He scribbled a note. ‘Here is a note for Mrs Butterby. Shall you need to return to Bath first?’ Aurelia shook her head. ‘Then I advise you to travel on the mail coach. It leaves the Bush Tavern on Corn Street at four every afternoon. It is not far from here; I shall send my clerk to purchase a ticket on your behalf and instruct him to dismiss your post-chaise.’ He looked at Leah and Beatrice. ‘Would either of you care to go immediately to London with Miss Croome?’
‘Oh, no! My brother... I will be expected home,’ said Beatrice breathlessly.
‘No, thank you,’ said Leah.
Henshaw crossed to the door and opened it, and she could hear the murmur of voices.
On his return, he said, ‘I shall bid you all good day now. Miss Croome, you may wait downstairs in the general office until my clerk returns with your ticket.’
As Henshaw assisted Aurelia with her coat, Leah frowned, realising it made no sense.
‘Why would Lady Tregowan concern herself with us?’
‘I know nothing more than I have told you, but I dare say Mrs Butterby will provide you with more detail. She was Her Ladyship’s companion for the last twenty years or so. I suggest you ask her when you convene at the town house.’
If I go to the town house. I need not accept the terms of the will.
The idea of a London Season—filled with beautiful, elegant young ladies, all vying for a husband—filled Leah with horror.
But two hundred pounds per annum is a substantial sum, and I would have a roof over my head.
True independence, even on a limited income, was enticing. But...how lonely it would be. For that, she would have to leave the boys—the very thought wrenched at her heartstrings and reminded her she must get back to them. Of a sudden, Leah could not wait to be in the solitude of the post-chaise with the chance to get her thoughts in order. She led the way down the dingy staircase and out into the fresh air, where two post-chaises waited at the kerb, each with a post boy stationed by its door. The third vehicle was driving away.
She turned to the other women. Her sisters. And had no idea what to say.
‘We cannot discuss this here on the pavement,’ Aurelia said. ‘But... I am happy to meet you both. I always wanted a sister.’
Her smile glowed, and Leah could see the potential for beauty, once her skin bloomed with health, her hair shone and her face filled out. There was no doubt this news made Aurelia happy.
‘As have I,’ said Leah.
‘And I,’ said Beatrice, ‘and now I have two.’
‘Well, I hope you will both join me in London very soon, and we can get to know one another properly.’
‘Ladies?’ The nearest post boy interrupted them. ‘Transport for Miss Thame? We must be leaving, or we won’t get back before dark.’
‘Thank you. I will come now.’ Leah smiled at her sisters. ‘If you wish to write to me, I live at Dolphin Court, Westcliff, Somerset. I know where you will be, Aurelia. And you, Beatrice?’
‘Oh.’ Beatrice appeared to shrink away from the others. ‘I am not sure... That is...my brother...he will disapprove. I shall come to London, though, no matter what he—’ She bit off her words with a gasp. ‘I shall see you both then.’ She hurried to the second post-chaise. ‘Is this one for Miss Fothergill?’
The post boy nodded, and she stepped up into the vehicle. As the chaise pulled away from the kerb, she lowered the window and waved, her smile doing nothing to alleviate the anxiety of her expression.
‘Well,’ said Aurelia. ‘I already dislike her brother intensely.’
‘As do I.’ Leah looked at her sister, mentally scrabbling for a friendly comment. ‘Aurelia is such a pretty name.’ She stepped up into her waiting post-chaise. ‘I hope I shall see you soon. Have a safe journey.’
The horses moved off sharply, jolting her off balance. She sat down with a bump, and by the time she looked through the window, the post-chaise was turning out of the street and Aurelia was lost to sight.
Chapter Three
Piers Duval, Lord Dolphinstone—Dolph to his friends—leaned his head against the glass of the carriage window, straining to catch his first glimpse of Dolphin Court. Home. As the familiar building came into view across the valley, his throat thickened with a mix of guilt, dread and joy.
He had missed home and his three children more than he’d ever thought possible during the long months away. Within that churning mix of emotions, guilt gained the upper hand—he should never have stayed away so long, not when the children had just lost their mother. The guilt intensified. When the request had come for him to join Lord Castlereagh, the Foreign Secretary, in Vienna, he had grabbed the excuse of duty with both hands and had rushed off to Europe rather than face the bewilderment of two young boys whose mother was there one day and gone the next. Matilda had thankfully been too young to grasp the catastrophic change in all their lives. Dolph had selfishly fled his own guilt and grief, unable to cope with reliving each and every day that had led up to Rebecca’s death, wondering in despair what he could have said or done differently. Wondering what signals he overlooked. Wondering how he could have stopped her.
He’d thought Rebecca was content with her life. Theirs had be
en an arranged marriage—they’d rubbed along together well enough, but they’d never been in love. Whatever that meant. Maybe he was incapable of loving anyone? After they’d wed, Dolph’s life had continued much as before, with extended stays in London due to his interest in politics and government, and, when he was home, with the estates. Rebecca disliked London and had seemed happy to remain in Somerset. Looking back, he realised they had never really talked in depth about their lives or their feelings or their expectations of the other.
And his wife had been more unhappy than he had ever imagined.
Swamped by guilt, he’d been incapable of comforting his children after Rebecca died. Hell, he’d barely been able to look at them, knowing how badly he’d let down his entire family. So, he’d appointed a governess for the boys and he had left, convinced they’d all be better off without him.
‘You’re quiet, old fellow.’
Dolph straightened, pushing away from the window and from his inner turmoil, and eyed his travelling companion, George, Lord Hinckley, in whose carriage they travelled and who had been quick to accept Dolph’s invitation to convalesce at the Court after a duel left him fighting a life-threatening infection.
‘You must be eager to see the children again after all this time,’ George continued. ‘I can only apologise once more for further delaying your return.’
Dolph huffed a laugh. ‘It was not entirely your fault—Tamworth has always been a hothead, but it was lunacy for him to challenge you over one waltz with Miss Andrews.’
‘And lunacy for me to accept his challenge?’ George’s left arm rested in a sling to protect the shoulder pierced by Tamworth’s sword. ‘I did attempt to appease him, but he was spoiling for a fight and there’s only so many insults a fellow can take.’
Dolph refrained from pointing out Tamworth would not have taken such exception had George refrained from flirting quite so outrageously with Miss Andrews. That comment would achieve nothing. George was a known flirt who fell in and out of love with alarming regularity, but his flirtations were never serious, and Tamworth, had he been thinking straight, knew it. Dolph had arrived back in London in time to act as George’s second and had then felt obliged to remain with his old friend until his life was out of danger.
The Rags-to-Riches Governess--A Cinderella Regency Romance Page 2
