The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(48)
Mr. Mayhew’s eyes bulged, his face turning red.
Feeling sorry for the man, Rosie said quickly, “Thank you for sending Mr. Horton to assist during your absence. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
The solicitor inclined his head at her. “You’re welcome, my lady. I was gratified to hear from Mr. Horton that the funeral was a stately affair. George Theale was a long-time client of mine, and I consider it an honor to execute his last wishes. Thus, without further ado,”—he lifted a document from his desk—“ladies and gentlemen, this is the last will and testament of George Henry Theale, the fifth Earl of Daltry…”
Mayhew began with the letters patent, which dealt with the passing of the peerage and all its entailments to Peter Theale. As the solicitor droned on about estates and finances, Rosie’s mind wandered back to Andrew. The talk with Polly yesterday had added fuel to her longing, and she’d spent a restless night fantasizing about a future with him.
Her practical nature had weighed in with a compromise. What if she allowed herself to explore her feelings for Andrew… without the expectation of marriage? She was a widow now, and everyone knew widows played by a different set of rules. As long as she was discreet, she could take a lover—and the only one she wanted was Andrew.
I’ll make love to you when you admit I’m the only man who can give you what you need.
Botheration. Having to capitulate to Andrew would be annoying... but a small price to pay to be in his arms. Even as excitement poured through her, she reminded herself of another caveat.
If she and Andrew were to have an affair, she must guard her heart.
She couldn’t allow herself to hope for more than what was possible. Besides, being rejected by him once had been painful enough, and she didn’t want to go through that again. Thus, she would present her terms to him: she’d be willing to have an affair as long as (a) there were with no strings attached, (b) it was done discreetly, and (c) it didn’t threaten her ultimate goal of achieving social acceptance.
Feeling mature (and rather proud of herself) for working out a plan, she was reminded of her present objective and glanced at the dowager countess and Mrs. James, who were perched on the edge of their seats. As a first step, she would invite the ladies to luncheon. She’d plan a special menu and pour on the butter boat, if necessary. Maybe she’d be able to convince them to say something favorable about her at their popular Thursday Salon.
She warmed to her plan. The crème de la crème were like lemmings: just get one to change course and the others would follow. All she had to do was sway Lady Charlotte or Mrs. James…
At that instant, their gazes swung to her. She blinked and had a panicked thought: did they somehow catch wind of her machinations? But, no, it wasn’t just them—everyone in the chamber was staring at her.
Uh oh. Her heart sped up. What have I done now?
“This is unacceptable.” Alastair James shot to his feet, all feigned lassitude gone. Rage flashed in his blue eyes. “I was Daltry’s favorite. After all the time I spent with him, the bastard has no right to do this to me. To any of us!”
“On the contrary,” Mr. Mayhew said, “Lord Daltry had every right to dispense with his personal fortune as he wished.”
“B-but the estate.” Peter Theale looked bewildered, the color of his face approaching that of his hair. “How the d-devil will I manage?”
“Outrageous,” Mrs. James snapped. “There must be some mistake.”
Completely lost, Rosie tried to piece together what she’d missed.
“There’s no mistake.” The solicitor’s voice rang with authority. “Lord Daltry brought in two colleagues from his company to witness the signing of the will. They can and will attest to his sound state of mind and intentions.”
“We are to rely on the word of merchants?” Fury accentuated the angularity of Mrs. James’ features. “Well, I won’t have it. I won’t allow this strumpet,”—her black gaze honed in on Rosie—“to destroy the future of the Daltry lineage.”
Papa rose, his expression lethal as a blade. “You will kindly show my daughter some respect.”
Mrs. James stuck out her chin, the bodice of her black bombazine heaving.
“It is just a shock, you see.” Lady Charlotte spoke up, exchanging glances with her wards. Miss Eloisa was thin-lipped, and Miss Sybil’s gaze darted around the room like that of a frightened rabbit. “None of us was expecting this.”
Rosie couldn’t contain herself any longer. “Expecting what? What is going on?”
Everyone stared at her as if she were a few cards short of a full deck.
Clearing his throat, Mr. Mayhew was the first to speak. “Your husband left the entirety of his fortune to you, Lady Daltry.”
Shock percolated through her. She said faintly, “But I thought… I thought the estate would go to his heir.”
“The estate, yes. But your husband’s wealth did not come from the Daltry holdings. On the contrary, he was using his personal fortune—gained from his businesses and investments—to restore the earldom.” The solicitor regarded her solemnly. “He’s bequeathed that fortune to you.”
She blinked. “He has?”
“Yes, my lady.” Mr. Mayhew briefly surveyed Daltry’s relations; when his gaze returned to her, it held a gleam of satisfaction. “To be precise, you’ve inherited a sum of one hundred thousand pounds.”