Twenty-five

Zachary

Walking to the study to meet with the solicitors, I could have been floating down the corridor for my spirit did not seem to know the difference.

Evie was here!

Here at Havenscrest. And she did not appear angry with me, confirmed by that delicious kiss we shared. Additionally, she agreed to stay, for how long I didn’t know, but I would seize every possible second I could.

In truth, I didn’t know how long Frederick would allow me to stay now that our father had been buried, but it didn’t matter. Evie and I would be together. If not here, Gottling Hall. And if not there, London, Somerset, Bath, Dorset… it didn’t truly matter where , the only thing that mattered was that we were together.

I knew that we still had much to discuss… a great deal in fact. First, an endless apology about hiring the Bow Street Runner and my reasons for doing so. I wanted her to know how I worried for her. Second, the status of my finances. They were not dire, thankfully, due to my lengthy foresight combined with Mr. Smith’s financial brilliance, but I had waited far too long to confess. Third, if she would be my wife. That very thought sent chills down my spine and I entered the study with a pleasant smile on my face.

In an instant, that smile faded. Mr. Barclay, my father’s solicitor stood solemnly at the desk beside another man in a stiff tailored suit. Mr. Harris, I presumed, my brother’s high-society solicitor. I reached out and shook both their hands.

I peered over toward the hearth to find an agitated Frederick pacing the tight space. Mr. Barclay pointed to the pair of wingback chairs before him. “Please, have a seat, Lord Zachary.” I did so. He then turned to Frederick. “And you, Lord Frederick.”

“Lord Tichborne .” My brother snapped, making sure all who were present knew that the title had officially passed. “And, no!” he shouted. His cheeks morphed into a deep shade of red that mirrored the color of his cravat.

One of my eyebrows arched in curiosity. I would think this would be a meeting that Frederick would be eager to engage in. My own solicitor, Mr. Smith, had procured a copy of Father’s most recent will. As expected, Frederick was to receive everything, and I was to receive nothing.

His behavior did not reflect such a consequence.

“My lord,” Mr. Barclay pleaded. “We have much to discuss.

Frederick whipped around and spewed venom in the process. “You are not even our solicitor any longer. I discharged you years ago. Why are you here?” His eyes flamed like torches under a black night.

“I have been tasked to bring you the news.”

“We have nothing to discuss if the lies Mr. Harris just shared with me are your news. I will fight this to the death,” Frederick hissed. My brows furrowed. What could possibly be making Frederick so upset?

“Please, I implore you, my lord,” Mr. Barclay asked again.

“No! I am off to London. Come, Mr. Harris, we need the services of all the men in your employ.” Frederick jabbed a sharp finger in Mr. Barclay’s direction and yelled, “I will return shortly, and this will all be rectified.” He peered over at me. I could see a severe tempest brewing in his eyes. “Do not get comfortable brother. I want you and your belongings out of my house within a sennight. And if you think I will accept this without a fight, you are sorely mistaken.” He leaned in. “And remember, I have the power to make your life a living hell.” He stormed out with Mr. Harris trailing behind him.

“What the devil was that all about?” I turned back to the solicitor who only sighed heavily, reached for his handkerchief and wiped his moist forehead, then swiftly replaced it.

“Your father put contingencies in place before he lost his memory.”

“What contingencies, precisely?”

Mr. Barclay tented his fingers together and tapped the tips against his lips while I waited for him to continue. “As you know, I was your father’s long-time solicitor.”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Well, when he became ill and his memory began to slip, Frederick dismissed me and hired Mr. Harris in London to oversee things henceforth. He also had a new will drawn up and signed by your father.”

“Dated July of 1814?”

He nodded. “Yes, that is the date of the most recent will and, accordingly Frederick receives all that entails within the earldom.” Mr. Barclay sighed again. “Only your father did one more thing to protect himself before he grew too ill to make his own decisions.”

“What was that?”

“He had me draw up a document that states the previous will and testament that is dated on 5 December, 1811 is the true and honorable document.”

“That was before I left to fight against Napoleon.”

“Yes.” He sighed again. “He knew Frederick to be ambitious… and well, greedy, and would do all he could to cut you off completely. He had me prepare this…” He handed over a parchment signed and dated; both, with witnesses and official seals. “This states that even if a new will is written after this date, it is null and void.”

“But Father signed the new will,” I stated.

“Indeed, but his medical doctors signed an addendum declaring his future inability to make financial decisions. They testified that the will and testament in 1811 is the last one he could logically and lawfully acknowledge, regardless of what happened afterward.”

My mouth gaped open. “Is this true?”

He nodded.

“But what does that mean precisely, and why did this news make Frederick angry? He has the earldom. I doubt my father offered much to me.”

Mr. Barclay smiled. “He gave you Sea Haven at Saltdean.”

My heart stopped. “My mother’s cottage in Brighton?”

He nodded. “And ￡5,000, though I had not yet reached that point of the conversation.” He shuffled through some more papers and settled on one. “Frederick has retained a couple there to manage the home, so it has been maintained well all these years, but in my latest correspondence with the couple, they mentioned that Frederick has not visited in quite some time.”

That did not surprise me. “Frederick does not fancy the coast, sand, or water. He nearly drowned once and refused to go back.”

“Then why is he so cross over losing the cottage?” Mr. Barclay rubbed his nearly balding head. “He has been left this estate along with the grounds and tenant housing, and the chateau in France.”

I had completely forgotten about the chateau in Calais, France. It belonged to my grandmother on my father’s side, and I had only been there once. It hardly held the same poignant memories for me as the seaside cottage did, and I was more than pleased with that arrangement.

“It is quite simple, sir.” I smiled. “He is outraged that I have been left with something… anything .”

“Could that truly be the heart of his rage?” Mr. Barclay questioned. “Your father only left you the lump sum and not an annual allowance from an estate that yields triple that amount each year. There is no further interaction required between the two of you. He hates the sea. You can live in peace far from here and he will run the earldom. Circumstances like this confound me.”

I shook my head. “He wants me desperate and destitute.”

Mr. Barclay stood and handed me a duplicate of the original will dated in 1811 as well as the information about the cottage that he had learned from the caretakers. “I have also taken the liberty of leaving an additional copy of the text in Mr. Smith’s care.”

This was why my solicitor had asked me to wait to seek housing accommodations. Brilliant!

I stood up and shook his hand after he gathered his papers to leave. “Thank you for taking the time to come and pay your respects.”

He dipped his chin. “Your father was an honorable man. A bit rough sometimes, but honorable. He loved you very much.” Mr. Barclay paused. “He feared for your safety when you left for war, and he feared he wouldn’t recognize you if you returned. His memory had already begun to slip.”

I recalled those last days before I left, the same days I said goodbye to Eveline. When I returned in 1814, my father did not recognize me, just as Mr. Barclay just stated he feared would happen. Though I spent as much time here as I could, Frederick made it impossible for me to stay any length of time beyond a sennight.

I saw Mr. Barclay out and found myself glancing up the grand staircase and to the left where the guest chambers resided. Did I dare go and knock or would she be resting?

“Let her be.” Mrs. Dunlap turned the corner and saw me. She wore a mischievous smile. “Dinner will be served shortly, and you can stare at her unceasingly across the table.” She chuckled and started to walk off, then turned around. “I’m glad you finally came to your senses, Lord Zachary.”

I scrunched my nose. “Pardon?”

“You two were always meant to be together. I’m glad you finally recognized it.”

I chuckled. “I always recognized it, Mrs. Dunlap, I only feared she was too good for me.”

“Well, that is certainly true.” She laughed again and left the room.

I turned to the footman present in the foyer. “Will you have Charlie come up to my quarters? I would like him to stand in as my valet while I am here.”

He nodded as I took the stairs two at a time, hesitating briefly on the landing where the stairs split leading to the family’s private chambers in the east wing and the guest chambers in the west wing. Though I considered Evie family and felt that she deserved to be in the family wing, I did not want to test my willpower. She was a widow and therefore not bound by the same rules of having a chaperone, but once Frederick departed for London, we would be alone in this big house. Although with all the servants we would not theoretically be alone, there would be no one to stop us from seeing each other whenever we chose. Now that was the greatest temptation of all.