A Dangerous Game (Regency Spies & Secrets Book 2), Laura Beers [i read books TXT] 📗

“That is most unfortunate,” Mr. Clarke said. “Then I must assume that he didn’t tell you about the property you also inherited.”

“No, he did not.”

“It is a small estate in Whitstable,” he shared. “It was the only unentailed property that your father owned. It is known as Lockhart Manor, and it sits on a cliff overlooking the outlet of The Swale leading into the Thames Estuary.”

“Is it profitable?”

Mr. Clarke pressed his spectacles up further on his nose. “It covers the expenses of the estate and the upkeep, but not much is left after that.”

“How large is the manor?”

Reaching for a file on the corner of his desk, Mr. Clarke placed it in front of him and opened it. His eyes scanned the document before saying, “It is a fine bow-front manor with canopied balconies.”

“Do you know why my father never spoke of this property to me?”

Mr. Clarke’s eyes held compassion as he revealed, “This was where your father grew up, and he watched his mother and father both die from influenza. I imagine it did not hold fond memories for him.”

“And it has a household staff?”

“It does,” Mr. Clarke confirmed.

“Would it be possible for me to reside at Lockhart Manor?”

Mr. Clarke gave her an odd look. “It is wholly possible, but I should warn you that it is not nearly as grand as Hawthorne House.”

“Nothing is as grand as Hawthorne House,” Emmeline remarked.

“I would have to agree with you there, milady.”

With a rigid back, Emmeline asked, “Does my uncle have my dowry?”

Mr. Clarke shook his head. “No, Lord Taylor did request the money to be transferred to his account, but I have not initiated the transfer yet.”

“That is a relief,” Emmeline replied. “Would it be possible to transfer the money to me?”

“I would be more than happy to accommodate that request, since it is your dowry, milady,” he said. “Although, I will need to speak to your husband to confirm I have his permission, as well.”

“I understand,” she acknowledged.

Mr. Clarke closed the file in front of him and threaded his fingers together. “I had wrongly assumed that Lord Taylor had your best interests at heart, but I am saddened to hear that is not the case.”

“As am I.”

“Now that you are married, and Lord Taylor is no longer your guardian, I am able to work with you directly,” Mr. Clarke said. “It would be my pleasure to work as your solicitor.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Mr. Clarke gave her a sad smile. “If I may, I would like to offer my condolences for the loss of your father and mother,” he said. “I worked closely with your father, and I found him to be an honorable man.”

“Thank you for that. I must admit that I miss them dearly.”

“I can only imagine, milady.”

A silence descended over the room before Emmeline rose. “Thank you for all your assistance today, Mr. Clarke. You have been most helpful.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Mr. Clarke said, rising, “and I am pleased we do not have to sue Lord Taylor for the return of your dowry.”

“As am I.”

Mr. Clarke came around his desk and went to open the door. “I shall be in contact with you, milady.”

“I will be looking forward to it,” Emmeline replied as she stepped out into the hall.

As they walked across the hall, Mary asked in a hesitant voice, “How are you faring?”

Emmeline glanced over at her. “I am not sure,” she replied honestly. “I just discovered that my uncle has been intentionally deceiving me, and I never had to get married in the first place. I could have just waited until my twenty-first birthday to receive my inheritance.”

“What will you do now?”

“I don’t know, but it does mean that I have options,” she said as they exited the building, “and that is a wonderful feeling.”

Sitting in a stench far worse than he had ever imagined, Oliver rested his back against the sticky wall, wondering when he would finally be set free from this abysmal pit. Fat black rats scurried through the iron bars with their long, hairless tails trailing behind on the cold ground.

Follett kicked at one of the rats as it came closer to his right boot. “Why are there so many rats?” he asked indignantly.

Glancing up at the small opening that constituted as a window in the cramped cell, Oliver replied, “They come and go as they please through the windows.”

“Why don’t they put glass in the openings?” Haskett huffed.

Oliver shrugged. “I suppose they don’t care about prisoners being uncomfortable.”

“They should,” Follett remarked.

With a shake of his head, Oliver asked, “Pray tell, why is that?”

“We pay taxes,” Follett said.

“You also broke the law,” Oliver pointed out.

Follett frowned. “I did no such thing,” he declared. “I merely attended a meeting—”

Speaking over him, Oliver finished his thought for him. “That had radical ties.”

“I hadn’t realized that.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say something before now?” Oliver mocked. “I suppose the judge will let you off because you unwittingly went to a radical meeting where a violent protest was being planned.”

Follett’s frown deepened. “You are being rather churlish.”

“I suppose it has something to do with the fact that I spent the night in a jail cell with you,” Oliver stated.

Haskett rose from his seat and went to look out the window. “When do you suppose we will get out of here?”

“It could be hours or days,” Oliver said. “It all depends on when the magistrate is willing to hear our case.”

“But we told them who we were when we arrived,” Haskett remarked. “Our case will take precedence over other cases, won’t it?”

“I am not entirely sure,” Oliver replied. “I did bribe the guard with a few coins to give us a private cell.”

Follett took his hand and rubbed it along the back of his neck. “That is nice, but I would rather be sleeping on my feather mattress than a cold, hard floor.”

“As would I,” Haskett said. “Do you suppose they will bring us breakfast