The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3), Sahara Kelly [english novels for students .TXT] 📗

Being far away from London, and everything that went with it, had lifted burdens she never knew she carried on her shoulders. She didn’t miss hearing about politics, people or scandals, nor did she mind not having to worry overmuch about whether her attire was in the latest fashion.

She was happy as she was, content with her life and now that December was almost here, looking forward to her first real Christmas in a long time.

The Wolfbridge party—Jeremy, Gabriel, Harry and Gwyneth—returned home for lunch, to find Evan ladling soup and Royce already at the dining table with letters at his side.

“How did everything go?” he asked as they took their seats.

“Loudly,” grimace Gabriel.

“Indeed it did,” grinned Gwyneth as Jeremy seated her. “Everyone had an opinion, and they all voiced it at once.” She eagerly accepted a bowl of soup. “My ears are still ringing.”

“But we did make some headway,” said Harry. “And what we couldn’t agree on, we put off for a couple of weeks.”

“An admirable decision,” Evan commented. “By next summer everyone will be satisfied.”

The laughter echoed around the table.

Gwyneth noticed Royce opening his letters. “Letters arrived?”

He nodded. “Just now.”

“Anything interesting?” Gabriel inquired.

“Two from Giles.” Royce glanced around. “You’ll forgive my reading them right now?”

“I’d be cross if you didn’t,” encouraged Gwyneth. “How is he?”

Royce scanned the note, and his face turned sombre. “He is well, but sad to say, our Queen is not. She passed away some ten days ago. London is in mourning.”

“Oh no, how sad.” Jeremy spoke the words everyone was thinking.

“She was ill, I believe,” Evan said quietly. “I recall someone in the village mentioning a serious ailment…”

“The King?” Gwyneth asked.

“No mention of His Majesty,” answered Royce. “Although given his state, I doubt he’s aware of his wife’s demise. It’s all quite sad. All of it.” He sighed.

Everyone remained silent for a moment, busy with their own thoughts, then Gwyneth resumed her soup. “We must also display our sympathies,” she said, putting down her spoon. “Gabriel, do we have any black material? We should have some sort of hatchment or something on the front of the house…”

“And you will need a couple of black or maybe grey dresses, my Lady,” he agreed. “Not for long, but we must all show respect for the country’s loss.”

“Yes, indeed. I will send a note to the dressmaker in Little Maddington.” She looked around the table, sadness creeping up. “I suppose this will curtail any Christmas revelries.”

“And you weren’t the only one hoping for that,” responded Gabriel softly, leaning to her and putting his hand over hers. “My Christmases have always been…well, let’s just say I can’t remember looking forward to one until now.”

She turned to him, understanding. “Then perhaps we should try to make ours as good as we can. I trust we will still be able to present our play, since it is taking shape so well.”

“Giles says Her Majesty passed away on the eighteenth…” Royce glanced at the note once more. “If we calculate a month of mourning as acceptable, which seems to be the norm, then I don’t see why we cannot celebrate Christmas in whatever way we choose.”

“There’ll be a week beforehand,” pointed out Evan. “Plenty of time to cook all those lovely dishes.”

“And if the weather holds, we can collect pine and holly for the house…” Gabriel’s eyes had lit up. “I’ll have the costumes finished, and the script will be complete by next week.”

“Well then, I concur.” Harry nodded decisively. “All those in favour of putting aside our mourning on December the eighteenth raise your hand and say aye.”

It was unanimous, and the mood around the table lightened considerably.

Royce turned to other letters while the conversation continued, but Gwyneth noticed he had opened the letter from Giles, and his face fell into a very serious expression.

“What is it, Royce?” She asked, as the others fell silent. “Is it bad news?”

“Not really. Giles and Ione are well and happy.”

“I sense a ‘but’ is about to follow that statement…” Jeremy leaned back in his chair.

“Well, Sir Alfred Gylbart’s offer to purchase Fivetrees was refused as we hoped. The Withersbys are well aware of his reputation, and even though they would like to dispose of the property, they will not sell to him.”

Harry frowned. ““That name is too damn familiar, and associated with some things that make my gut churn. He wants Fivetrees, I take it?”

“He does. He’s not going to have it.” Royce’s voice was firm. “I’m glad the Withersbys did the right thing and said no to his offer.”

“I’ll wager that did not make him happy,” muttered Gabriel.

“You’d win, lad.” Royce nodded. “What he will try next, I cannot guess, and neither can Giles. However…” he looked at them, “Giles has been told that someone—unidentified as yet—has begun to examine the possibility of a legal challenge to the ownership of Wolfbridge.”

The silence around the table was thick, and Gwyneth’s heart began to race. “How can that serve any purpose? Isn’t the entail unbreakable?”

“How does Giles know?”

“Has anyone been notified?”

Royce held up his hand as the questions flew rapidly at him. “I’m telling you all that is in this letter. Giles has little information at the moment, merely writing that a friend in a certain records office tipped him off about requests for various documents pertaining to the Wolfbridge situation. Giles, being Giles, immediately guessed that the only reason anyone would want them would be to explore the possibility of breaking them.”

“Fuck.” The oath slid from Harry’s lips on a breath, but since he had spoken aloud a succinct précis of what the rest of them were thinking, nobody rebuked him.

“Is there anything to be done about this?” Gwyneth looked at Royce,