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

In this, I know full well that I am so very, very blessed.

Chapter Thirty

Leaving Wolfbridge the next morning was not the easiest thing Royce had ever done.

Gwyneth’s scent lingered in his nostrils; the memory of running his hands over her soft skin taunted him, and the touch of her lips on his as she bid him farewell had lit fires within him.

There was no doubt now. He knew he had fallen for this woman, as deeply and profoundly as the rest of her gentlemen.

He would give his life for her if necessary. And that fact alone made him a true Wolfbridge resident.

The ride to London would be arduous, he assumed, since the roads might not be as good further north. But as the Manor receded behind him, he promised himself he would set an acceptable pace and get there at the earliest possible moment. Giles was not expecting him, but he hoped to find him in town. God forbid he and Ione had decided to travel anywhere else. That would certainly turn his plans upside down.

The first miles passed relatively quickly. It had been sometime since Royce had ridden alone, and a part of him appreciated the silence, and the independence offered by this journey. He had time to think, time to organise some ideas and discard others, and time to catch his breath. For it felt like he lost that breath whenever he saw Gwyneth.

Taking her, lying with her, inside her, around her? Well, it was certainly upsetting his usual equilibrium.

He forced his mind away from visions of her beautiful body in the throes of her release, and concentrated instead on how best to protect her, and Wolfbridge, since the two were locked together in his thoughts, and on paper.

It was the paper end that could be troublesome, he knew.

So much of England was inexorably wrapped in ancient string. Wills, inheritances, deeds and domains, legal documents that had faded over the years and become a tangled skein of unimaginable proportions. There were heirs apparent, and heirs presumptive. Titles and entitlements.

His mind swam with the overwhelming mixture of phrases and laws and beneficiaries, and he shook his head at the mess created over centuries when it came to passing along one’s possessions to the next generation.

He understood the reasoning, of course. Such matters were the foundation of England, of the farms, the forests, the villages and the towns. It had taken millennia to arrive at its current condition and would most likely continue to grow and change.

Reflecting on these topics brought his mind back around to Wolfbridge. They were all doing what they could to not only maintain, but improve the land. To increase the tenancy, preserve and protect the acreage, using it as effectively as possible, and overall taking care of it. Which was exactly what Royce presumed to be the goal of any good landlord.

The school was an excellent investment in the future of Wolfbridge. There could be no argument there at all. Education was, in Royce’s mind, the basis for the coming decades and he had no problem when it came to educating the lower classes. A well-read farmer would still farm as well, if not better, than an illiterate one.

It was considered radical by many, those who clung to the “old” ways, but civilisation moved onward and the world changed as it did so. Such considerations helped pass the time, and soon Royce found himself ready to stop at one of his favourite inns, change horses and perhaps have a little food. His mount would be cared for until he returned.

And so the journey passed uneventfully, and at last he arrived at the hall of Giles’s London home.

The man himself hurried down the stairs, a smile on his face.

“Good Lord, this is a surprise.” He held out his hand and Royce shook it. “I hope this doesn’t presage dire news?”

Royce chuckled. “No, not at all. But I felt I needed to be here so that we can take a close look at the current situation, without Evan trying to fatten me up or Lady Gwyneth distracting me.”

“I understand.” Giles clapped him on the shoulder. “Come into the drawing room and tell me about Wolfbridge. I’ll have tea brought in, unless you’d like something stronger?”

“A brandy wouldn’t go amiss,” sighed Royce. “My arse isn’t as young as it used to be. Too many hours in the saddle and I’m feeling it.”

“It’s yours.”

The two men settled themselves, chatting with the ease of old friends, relaxing in front of the fire. Royce gave a brief description of his journey, and Giles informed him that Ione was away on visits for a few days.

“So your arrival is most timely. I needed company.” He put down his brandy glass. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

Royce stared into the fire. “So many questions, Giles. So many avenues to pursue. I am bound and determined to protect Wolfbridge and Gwyneth.” He glanced at the older man. “Not just because such a responsibility comes with the position, but because both have trapped my honour and my heart. The land is excellent, the tenants all one could wish for, and Gwyneth…”

“Yes.” Giles merely nodded.

“So the threat posed by Gylbart is unsettling, to say the least.”

Giles took a breath. “As I told you, his pursuit of the land using the Mortmain management as an excuse failed. I spoke with several clerks of the court, and a judge. All agreed that nobody would dare to touch such a matter without plenty of confirmed documentation.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t blame them. I was astonished to learn about the whole Mortmain business, to be honest. Since there is such a strong link to ecumenical holdings, it’s become something that most everyone in the legal profession