Rebecca looked at her enquiringly. She had expected the will to be read at the house.
“Charles has a great deal of business to attend to, and it is more convenient for him if we go to Mr Wesley rather than asking the lawyer to read the will here. We did not know you would have to travel today,” she explained apologetically, “and so we thought you would not object,”
“Of course I don't.” Rebecca set her aunt's hospitable mind at ease.
Hetty smiled. “Thank you, my dear.” She gave a rueful smile. “Charles is the best of husbands, but he does like to have his own way!”
Rebecca laughed, for although it was true that in business matters her uncle liked to have his own way, in all matters relating to the household her aunt's word was law.
“And now I will leave you,” said Hetty. “Remember, lunch is in an hour.”
And after that, thought Rebecca, looking round the pretty room, I will hear the reading of Grandfather's will.
Chapter Two
Feeling much refreshed after partaking of an excellent luncheon Rebecca prepared to visit the lawyer's office. She changed out of her carriage dress and into a rose-coloured kerseymere gown. The cheerful colour, worn so soon after her grandfather's death, would have been shocking to the ton, but Rebecca was not of their number and had no need to fear their censure. Besides, it was her grandfather himself who had decreed there was to be no period of mourning. “Tomfoolery for jackanapes!” he'd called it, betraying his lack of Society roots, and shaking his head over the custom of “people rigging themselves out like crows every time someone turns up their toes!”.
She missed him. But she consoled herself with the fact that he had had a long and happy life.
She recalled her thoughts to the present. Regarding herself in the cheval glass to check that she was tidy she adjusted the fine woollen folds of her gown, which draped themselves elegantly around her shoulders before falling from soft gathers beneath her breast into a long, slender skirt. She smoothed the long sleeves and tweaked the lace at the bodice and cuffs, and then sat down in front of the dressing-table so that Susan could arrange her hair. The maid brushed her ebony locks before pulling them into a neat and glossy chignon and then teasing out a row of ringlets round her face.
Well, she was ready.
“My dear, you look lovely,” said Hetty as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Now, we had better go. We will be meeting Charles at the lawyer's office as he has had some business matters to attend to, but after that, he will be coming home with us. He is longing to see you again.”
“As I am longing to see him.”
The two ladies fastened their cloaks, settled their bonnets on their heads and pulled on their gloves.
“This snow!” exclaimed Hetty as they went out of the house. “It looks lovely, but it does make things difficult.” She turned to the coachman, resplendent in his livery, who was sitting on the box. “You will go carefully, won't you?” she asked anxiously. “Mr Marsden is very concerned about his horses.”
The coachman assured her that he would take care and the two ladies stepped into the carriage.
“It's just such a pity Joshua could not be here,” said Hetty as the carriage pulled away. “Charles wrote to him as soon as Jebadiah died, but he has had no reply.”
Joshua Kelling was Jebadiah's godson. Rebecca had never met him, for they lived in different parts of the country and Joshua had spent a lot of time abroad, but her grandfather had spoken highly of him. She had always imagined him as bookish and bespectacled man because, according to her grandfather he had a good business head; and she had also imagined him as something of a dandy, because her grandfather had chortled over Joshua's many conquests. “Fascinated by him, the women are!” Jebadiah had crowed. “And he by them!”
Rebecca smiled at the picture she had created, of a bright, clever man, who was polished in his address, adept at making himself agreeable, and dressed in the latest style. She would very much like to meet him! But she would have to wait, because at the moment he was abroad on business.
She was brought out of her thoughts by the carriage rolling to a halt.
“Are we there already?” asked Rebecca.
She was surprised at the shortness of the journey.
“Yes,” said Hetty, climbing out of the carriage. “We're here.”
Rebecca looked up at the lawyer's office building. It was decent and respectable; prosperous, even. Mr Wesley was evidently good at his job.
The two ladies were admitted to the building by an unctuous clerk.
“If you would care to follow me?” he said, with a low bow.
What an oily youth, thought Rebecca with a frown, caught by the unsettling mixture of servility and arrogance in the clerk's manner. But then she had time to think nothing further, for she and Hetty were being shown into the lawyer's office. And there was her uncle Charles!
Charles Marsden was a distinguished-looking gentleman. A light smattering of grey marked his hair at the temples, giving him a distinguished look. His figure was, perhaps, running a little to fat, but he still cut a fine figure in his tailcoat and breeches.
“I'm so pleased you've arrived,” he said. “Hetty was worried when you didn't get here last night, but I knew you would find the journey difficult in all this snow.”
“It was,” Rebecca acknowledged. “I will tell you all about it later.”
He nodded. Now was not the time for conversation. Now was the time for attending to business.
Rebecca turned her attention to the lawyer. He was a small man with sparse hair and thin hands. He was dressed conservatively in a dark coat and knee breeches. On the end of his nose he wore a pair of pince-nez.
“Now we are all gathered together, please, take a seat,” he said.
He spoke in a dry, desiccated voice that matched his appearance perfectly.
Rebecca divested herself of her bonnet and cloak, then settled herself on a Hepplewhite chair. Hetty and Charles, similarly shedding their outdoor clothes, seated themselves on an ugly but comfortable sofa.
“Mr Kelling will be joining us?” asked Mr Wesley.
“Unfortunately not,” said Charles. “He is at present abroad. I wrote to him, telling him of Jebadiah's death, but the letter must not have reached him. I have received no reply.”
“My own efforts to contact him have met with a similar lack of success. Well, as he cannot be with us, I suggest we get down to business.”
“Indeed,” said Charles.
“Good. Then if you are all quite ready, I will begin.”
Rebecca settled herself more comfortably then turned with interest to the lawyer.
Mr Wesley cleared his throat then picked up an important-looking document that was placed in front of him. He shuffled it between his hands. In precise, dry tones he began to read.
“"This is the last will and testament of Jebadiah Marsden",” he said. His voice took on a declaiming quality. “"To my only living son, Charles Marsden, I leave — "”
At that moment there was a commotion from out in the hall, and the sound of the unctuous clerk saying, “You can't go in,” before the door was flung open, and there, on the threshold, was... the leonine gentleman!
He was looking even more impressive than Rebecca remembered him. His mane of dark blonde hair was gleaming in a shaft of sunlight. His jaw line, devoid of the stubble that had adorned it the previous evening, was revealed in all its strength. The planes of his cheekbones, now that his hair had been brushed back from his face, were even sharper than she had remembered them, and his lips were full and firm. His clothes were immaculate. Beneath his many-caped greatcoat Rebecca glimpsed a blue tailcoat and cream breeches, pulled tight across his powerful thighs, and beneath them a pair of highly polished black boots.