Realms of Fire by Sharon K. Gilbert

Author:Sharon K. Gilbert [Gilbert, Sharon K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rose Avenue Fiction, LLC
Published: 2019-02-28T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Eight

5 Fitzmaurice Place, the Wychwright Home

Stephen Algernon Allendale was typical of successful London solicitors. His clothing was tailored on Savile Row. He wore elegantly expensive jewellery: watch and chain, tie pin, collar button, cufflinks; all designed to match. He seldom added finger adornments of any type, although he did possess a masonic ring that he put on when visiting fellow lodge members. Now, as he sat in the Wychwright’s dining hall, he gave careful consideration to his manner of speech, the way he conveyed ideas, and even the sound of his voice. He’d read a hundred wills during his twenty years in the Ames, Groves, and Allendale firm, and he’d learnt to be wary of surprises.

He did, in fact, know the family were about to receive a very large one.

“Yes, yes, all that language is typical and tells us nothing,” the eldest son and presumptive heir was spouting from the seat opposite the lawyer.

Allendale had summed up the man quickly upon meeting him fifteen minutes earlier: Self-absorbed and rude. A man who expected life to hand him a ripe apple filled with sweet juices, the seed of which would produce evermore ripening, golden fruit—all for the cost of a few magic beans.

Instead, he was about to receive a very sour lemon.

“Time, sir! Give me time, please,” the lawyer replied. “The entire will must be read, as I’m sure you’re aware. As I’ve said, your late father bequeathed all the usual properties to you, as is the requirement due to the entail.”

“Meaning, my dear, that you get the title and all the property and money,” said Wychwright’s mother soothingly. “As it should be.”

Allendale cleared his throat. “Not exactly.”

“What the devil do you mean by ‘not exactly’?” the impatient son shouted.

“I mean that there is an addendum, sir. A codicil, dated two months ago.”

“Two months? Addendum? No, I’ll not have it! Mother, what do you know of this?”

Constance Wychwright had already begun to amend her drab widow’s weeds with hints of colour, adding a bright red comb to her upswept hair, as well as shedding her veil. She shook her head in dismay, using a soothing tone as she patted her son’s hand.

“I’m sure it’s nothing important. The last time your father and I discussed the will, he told me that everything would go to you, my darling. I’m sure this addendum merely emphasises that fact. Do now, let’s all listen, shall we? Mr. Allendale will explain.”

Ned Wychwright said nothing, certain he’d receive little if anything, and Tom was nursing a bang-up hangover from an all-nighter at a Soho men’s club. Cordelia looked like a ghost of her former self, wishing she could awaken from the nightmare her life had become.

“Thank you, Lady Constance,” the solicitor said smoothly. “I shall now read out the specific bequests, so that we are all sure of the late baron’s wishes. As I said earlier, the barony, as entailed, passes to the eldest son, Captain William David Wychwright. This includes the title, and I have a copy of the letters patent, should you require them.

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