A Fatal Assignation (The Rutherford Trilogy Book 2) by Alice Chetwynd Ley

Author:Alice Chetwynd Ley [Chetwynd Ley, Alice]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2019-10-15T16:00:00+00:00

Charlotte sat beside her aunt, hands demurely folded in her lap, her blue eyes covertly studying the young gentleman whom Mr Leasowe, the lawyer, had presented to them as Sir George Jermyn.

He was in his early twenties, of fair complexion and not unpleasing features, with a slight resemblance to the dead Sir Aubrey. His address was good, yet there was about him a faint air of superciliousness which brought a little frown to Charlotte’s forehead. His conduct towards his bereaved relatives had been all that was proper, however, so she reproached herself for giving way to an unfavourable prejudice.

Mr Leasowe had a long, thin, countenance that matched a precise manner suited to his occupation; but, if one looked closely, his spectacles barely concealed an unexpected humorous twinkle in his eye. These same spectacles had slipped down his nose at present, as he leaned forward, reading aloud from the document before him.

‘I trust that is quite clear?’ he asked, looking round the intent faces before him. ‘The entail is applicable only to the house in Sussex, together with the land and building thereupon and the rents thereof. That is now the property of Sir George.’

He inclined his head towards the new baronet.

‘However,’ he resumed, pushing his spectacles up his sharp nose, ‘the personal property of your late husband, ma’am, comes to you. That is to say, this house and whatever financial assets remain. Your niece, of course, has an independence settled upon her by her deceased father. But you will both —’ he bestowed a kindly twinkle on the two ladies — ‘already be aware of that.’

‘No,’ said Charlotte, flatly.

Lady Jermyn also shook her head.

The lawyer raised his brows, then glanced at Sir George.

‘I believe, sir, we need no longer detain you,’ he said, in his dry tones. ‘I must explain matters to these ladies, it seems, and — ahem! — sometimes with the fair sex that can be a lengthy business.’

Sir George took the hint, and rose to depart.

‘I will wait upon you very soon, ladies,’ he promised, ‘to receive your commands anent the bestowal of any personal trifles which you may have left at Wynsfield. Your servant, ma’am — Miss Charlotte.’

His bow was exactly correct — gracious, yet dignified.

‘What a very proper young man it is!’ exclaimed Charlotte scornfully, when he had gone.

‘A trifle too —? Ah, yes,’ replied Mr Leasowe, twinkling again.

He shuffled the papers before him, and his expression became more serious.

‘I may say at once that you need have no fears of financial embarrassment or having to make retrenchments that would be distasteful to you,’ he began. ‘Come, I’ve a wife and daughters of my own, and I’ll endeavour to put it all in terms you’ll readily comprehend. The country house and the rents accruing from it are gone, but so is the expense of maintenance. Gone, too, the expenses which naturally fall to a gentleman who needs to keep up his position in society. With what is left, you will be able to live here in Curzon Street in the style to which you have been accustomed.

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