Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

Susannah made up for their silence by relating a number of the latest on-dits, censored in deference to their father’s death. Nevertheless, she added a welcome touch of liveliness to which his brothers-in-law responded with easy good humor.

They dined in the family dining room. Although much smaller than the one in the main dining salon, the table still sat fourteen; with only eight of them spread along the board, there remained plenty of space between each place, further assisting Royce’s hold on his temper.

The meal, the first he’d shared with his sisters for sixteen years, passed better than he’d hoped. As the covers were drawn, he announced that the reading of the will would take place in the library.

Margaret frowned. “The drawing room would be more convenient.”

He raised his brows, set his napkin beside his plate. “If you wish you may repair to the drawing room. I, however, am going to the library.”

She compressed her lips, but rose and followed.

Collier, a neat individual in his late fifties, bespectacled, brushed, and burnished, was waiting, a trifle nervous, but once they’d settled on the chaise and chairs, he cleared his throat, and started to read. His diction was clear and precise enough for everyone to hear as he read through clause after clause.

There were no surprises. The dukedom in its entirety, entailed and private property and all invested funds, was left to Royce; aside from minor bequests and annuities, some new, others already in place, it was his to do with as he pleased.

Margaret and Aurelia sat silently throughout. Their handsome annuities were confirmed, but not increased; Minerva doubted they’d expected anything else.

When Collier finished, and had asked if there were any questions, and received none, she rose from the straight-backed chair she’d occupied and asked Margaret if she would like to repair to the drawing room for tea.

Margaret thought, then shook her head. “No, thank you, dear. I think I’ll retire…” She glanced at Aurelia. “Perhaps Aurelia and I could have tea in my room?”

Aurelia nodded. “What with the travel and this sad business, I’m greatly fatigued.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll have them send up a tray.” Minerva turned to Susannah.

Who smiled lightly. “I believe I’ll retire, too, but I don’t want tea.” She paused as her elder sisters rose, then, arm in arm, passed on their way to the door, then she turned back to Minerva. “When are the rest of the family arriving?”

“Your aunts and uncles are expected tomorrow, and the rest will no doubt follow.”

“Good. If I’m to be trapped here with Margaret and Aurelia, I’m going to need company.” Susannah glanced around, then sighed. “I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Minerva spoke to Hubert, who asked for a tisane to be sent to his room, then retreated. Peter and David had helped themselves to whisky from the tantalus, while Royce was talking with Collier by the desk. Leaving them all to their own devices, she left to order the tea tray and the tisane.

That done, she headed back to the library.

Peter and David passed her in the corridor; they exchanged good nights and continued on.

She hesitated outside the library door. She hadn’t seen Collier leave. She doubted Royce needed rescuing, yet she needed to ascertain if he required anything further from her that night. Turning the knob, she opened the door and stepped quietly inside.

The glow from the desk lamps and those by the chaise didn’t reach as far as the door. She halted in the shadows. Royce was still speaking with Collier, both standing in the space between the big desk and the window behind it, looking out at the night as they conversed.

She drew nearer, quietly, not wishing to intrude.

And heard Royce ask Collier for his opinion on the leasing arrangements for tied cottages.

“The foundation of the nation, Your Grace. All the great estates rely on the system—it’s been proven for generations, and is, legally speaking, solid and dependable.”

“I have a situation,” Royce said, “where it’s been suggested that some modification of the traditional form of lease might prove beneficial to all concerned.”

“Don’t be tempted, Your Grace. There’s much talk these days of altering traditional ways, but that’s a dangerous, potentially destructive road.”

“So your considered advice would be to leave matters as they are, and adhere to the standard, age-old form?”

Minerva stepped sideways into the shadows some way behind Royce’s back. She wanted to hear this, preferably without calling attention to her presence.

“Indeed, Your Grace. If I may make so bold”—Collier puffed out his chest—“you could not do better than to follow your late father’s lead in all such matters. He was a stickler for the legal straight and narrow, and preserved and grew the dukedom significantly over his tenure. He was shrewd and wise, and never one for tampering with what worked well. My counsel would be that whenever any such questions arise, your best tack would be to ask yourself what your sire would have done, and do precisely that. Model yourself upon him, and all will go well—it’s what he would have wished.”

Hands clasped behind his back, Royce inclined his head. “Thank you for your advice, Collier. I believe you’ve already been given a room—if you encounter any difficulty relocating it, do ask one of the footmen.”