"Do you know who Horatio's heir was, who was in line for the estate, before this present will was drawn up?"

"As far as I'm aware, there was no previous will. I drew this one up three years ago, when Mr. Welham came into these parts and engaged me to act for him. He gave me to understand he had not made a will before."

Later, with the shadows lengthening, Lucifer strode back to the Grange through the wood. Hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the ground, he stepped over roots and ditches blindly, his mind engrossed with other things.

Crabbs had taken his leave, retreating to the Red Bells. Given he was not presently residing under the Manor's roof,

Lucifer had not invited him to stay there. He hadn't wanted to impose the duty of entertaining the solicitor on Bristleford, the Hemmingses and Covey, not tonight.

He'd instructed Crabbs to contact Heathcote Montague, man of business to the Cynsters. With Montague involved, the formal transfer of the estate would be accomplished quickly and efficiently. Lucifer made a mental note to write to Montague.

And Gabriel. And Devil. And his parents.

Lucifer sighed. The first tugs of the reins of responsibility. He'd avoided them most of his life. He couldn't avoid them now. Horatio had bequeathed them to him-the responsibility for his collection, the responsibility for the Manor, for Covey, Bristleford, and the Hemmingses. Together with the responsibility for his garden.

That last worried him more than the others combined.

Horatio had trained him in how to oversee a collection; his family had prepared him to manage an estate and servants. No one had ever taught him about a garden, much less the sort of garden Horatio had created.

He had a very odd feeling about the garden.

The path joined the Grange shrubbery, leading into a maze of interconnecting walks. Lucifer checked he was taking the right one, then paced on, deep in thought.

Until a fury in patterned cambric came storming through a gap in the hedge and walked into him.

Phyllida lost all her breath in the collision. Even before she'd glanced up, her senses had recognized whose arms had locked around her. If she'd been the type of female who gave way to every impulse, she'd have shrieked and leaped away. Instead, she fi

xed him with a glittering glance and stepped back.

His arms fell from her. The reprobate had the gall to raise one arrogant black brow.

"My apologies." Calmly correct, she whirled around and headed for the house.

He fell in beside her as she walked, with ladylike gentility, along the path. His gaze lingered on her face; she refused to look at him-refused to see if his lips were straight and what type of amusement lurked in his blue eyes. The fiend had just made her life immeasurably more difficult.

His, too, did he but know it.

"You do that very well."

The murmured words were deliberately provocative.

"What?"

"Hide your temper. What was it that set you off?"

"An acquaintance who's being particularly trying. Actually, it's three acquaintances." Him, Mary Anne, and Robert. He'd inherited the Manor, Mary Anne had been thrown into a tizzy on the grounds that he might decide to stay, and Robert had unhelpfully confirmed that as fact.

She'd hoped the funeral would convince Mary Anne that her letters were a minor matter compared to murder. Instead, thanks to Mary Anne's sensitivities, she was now further away from being able to tell Lucifer why she'd been in Horatio's drawing room than she had been that morning. Fuming, she'd left Mary Anne and Robert by the fountain and stalked off. Only to run into Lucifer.

A sudden flush ran down her body at the memory of the impact. Under his elegant clothes he was all hard muscle; despite the fact she'd been going at full tilt, he hadn't even staggered. She glanced at him. "I take it you have, indeed, inherited the Manor?"

"Yes. There are apparently no relatives, so…"

They stepped onto the lawn. Phyllida fixed her gaze on the house. "If I might make so bold, what are your plans? Will you sell, or live here?"

She felt his gaze on her face but didn't turn to meet it.

"You may be as bold as you like, but…"

Tags: Stephanie Laurens Cynster Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net