Page 62 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

In the course of the next few hours, the feel of Clough House changed completely. She wouldn’t have believed that an alteration could be so quick or so disagreeable. But the place suddenly possessed two contentious masters. And their problem wasn’t only Fenella. They didn’t get along with each other either. Fenella had often thought it curious that her elder sisters had chosen such opposites for their mates. Symmes was slender and sour and sarcastic, a man who savored cutting remarks as another might a fine wine. Gissing was physically his opposite—large and blustery and untidy. He maintained, continually, that he was an easygoing fellow, while actually demanding his own way in every particular. They did have that in common, Fenella thought after a thoroughly wretched dinner. So maybe they weren’t so different after all. She couldn’t wait until they went away.

The reading of her father’s will, which the solicitor had refused to disclose to Fenella, was held the following morning, and it was then that Fenella’s world finished crashing down around her ears. Her father’s estate was indeed divided into thirds, going to her and her sisters, as she had expected. But her portion was placed in trust until she married. Not until she attained a certain age—although twenty-three seemed perfectly mature to her—but until she married.

Worse, her two brothers-in-law had been appointed her trustees. They were charged with approving whatever expenditures she wished to make, as well as any marriage proposal she might receive. They were made, in effect, her guardians, even though she was of age and hadn’t the slightest need of such a thing. Her father had found one last way to disparage her, Fenella thought as she struggled to control her anger at these provisions. Having watched her manage these last months, how could he have doubted her ability to handle her inheritance? And how was she to go on with trustees who couldn’t agree on what to have for dinner, let alone more significant decisions?

The solicitor finished reading. He folded the document. “That seems in order,” said Gissing.

“As we anticipated,” replied Symmes.

They were disgustingly smug. Had they known about the trust before this? Fenella wondered. From their expressions, she suspected they had. She was so furious, she was afraid to speak. It was going to be necessary to get along with these men, for a while at least, until she could think of something. Difficult as that was to accept, she had to hide her outrage.

“You need have no worries about your pin money,” Gissing said to her. “I don’t begrudge a lady a few geegaws.”

“Within reason,” said Symmes.

“I’ve never been called clutch-fisted,” said the other man, in a tone that implied his brother-in-lawhad.

“A term used by the profligate for those who practice reasonable economies,” said Symmes.

“Like nipcheese and penny-pinching?” said Gissing with false cordiality.

Would she be able to play them off against each other to get what she wanted? Fenella wondered. The idea filled her with distaste. And she didn’t think it would work for any large outlay. Her spirits sank farther. She wouldn’t be allowed to make any important transactions. It felt like a prison sentence.

Symmes rose, his expression sour. “I believe we are agreed that the estate will be put up for sale? I don’t know how long that may take. Have your maid pack your things, Fenella. You will return home with me.”

Even before the categorical denial could escape her lips, Gissing said, “Or with me, if you like. I’m sure Nora would welcome your help.”

The men gazed at her. She’d wanted a choice, and here was one. Two paths into an absolutely unacceptable future. She could never live with one of her sisters. Did they even know of these invitations? Fenella doubted it. Neither Greta nor Nora wouldwelcomeher. And their husbands were not inviting a valued relation into their households. Her new fortune was their real object. She could see it in their eyes.

They hoped to find a way to use her to enhance their own positions. And that meant arranging her marriage, which they had the right to approve. To one of their penurious cronies perhaps? And would they levee big charges on her estate for upkeep? Or were they simply enjoying the power over another that their new positions provided? Every feeling revolted.

Fenella struggled to control her tone. “I’d prefer to stay here,” she said. “I can look after the house until we find a buyer.” If she saidwe, would they begin to see that she was an equal in this matter?

“Oh, I think we’ll close the place up,” Symmes replied. “There’s no need for the outlay, with no one living here. Wouldn’t you say, Gissing?” The other man nodded.

Suddenly, she was no one. A person with no say in her future. Or perhaps not so suddenly. To these men, she’d always been a negligible figure. As she had been to her father. “What about the servants?”

Gissing shrugged. “Pension off the older ones, dismiss the others to find new posts.”

As if that was easy, and not very important. She had no power to save their positions, Fenella saw. At most, she could provide letters of reference. Perhaps some neighbors had places open. But that wouldn’t be enough.

“You may keep your personal maid, of course,” said Symmes, like a monarch conferring a great favor.

Fearing she might burst into angry tears, Fenella retreated to her bedchamber. She could run to her grandmother in Scotland again. But that would mean giving up her fortune to these vultures. They would never let go once she was gone.

She could go to the law. Grandmamma might help her. But leaving an inheritance in trust for an unmarried woman was common practice. She would probably be told to be grateful that she had male relatives to look after her money. Fenella gritted her teeth. She had to get out of the house, breathe some fresh air. But when she’d put on her riding habit and gone to the stables, she discovered that thegentlemenhad sent all but the cart horses off to be sold. Includingher ownmount, a gift from her grandmother, which was not theirs to dispose of. Without informing her!

When she taxed them with this transgression, they were unrepentant. “No sense keeping a stableful of animals eating their heads off” was Gissing’s only reaction.

“No place for you to keep a horse,” Symmes pointed out. “Didn’t seem a proper mount for a lady in any case.”

And then they gazed at her as if she was being dim. It was all Fenella could do not to fly at them with her riding crop.

* * *

It was as if Fenella had disappeared from the neighborhood, Roger thought. He was longing to see how she was, to do something for her, but he hadn’t been able to manage one private word. He’d called several times at Clough House. At first there’d been a mob of other callers on visits of condolence. And when they cleared out, he’d been received by her brothers-in-law, playing lords of the manor. He didn’t know these gentlemen, and he hadn’t taken to them. When he’d asked to see Fenella, they’d been as suspicious as dogs guarding a contested bone. He’d longed for a reason to punch the fleshy one—Gissing. The fellow had practically leered at him.

Fenella hadn’t been riding either. Roger had lurked along her usual routes each day and seen no sign of her. The delay was driving him mad. And then, at last, more than a week after her father’s death, he finally spotted her on a path by the sea. She was mounted on a rough-coated brown gelding rather than her gray. But she was here. He spurred toward her with eager relief. “There you are,” he said when he caught up. “I’ve looked for you every day.”

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