Unforgivable(79)

She sat down and opened the packet while the footman poured her coffee. It contained a letter and legal documents. After two paragraphs of enquiries after her health and expressions of regret that he had not had the pleasure of making her acquaintance during her brief visit to London, Mr. Andrews informed her that his lordship had seen fit to have Weartham made over entirely to her. Although Gil owned all her property as her husband, Mr. Andrews assured her that henceforward, Weartham was Rose’s to do with as she wished, including making provision for its disposal to whomsoever she chose on her death. The documents Mr. Andrews had enclosed dealt with these matters and should, he advised, be kept safe.

Rose put the letter down and untied the documents. They were written in impenetrable legal language, and she felt too agitated to try to make sense of them, so she tied them up again with shaking fingers and re-read the letter twice more.

“Why the frown, Rosebud?”

She looked up. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Papa,” she said for the hundredth time.

“You’ll always be my Rosebud,” he replied as he spooned devilled kidneys onto his plate. “What have you got there?”

Rose gestured for the footman to leave the room and waited until the door closed behind him until she answered. “It’s a letter from Gil. He’s giving me Weartham. Outright.”

Miles paused and looked at her, the spoon hovering over his plate. “Really? How—unexpected.”

“Yes, there’s no real need. He’s already assured me I may remain here all my life if I wish. Perhaps—perhaps it is to settle matters between us once and for all?”

Miles sat down at the table and poured himself coffee. “Well, what does he say in the letter?”

“The letter’s from his secretary—there isn’t even a note from Gil.”

Miles seemed to consider as he chewed his breakfast. He swallowed and took a swig of coffee. “It is generous settlement, though of course the estate still technically belongs to him.”

“His secretary acknowledges that but says Gil has stated it is to be mine in all ways.” And Gil would hold to his word, she knew that. Weartham was truly hers now. If Gil predeceased her, no one could remove her. The running of the estate would be at her say-so. Improvements she had previously felt to be beyond her discretion as the estate’s chatelaine were now within her gift.

The enormity of it hit her then: Gil may not be able to love her, but he had given her this estate. And by gifting it to her entirely, he had put her beyond ever needing anyone’s grace or favour again. For the first time in her life, she was independent.

“Well,” Miles said. “It’s no less than you deserve after the way he’s behaved.”

Rose sighed. “We’ve already spoken about this, Papa. Please don’t start again.”

Miles scowled. He was still angry at Gil. It was no wonder, really. No sooner had he arrived back on English soil than he’d had his daughter knocking on the door and telling him her marriage was over for good. The very daughter he’d been so anxious to get off his hands five years before.

Rose had told him why she’d left and, although she’d spared him some of details, she’d let him know how unhappy she was about his part in securing Gil as her husband in the first place. Annoyingly, he’d been unapologetic. He’d wanted to go and have words with Gil then and there, but she hadn’t let him. Instead, she’d asked him to accompany her to Weartham, and, amazingly, he’d agreed, escorting her on the long journey north and staying on for several weeks. He was going back to London tomorrow, though, and she could tell he was itching to be away. He hadn’t mentioned the reason for his eagerness to be gone, but she knew Lottie had returned to England last week. And perhaps, for Lottie, Miles would finally settle down. Rose hoped so.

After breakfast, Miles announced he was going to supervise his packing—a sure sign of his excitement to be going back to Town. Rose decided to seek out Will. She’d had little contact with him since her return, but she wanted to share this news with someone who would understand what it meant to her.

She put on her warmest cloak and hat and walked down to the home farm. The day was cold and dank, the sky a heavy, low grey. The chill from the ground seeped through the leather soles of her boots as she walked.

She found Will in the courtyard, talking with Josiah, the head farmhand. When Rose arrived, they both looked up, and Josiah doffed his cap while Will looked surprised for a moment, then made a small bow.

“Good morning, milady,” he said

“Good morning, Mr. Anderson,” she replied, always careful to give him his proper title in front of the hands. “And Josiah. How is your wife? And the children?”