Page 28 of A Lady’s Guide to Scoundrels and Gentlemen (The Harp & Thistle #1)

V ivian held on to her hat as she angled her head to look up at Summerwood, thrilled to have arrived at last. The trees that dotted the property towered high above, providing plenty of shade across the large and expansive front yard. The cottage, according to Gran, had been the source of the only major argument her grandparents had ever had. Vivian’s grandfather had been a social butterfly and had insisted on adding a bigger ballroom to the centuries-old home so they could host parties and rub elbows with important people. Gran had threatened to leave him over it because she’d hated hosting, and she’d done enough of it in town. Of course, and unfortunately for Gran, it was expected and normal to have a ballroom, to socialize, even in the country, and so a bigger and more modern ballroom had had to be added. Gran had made sure to make it as small as she could get away with, however, and grudgingly hosted parties every year until her husband’s death. She’d then holed up the way she’d wanted to.

Vivian smiled to herself as she thought about this, but the smile fell away as she climbed up to the front porch. This house had been a mainstay of her childhood, of her life, really, as she’d summered there every year. Even as an adult. Every inch of this home held memories for her. Almost all good, but there was one bad memory. It was last summer that Gran had learned of her illness—lung cancer. It had been aggressive, and far along. Gran’s physician had expected her to make it only another month or two. The news had been devastating to the family, of course, and Father had immediately begun making plans to return home and get Gran back as comfortably as possible. Of course, the stubborn woman had outright refused to leave.

Vivian’s misty smile returned as she recalled Gran’s reaction to the devastating news. Gran had poured herself a whiskey, put a cigarette in her long cigarette holder, and gone out onto the grounds. Vivian had come across the moment on accident, running outside moments earlier to hide and react to the news in her own private way. Through the hedges, she’d witnessed her grandmother scolding God for making her miss the best season of the year and telling Him He’d better let her live out the summer or she’d be sure to spend eternity being a constant irritation.

Gran had ended up not only surviving summer, but autumn as well, finally passing during winter. Vivian liked to think Gran’s scolding had had something to do with that.

Ready to return to the present, Vivian entered the cottage, shivering at the realization that it was hers. A few of the servants came out to greet her, led by the butler and housekeeper, who updated her on the state of the home and then left Vivian to walk through by herself. After, she went out into the yard, closed her eyes, and relished in the feeling of the warm sun upon her face, the expansive and lush lawn that looked out toward the cliffs and the water beyond. The smell of the salty air, the coolness of the breeze. She took a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly.

The remainder of the day, she prepared for the season. She planned menus with the cook, checked on the guest rooms, and that night wrote a letter to Dantes to tell him she had arrived, and her travel had been uneventful. And, most importantly, she was safe. She folded it up, sealed it, and set it to the side.

Father and Bernard arrived the following day and she was thrilled to see them, greeting them with excitement. Her first thought upon seeing them was wishing she could share the news that a wedding was in the future, but that would occur later in the summer when Dantes arrived. But then she remembered she’d broken Dantes’s one big rule. Perhaps, the wedding may not even happen.

The physical distance from him was hard enough, but now there was a distance in their hearts. That negative voice in her mind told her to expect the worst and start to move on. But the rational part of her kept beating it back, reminding that little negative voice that there hadn’t been enough time to hear from him yet. She was sure she would receive a letter from him any day now reassuring her that he may have been upset, but he still did want to marry her.

She hoped, anyway.

The day after Father and Bernard’s arrival, Bernard found Vivian outside writing another letter to Dantes. It had been so hectic, she hadn’t been able to send any of her letters out yet, being sure to include an apology for this in the newest letter. “It’s pretty strange to be back here,” Bernard said as he sat in a chair nearby. “Remembering everything that happened last summer.”

Vivian agreed and told him about Gran scolding God.

Bernard laughed heartily. “She was quite a presence. I miss her. A lot.”

“I do, too.” Vivian folded up the letter and slid it into the envelope, turning her focus completely to Bernard. Since even before his separation from Anne, he had been distant and it had only worsened after the day he’d shown up drunk and angry, asking for money. He looked tired and had lost noticeable weight. His skin was sallow, and dark circles had formed under his eyes. Quite frankly, she had never seen him look so terrible. “How are you doing, Bernard?”

Bernard looked over at her for a moment but turned his face back out toward the yard when he understood what she was asking. “The shock is still wearing off. I couldn’t believe it when she broke the news to me.”

But Vivian found she had to bite her cheek to keep quiet about his shock. Surely, he couldn’t have been that surprised? While she didn’t know what final behavior from Bernard had led to Anne wanting the separation, she did know about his atrocious behavior beforehand. Granted, a separation wasn’t common, but it wasn’t unheard of, either. They were hardly the only aristocratic couple in such a situation, though it was unusual Father had been involved and ensured Anne had equal time with the children and the house. It was a very American solution, in her opinion. Perhaps Father was influenced by his American heritage.

Regardless, this was her brother, and the separation was over and done. It wouldn’t do anything to share these thoughts with him. “How are the children taking the change?”

“They’ve hardly noticed. We haven’t explicitly said anything to them except I’ll sometimes be at a different house, and other times they’ll be at that house with me and their mother won’t be there. They haven’t questioned it.”

Vivian didn’t say this of course, but she wondered if Bernard’s old habits had kept him out of the house to the point the children wouldn’t notice him gone now, either.

A rush of cool, ocean air swept across Vivian’s face and the flutter of the letter caught Bernard’s attention. “I’m going into town,” he said. “To post letters to the children.”

“The servants take care of that.”

But Bernard shook his head. “It’s a reason to get me out of the house, get some walking in. Do you want me to drop that off?”

Vivian lifted the envelope up. “Actually, yes, if you wouldn’t mind.” She handed it to him as they stood at the same time. “Could you see if I have anything as well waiting for the postman to bring to the house? You’ll already be there.”

“Yes, of course.” He looked down at the letter when he frowned. “You’re writing to McNab?”

“Yes.” She offered nothing else.

“It’s utterly mad how lucky you are no one discovered he was staying under your roof. I was a bit busy with my entire life turning upside down to care about it too much, but I was waiting for the day I walked into Brooks’s and the boys all burst into laughter upon my arrival. Though I did hear about you screaming at them to get out of your house. That did not elicit laughter from them.”

Vivian lifted her eyebrows a bit at this.

“I did stand up for you! Anyway, Father had more confidence in the situation than I did, or maybe he was so tired of me, he couldn’t even begin to worry about you. You must have quite the happy group of servants to keep something like that quiet. That or Heaton is secretly a menace.” Bernard laughed. “And you think I’m the family blackguard? Pish posh, Vivian.”

Vivian let out a loud sigh.

“What exactly is going on between you two?”

“Oh, don’t be so nosy, Bernard, and send my letter for me.” She began walking back to the house and he followed. “Will you be back for dinner?”

As their conversation went into more neutral subjects, the siblings stepped inside right as their father walked through the front door.

“Ah! My adoring children.” He gave them each a peck on the cheek. “What devilry are you up to?”

Vivian laughed. “Writing letters and going to the post office.”

“I have letters for home that I’m sending now,” Bernard added, “if you have anything you need to send out.”

“No mail from me, but I just saw one of the footmen collecting this from the letterbox,” Father pulled out a few envelopes from his jacket and handed them to Vivian. “I took it upon myself to bring it to you and already took out mine. This is all for you. But I am in desperate need of an afternoon nap. If either of you need me, I’ll be upstairs.”

Father went up to bed as Vivian eagerly flipped through the envelopes. To her great disappointment, there wasn’t anything from Dantes. Though she scolded herself for being silly, she hadn’t yet had a chance to send him a letter before the one she had just written.

There was, however, something from Mr. Northcott, Gran’s solicitor. She pulled it out of the stack and held it up. That was odd. Why would she be hearing from him?

“Is something the matter?” Bernard asked, evidently noticing his sister’s sudden change in demeanor.

“I’m not sure. Don’t leave yet. I may have another letter to post.” With shaking hands, she ripped open the envelope and hastily read through. Her face paled and she read through it again and again as her heart raced faster with each read.

My lady,

I hope this letter finds you well and you are settled into your holiday. Unfortunately, I have some distressing news. The last time we spoke, I gave you a letter from your grandmother. In the unlikely event you do not recall the letter, your grandmother had a stipulation in her will requiring you to marry within a year for love in order to keep your inheritance. And if you do not, the entire inheritance goes to your brother.

I recently recalled this stipulation, one of the most unorthodox of my long career, and mentioned it to a colleague of mine. As he had never seen such a request before, he asked to see it for curiosity’s sake. To be technical, the stipulation is what we call a conditional bequest and a conditional bequest must be fulfilled for the will to be valid. However, my colleague discovered something when reviewing the document. Your grandmother never specified the one-year countdown should begin upon her death. My colleague pointed out that because the conditional bequest is a separate document from the will, the countdown began the date of the document’s creation in lieu of a designated start date. Sure he was in error, we brought the document to several other solicitors I hold in high regard, and their interpretation of the document was the same. The conditional bequest was added to the will last summer, not long after her illness was discovered. This is all to say the one-year countdown began on July 30th, 1888, and not upon her death in February of 1889. In other words, you have mere weeks to marry.

Never in my career have I made such an error and unfortunately, there is nothing to remedy this. As love is not a concrete object that can be measured, that portion of the conditional bequest can be overlooked and I would strongly encourage you to overlook it as well, if necessary. As soon as you have a ceremony date and marriage license, please send a copy to me posthaste.

The letter continued further, though it was mostly incessant apologies.

She threw the letter down to the sideboard with the rest of the mail and began pulling drawers open in search of paper and a pen.

“What’s wrong?” Bernard’s volume had raised and he took to her side.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” she replied curtly as she rushed off into adjacent rooms in search of paper and pen. Had they all gone and walked off? “Where is my stationery?” she asked with a frustrated mutter.

“You were writing a letter outside earlier,” he responded the from hallway. “Unless it blew away, I would imagine it would still be there.”

She pressed a hand to her cheek. “Oh, goodness, you’re right. Thank you, Bernard. Give me one minute.”

Vivian hurried back outside and went straight to the chair she had been sitting in when she’d written the last letter. Bernard’s assumption was right; her stationery was still there. She sat once more and hastily responded to the solicitor, informing him she’d received his letter and understood what needed to be done. Being frustrated or angry with Mr. Northcott would do her no good. The man hadn’t acted with malice, so she did her best to keep those feelings of upset level. She also wrote a second letter to Dantes informing him of the news and asked that he join her a few weeks earlier than expected. She sealed the letter.

With worry creased in her brow, Vivian returned to the hallway and found Bernard exactly where she had left him at the sideboard. He straightened as he spotted her, glanced at the letters in her hand, then the one she had left on the sideboard. He still clutched the one letter she’d handed him moments ago.

Vivian handed him more letters for Dantes, and the one for the solicitor.

“Please, make sure those are sent right away,” she said, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on her skirt. She wondered how Dantes would react to going from the first letter, relaxed and carefree, informing him of her safe arrival to Brighton, to the second letter of life-altering alarm. Bernard took them with a nod, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek and a hasty thank you .