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CHAPTER EIGHT

“ W hat?!”

Geoffrey nearly leapt across the room in his attempt to snatch the document from Cassia's hand.

Cassia pulled it back and began following along while Mr. Finchley continued, reading now from his own copy of Lord Seagrave's petition.

“At the passing of Halifax Montefort, third Marquess of Seagrave, it is hereby deemed that his only living natural child, the Lady Cassia Louise Montefort, shall be the sole heiress to the Seagrave estate. Further, that on the occasion of her marriage, her husband shall be made fourth Marquess of Seagrave in succession, with a male son being made the heir. In addition, should Lady Cassia not contract said marriage and deliver a male heir, the rights of inheritance shall then pass to the next presumptive male heir, a Mister Geoffrey Montefort.”

Cassia remained silent for several moments, trying desperately to take this all in.

“But how can this be, Mr. Finchley? How could I possibly inherit my father's entire fortune?

Surely this cannot be legal. Surely there has been some mistake.

Yes, that is it. It is all a misunderstanding, isn't that right, Mr. Finchley?”

But Finchley only shook his head. “I understand, Lady Cassia, that this is unusual, most unusual, but it is most legal as well, I assure you. Should he choose to, the king could appoint most anyone he wished to the Seagrave title.” He glanced across the room, then added, “Even Lord Ravenscroft here.” He looked at Rolfe then added.

“I was only being hypothetical, of course.”

“Of course,” Rolfe replied.

“But a woman cannot acquire a title by birth,” Cassia broke in. “Primogeniture forbids it.”

“There are exceptions to every rule,” Finchley went on.

“Still, in this case you would not inherit the Seagrave title as would a male heir, Cassia.

By your father's request and the king's order, the title would pass through you to your husband and any male children you should have. You would merely be a vessel for the title to pass through, if you pardon my choice of words. And, you must remember, that it has been stipulated that should no son come of your marriage who would by rights inherit, then Geoffrey would, of course, become the next in-line inheritor.”

“But that could take forty years!” Geoffrey bellowed, throwing his velvet clad arm outward in disgust. “I'll be aged and decrepit! I could even be dead. What good would it do me then?”

“Geoffrey, please,” Cassia said, trying to focus all her attentions on what Mr. Finchley was saying.

“Surely this petition can somehow be reversed, Mr. Finchley. I never wanted this responsibility. I never could have dreamed my father—of all people—would have done something so irregular and inappropriate as this.”

Finchley reached for and took Cassia's hand. “I assure you this was his wish, Lady Cassia. Your father felt very strongly that blood ties were more important to a legacy than a name. As Shakespeare says, ‘That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’”

“Perhaps, but Shakespeare had never met my father, sir.”

“You are his child, Cassia, his only child, of his blood, and it was his desire, his final wish that you would carry on the Seagrave line through your children.”

“But I never wanted that responsibility, Mr. Finchley. My father well knew that, too. I refused every attempt at a marriage he tried to make for me. Can you not simply forego this whole terrible thing and allow me the portion that was originally intended, leaving the rest and sundry to Geoffrey?”

“Yes, Mr. Finchley,” Geoffrey piped in, “can you not do that?”

“Geoffrey, please,” Cassia said a final time.

Mr. Finchley shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot. The petition has been decreed by royal writ and it has already passed the seal. It is virtually irreversible.”

Cassia stared at the floor, seeing, but not really noticing the frayed edges of the carpet beneath the settee while she searched for some semblance of a solution to this ungodly mess. How could her father had done this to her? Why would he have?

And then it came to her. It came to her as if her father was suddenly standing there in the room before them speaking the words himself.

Though he'd tried countless times, through countless measures, he hadn't been able to force her into marriage while he'd been alive.

This petition was simply his way of trying to force her to it in death.

Cassia would have sworn she could even hear her father chuckling, if not for the fact that she knew he was lying beneath several feet of cold earth in the Montefort family plot in Cambridgeshire.

That was one thing of which she was certain—perhaps the only thing anymore—for she'd stood right there and had watched as his coffin had been lowered into the ground.

She'd remained there, waiting while each shovelful of dirt had been tossed atop it, leaving only after it had been firmly packed down.

Well, two could play at this game ...

Cassia returned her attentions to Mr. Finchley. “The simplest remedy I can see to this debacle is for me to never marry. That way all will eventually go to Geoffrey, will it not?”

“Not exactly.” Finchley glanced at Geoffrey again, clearing his throat. “You see, your father thought you might respond in that fashion, Lady Cassia. Therefore, he attached a further condition to his will, an additional codicil, if you will.”

Finchley removed another set of papers from his leather case.

“Let's see. Here it is. Should you choose not to wed and to not continue the Seagrave line through yourself as your father wished and as King Charles deemed, the title and its entail will indeed pass to Geoffrey. But that is only the title. The remainder of his fortune and properties, totaling in excess of, I believe,” he glanced through his papers, “eighty thousand pounds, that would remain entirely yours. Geoffrey would inherit the Seagrave title, and that is all.”

“Eighty thousand pounds!” Geoffrey turned apoplectic.

Finchley glanced at him and continued. “Lord Seagrave was a most shrewd investor. He has trebled the family worth during his tenure.”

Cassia was still trying to deal with the fact that her father had left virtually nothing for Geoffrey. “Am I to believe that my father made no further concession for Geoffrey? No allotment of funds? Not even an allowance?”

“Of course not. Your father did stipulate an allowance for Geoffrey of I believe—” Finchley scanned the papers.

“—ah, here it is. Geoffrey is to be allotted an annuity of fifty pounds, no more, to be given quarterly by you and to be overseen by me.

The seat at Cambridgeshire, being that it is entailed, would be included as part of Geoffrey's inheritance. Of course, with only the fifty pound annuity at his disposal, it would soon be financially ruined. The other properties, the estate in Lancashire, the holdings in Ireland, and Seagrave House here in London, being that they are not entailed, would be passed to you regardless.”

Cassia was stunned. “I was never aware my father had acquired any of these properties.”

Finchley took out his handkerchief and blew his nose anew. “He only came by them recently, in the past five years I would say.”

Cassia felt a strange chill come over the room.

It was almost as if her father's spirit was standing there, enjoying himself thoroughly as they attempted to sort through the messy predicament he had left.

She had never realized, could never have guessed, that her father held such ill will toward Geoffrey.

If he had doubted the authenticity of his brother Harold's marriage to Geoffrey's laundry maid mother, why then hadn't he made an attempt to investigate the matter further long before?

“Why, Mr. Finchley? Why would my father have done such a thing?”

Finchley looked at Geoffrey, frowning. “If you'll pardon my saying, given Geoffrey's past affection for the gaming tables, your father feared the total loss of the estate, which is why he has stipulated the amount of the annuity. He does this only to prevent that which he had worked for and amassed all these years from being lost through profligacy. And—” Finchley opened his case a third time, removing a sealed letter from inside, “—at our last meeting, your father gave me this letter to deliver to your hands in the event of his death.”

Cassia stared at the letter he held a moment before she took it up. She did not open it. Instead, she took it and tucked it into the pocket of her gown. She stood. No one said a word, leaving the room eerily silent.

She looked onto the faces around her. At Mr. Finchley, whose task it had been to bring her this most unexpected news.

At Geoffrey who looked as if he was preparing to explode into a riot of red velvet at any moment.

At Ravenscroft—she'd somehow forgotten he'd even been in the room—looking at her now as if he actually pitied her.

Cassia felt utterly trapped, caught between the insane urge to laugh and the immediate need to burst into tears.

She fought to take hold of her swirling emotions.

Finally, she looked at Mr. Finchley, holding out the damnable petition to him.

“Do you realize what this all means, Mr. Finchley? This makes it appear all the more likely that I did actually kill my father.”

“Except that you did not even know of the existence of the petition before now,” Rolfe offered, cutting in.

“Yes. You know that and I know that, and every person in this room knows that, but when word of this petition gets out at court—and it will, I can well assure you—it will all but seal my fate in the eyes of the law, and the world for that matter. It will only be a matter of time before I will be charged and tried for the murder of my own father.”