Simon returned to Claire. “Your father said he has a new horse for me to work with.”
“Yes. A really nice bay whose not quite fast enough. Da thinks he’d make a splendid hunter.”
“Good.” Simon loved working with the thoroughbreds that needed to be re-trained.
He sat next to her again. The byplay with the horses had steadied him, as had their conversation. He put his arm around her shoulders and when she snuggled up to him it was all right. He said, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if this inheritance was enough money for us to live on? We could get married then.”
“Oh Simon, it would be magnificent!”
They sat in silence for a while, her head tucked into his shoulder. Then Simon said, “A very strange thing happened to me before I left school.”
“What?”
He rested his chin on the top of her head and told her about his meeting with Mr. Clarkson. When he finished she sat up and looked at him. “That
is
peculiar. I shouldn’t think too many people in the world look like you, Simon.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes people see what they want to see. I probably don’t look that much like his brother after all.”
“Perhaps it was your coloring.” She was quiet for a minute then added, “Still, it’s weird.”
“Yes. It made me uncomfortable.”
She said reluctantly, “I have to get back. Mama has something she wants me to do.”
He let her go and watched as she stood and brushed her skirt off. As he rose to his own feet, he said, “Are the poachers still active around here?”
“According to Geoffrey, they’re worse. He thinks the squire is too soft on them.” The squire, Geoffrey’s father, was the local magistrate in charge of sentencing crimes such as poaching.
Simon paused in the act of straightening his jacket. “Geoffrey? Who is Geoffrey?”
“Charlotte’s brother. I’ve mentioned him to you.”
He knew about Charlotte. She was the squire’s daughter and Claire’s good friend. While Simon was at school, Claire had had been studying too - with Charlotte and Charlotte’s governess. While he was learning Greek and Latin, she had been learning how to be a proper lady. It had served to pass the time for her while Simon was gone.
He said, “You never mentioned him to me.”
She shrugged. “He finished school last year so he’s been around more.”
“Do you like him?”
She shrugged again. “He’s all right, I suppose. Not as nice as Charlotte.”
Simon really wasn’t worried about this Geoffrey fellow so he let the subject drop. Claire raised her hands to tighten the ribbon that bound her hair, and he looked at the stretch of her slim supple waist. He picked up her saddle and lifted it onto Finbar’s back. She came over to his side and watched as he tightened the girth. He knew she was perfectly capable of saddling her own horse, but he liked doing it for her, and she was kind enough to let him.
He fastened the last buckle and looked down at her. “I am
not
going to Oxford this autumn. I meant what I said about our getting married if this inheritance is real.”
“I don’t want you to go to Oxford. I’m so tired of missing you all the time. I want us to be together. For always.”
He looked down into her upturned eyes - those enormous, thick-lashed brown eyes that were the one thing about her that hadn’t changed since she was six years old. He reached out and pulled her into his arms. “I love you so much, Claire. It’s driving me mad, these long separations.” His voice was ragged with emotion.
“I know,” she returned, her voice muffled by his shirt. “Let’s hope the inheritance is enough.”
He nodded and forced himself to drop his arms and let her go. She put her foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. “Are you coming with me?”
“Yes. Just give me a moment and I’ll saddle up.”
The familiar act of saddling a horse calmed him and by the time they returned to the bridle path he was able to speak normally about other things.
CHAPTER THREE
Liam and Thomas Weston, the local squire and Liam’s friend, sat together in the public room of their favorite Newmarket tavern. They had spent the morning watching the Welbourne horses as they worked out on the Newmarket gallops. The room was quiet at this hour, and Liam and Squire Weston had taken their usual table under a print of horses running in the 1,000 Guineas Stakes. Liam sipped his beer and waited for his friend to stop enthusing about the horses he had just observed. When the squire finally ran out of accolades, Liam broached the topic that was most on his mind.
“I have a problem I’d like your help with, Weston.”
“Of course,” said the squire, wiping some foam from his upper lip and looking interested.
“Can you tell me what you know about Simon’s mother? The boy is curious. He’s never met any of her relatives.”
Tom Weston’s bushy brown brows lifted in surprise. “I know only what everyone in town knows. She was an heiress – a Jarvis, in fact. The ones who own the bank? She was the only daughter.”
“Ah,” Liam said slowly. The Jarvis Bank was one of the biggest banks in England. “So she did belong to that family.”
“She did. Before Welbourne married he owed money all over the village – and all over London too, I’m sure. And old Jarvis wanted to marry his daughter into the nobility. You know how it is, O’Rourke. It didn’t matter that Jarvis could buy and sell most of the nobles who looked down their long noses at him. The only way a Jarvis would ever be able to crack that closed circle was to marry into it. So that’s what Jarvis did – he married his granddaughter to the Earl of Welbourne. The gossip around town was the earl got a huge amount of money in the marriage settlement. He paid off all his debts and started putting money into the stud farm.
You
know how much he paid for Fergus.”
“I do that. Much good did being a countess do for Simon’s mother, though. She died when he was only five, poor girl.”
The squire signaled for another pint. “Aye, it was sad. Happened in Ireland. The earl has an estate there. He used to go over for the hunting. The hunting around here wasn’t good enough for him. He wouldn’t taint himself by riding out with
my
hounds. God forbid!” He received his third pint from the hands of the owner and took a long swallow.
Liam watched his friend enjoy his ale and contemplated how much he should tell him. The squire put his glass on the table, looked at Liam’s still half-f first glass, and said slowly, “What’s this all about? What’s made Lord Woodbridge suddenly so curious?”
Tom Weston was a good man, Liam thought. He treated his family, his friends, his hounds and his horses with respect and affection. He was a man you could trust.
Liam told him about Simon’s inheritance.
Weston was nonplussed. “The earl never said anything to his son about this?”
“He scarcely speaks to his son at all. Simon will be eighteen shortly, but he’s still supposed to take his meals in the schoolroom. And the countess is just as nasty as the earl. Claire says she hates Simon because he was born first so her son can’t inherit.”
“Good God,” the squire said. “That poor boy.”
“He’s had a rough go of it, and now it begins to seem as if the earl is looking to cheat him out of this inheritance.”
“Why haven’t the Jarvises stepped in?”
“I don’t know and I’d like to find out. Do you have any suggestions as to how I might go about it?”
The squire frowned down at his strong, square hands as they lay folded on the table in front of him. After a few moments he said, “Lord Woodbridge needs a solicitor to look into this. Even if he’s eighteen he’s still a child under the law, but if money has been misappropriated – especially Jarvis money! – I think a solicitor will be interested.”
“Can you recommend a solicitor to me?”
The squire leaned back in his chair. “There’s solicitors in Newmarket, but they specialize in horse law. I would recommend you go into Cambridge. There’s a company there I have dealt with myself, Coke and Ambrose. They’re very respectable; if they agree to look into this for Lord Woodbridge, they’ll do a good job.”
“I’ll see if I can get an appointment,” Liam said. “Thank you for the recommendation.”
“This situation sounds like a rum thing to me. Good luck.”
“We’ll need it,” Liam returned.
The squire glanced at the clock that hung over the tavern’s stone fireplace. “I have a hearing to get to. Best be going.”
Liam agreed, and the two men pushed back their chairs, walked to the weathered wooden door, and exited out into the misty summer morning.
# # #
Two weeks later Liam and Simon were on the road to Cambridge under a heavy gray sky. Liam was driving his own horse and gig, with Simon in the seat beside him. Both horse and gig had been bought with the generous bonus money Liam always received from the earl when one of his horses won a major race.
Liam knew that what he was undertaking for Simon was in direct opposition to Liam’s own interest. If the earl discovered what Liam was doing, he would most certainly lose his position. Which Liam did not want to happen. Liam knew he could get another job instantly should the earl dismiss him, but both he and Elise liked where they were. They had become part of the parish social circle, and they had made some good friends. Liam had even put his own money into adding on to the cottage. If they had to go to another place they would lose all of that.
But, as Liam had said to Elise when they were discussing their course of action, “The truth is, the earl’s a bastard and if he’s trying to screw Simon out of his inheritance, I’m going to stop him.”
Elise had agreed.
# # #
The drive from Newmarket to Cambridge wasn’t overly long, and Liam and Simon reached the city before noon.
“We need to find Bridge Street,” Liam said, as he slowed his mare to a walk.
Simon’s head was swiveling back and forth, taking in the magnificent golden stone buildings on either side of them. “My father went to Oxford, but even Oxford couldn’t be more beautiful than this,” he marveled.
“It’s grand,” Liam agreed. “But keep a look out for Bridge Street will you?”
Simon looked at a signpost. “We’re on Bridge Street, Mr. O’Rourke. I just saw a sign.”
“Grand. Now look for ‘Jesus Lane.’ Coke and Ambrose have their office on that corner. It’s a red brick building.”
They found the building, they left the horses in the mews, and together, man and boy walked into the law office of Coke and Ambrose.
Their appointment was with Mr. Coke. The elderly secretary showed them into an impressive office lined by floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with fat, leather-bound books. The man sitting behind the large desk was younger than Liam had expected, in his early forties perhaps. He rose when they came in and shook hands with his visitors.
“Shall I bring in tea, sir?” the elderly secretary inquired.
Mr. Coke looked inquiringly at his guests. “Not for me, thanks,” Liam said.
“Nor me,” Simon agreed.
Mr. Coke said, “No tea, John. I’ll ring if I need you.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Coke.” The secretary effaced himself quietly.
The man behind the desk looked from Liam to Simon and Liam watched the surprise on the solicitor’s narrow, intelligent face as Coke took in Simon’s extraordinary face. There was always that moment of astonishment for anyone who had never met Simon before. Coke masked it well, however, and when he spoke it was with quiet dignity. “Lord Woodbridge, suppose you tell me why you have come to see me today.”
Simon related his story, beginning with the comment from the earl’s solicitor and including the information Liam had learned from the squire. His voice was level and his details were concise. Liam was proud of him.
When Simon had finished Coke looked into the air above their heads, his brows furrowed. Simon shot a quick glance at Liam and Liam gave a slight shrug.
Finally Mr. Coke said, “Such a bequest is highly unusual. It is possible to create a trust so that if the husband dies, part of the wife’s money comes back to her. But to create a trust for the eldest son? Very unusual. In fact, I’ve never heard of it.”
“But it can be done?” Liam asked.
“It must have been done if the earl’s solicitor spoke to Lord Woodbridge about it. The question I would like to have answered is: can Lord Welbourne make a reasonable challenge in regard to the trust’s legality? To answer that question I should have to see the exact wording of the trust document. The wording of such a document would have to be very specific to ensure the earl could not touch it.”
Simon asked, “Is it possible for you contact Mr. Pitt and ask to see the paperwork?”
“I can do that, but we have another issue here. You are underage, Lord Woodbridge. You cannot be my client.”
“I will be eighteen in three weeks, Mr. Coke.”
“Yes, but the age of majority in England is twenty-one, my lord.”
“Can Mr. O’Rourke be your client then? He could act for me.”
“Mr. O’Rourke has no legal status in regard to your lordship. He is not a relative and he has not been made your guardian by a court.”
For the first time Simon sounded like the boy he was: “He’s been more of a father to me than my own father ever was! He’s the only one who cares what happens to me! There must be some way to make it legal for him to act for me.”
“Lord Woodbridge,” the solicitor said gently, “consider Mr. O’Rourke’s position. He is an employee of your father. What do you think your father would do if he learned that Mr. O’Rourke was challenging his right to this inheritance?”
All of the color drained from Simon’s face. “He’d dismiss him.”
“Just so.”
Simon turned to Liam, distress in his eyes. “I should never have brought you into this, Mr. O’Rourke. If you should lose your position….”
Liam held up his hand. “Hush, Simon. There is another way.”
He turned back to the solicitor and the two men looked at each other. “I could contact the Jarvis family,” Mr. Coke said.