“Please, Lady Danderly, have a seat.”
Freddie cleared her throat and set the candlestick back on the hearth mantle next to a book of poetry. She rubbed her hands on her skirts, then sat on the sofa.
“I’m Mrs. Warfield.” The woman clasped Freddie’s hand and shook it, a gentleman’s greeting. She was a handsome woman, perhaps ten years her senior, with brown hair and kind eyes. She sat in a chair adjacent to the settee.
“Are you the one who handed me this note?” She held it out to clarify.
“No, that was Mrs. Bower, another widow. We’re all widows here, ready to lend our support to one another, night and day, to rescue, to provide escort to Vauxhall or the theater. Entertainment is as important as the legal issues we’ve all faced.”
“It’s kind of you to offer companionship.”
“And of every kind, if you understand my meaning.”
She felt her face warm at the sparkle in Mrs. Warfield’s eyes. The meaning was clear.
“Please don’t be embarrassed. It’s happened to all of us, whether we miss our marriage bed or whether we never truly had one to speak of.”
Her mouth gone dry, Freddie licked her lips. Did this woman see through her veil of secrecy? “I’ll think on it.”
“All of it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of here.”
“I’m not ashamed, Mrs. Warfield. I’m rather overwhelmed.”
“Your husband was ill for some time, is that correct?”
She nodded.
“Tell me three things you need immediately. Just three, and we’ll do our best to provide.”
“Like clothing or food?” she asked, confused. She did not require sundries.
“Anything at all. Don’t think charity or a lack of necessities. I’m speaking of what you need, what you want this very minute.”
Freddie didn’t hesitate. “Well, for one, I need a solicitor.”
“Easy to manage. What else?”
“A solicitor I can trust.” Freddie felt the need to reiterate.
“Do you have one you cannot trust?”
She nodded. “His firm is well established with the St. George’s.”
“And you are having an issue with just your husband’s family? Or with yours as well?”
“I don’t have one. Henry was my only family. And yes, I cannot trust my family-by-law. In fact, it’s that ‘by law’ part that has become somewhat difficult to manage.”
Mrs. Warfield nodded, a hissing sigh breaking through her clamped teeth. “I have personally experienced something similar, I believe. My husband was wealthy and titled, and his family was completely entitled.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s it. What did you do?”
“I hired the best damn solicitor money could buy.”
A chuckle broke through the black haze she’d been in for a week. The woman cursed, and Freddie loved it. There seemed to be a freedom here she’d never before experienced.
“What else?”
Freddie compressed her lips, deliberating over truths to tell and ones not to. She so needed a friend. Henry had been her closest confidant, and she missed his companionship. Perhaps trusting this woman who shared the same experiences would help calm her for the storm ahead. She closed her eyes and breathed in the words screaming to get out. “Anything?” she asked for clarity.
Mrs. Warfield smiled, nodding, her gaze attentive like someone who truly cared.
“I need my in-laws vacated from my London home before I return.” She watched for signs of contempt.
“That’s two. One more.”
Freddie rubbed her arms, fighting the urge to cross them against kindness or friendship because she’d rarely been shown any. Should she trust this stranger? “Your generosity has already provided the third—a friend.”
“Friends call me Jo, for Josephine.”
“My husband called me Freddie, for Fredda.” She bowed her head with a smile, an agreement to trust this woman as she would a friend. “How will you remove my husband’s family? They are in my townhome right now.”
“While we have a visit, our Mr. Vance will send an inconsequential message, something with a legal heading, informing them that they’re needed elsewhere. That usually does the trick.”
“Has this request been made before?” she asked, more curious than surprised.
“We get all kinds of requests, including the removal of difficult people from private and not-so-private residences. Nothing untoward.”
Freddie tucked a wayward tendril of flaxen hair back into her severe bun. “I’ll be returning to Tradewind Manor tomorrow. With the family gone, I might actually get some sleep tonight. My steward has been interviewing solicitors. If he fails to find someone appropriate, I shall let you know.”
Caden Landon Scott, the Duke of Justamere, had considered attending the young baron’s funeral this morning. He’d only once met Henry St. George, Baron Danderly. He had liked him instantly, an honest man, and the gentleman’s agreement they’d made some months ago didn’t seem to be in danger of falling apart until now.
A new widow might easily overlook ten-thousand acres of unentailed property that bordered Cade’s land. In fact, she was not likely to know of the land deal at all. But Lord Danderly’s solicitor should have a record of the incomplete transaction. If he could get his hands on the books, perhaps he might convince Danderly’s widow to see it through. He would explain to her sensibly that the sale would benefit them both. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be sure of her agreement, and he couldn’t afford to wait.
One
Freddie had been back at Tradewind House for almost two weeks with still no word from Henry’s sister or brother, which suited her fine. There was the possibility that with their spies placed throughout the house, they’d leave Freddie alone until they could rightfully throw her out. According to the will, she had a year, but she didn’t expect it to be a peaceful one.
“Madam.” Mr. Lionel presented himself to her while she tried without success to make sense of her husband’s bookkeeping. “Mr. Newhouse has taken to performing my duties. Is there a reason for this?”
The question itself was condescending, but she expected nothing less from a butler who’d been spying on her even before she’d married Henry. She’d worked on the property with the gardening staff from the age of fourteen. She’d quickly learned who to trust and, more importantly, who not to trust.
“Mr. Lionel, I’m glad you’ve brought this to my attention.”
“Quite so, madam.” He generally refrained from calling her my lady, especially Lady Danderly, if he could help it.
“As of thirty seconds ago, you are officially sacked. If you’d care for a reference, I’d not make a go of your temper here, were I you. On your way out, you may send in Miss Garret and Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” She didn’t relish putting them out of work, but she also didn’t relish being duped out of the will either. And with these four individuals, along with Mr. Breakwater, the unscrupulous family solicitor, she would have a time keeping it together. They were, one and all, involved in making her life hell.