Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,1

bulk of his considerable estate to his son and heir, David.”

She nodded.

“But,” he added, “he has settled a hundred a year on you for life.”

Her mouth gaped open, and tears gushed. A hundred a year was the difference between comfort and poverty. She had never expected such generosity. “I am profoundly grateful,” she managed.

“There’s more.”

Her eyes widened. Her heartbeat thumped.

“Lord Paxton has stipulated in his will that he wants you to have Darnley Lodge.”

It was almost as if a lightning bolt had struck her, she was so shocked. “But Darnley was the place where he and his son had so many precious memories. I…can’t…” How could she be refusing this? She’d never loved a place like she’d loved Darnley. And Stevie had never been happier—or healthier—than he’d been at Darnley.

“It’s not your decision, Mrs. Milne, to accept or reject. This is Lord Paxton’s last will and testament. It’s what he wanted most. Can you question his judgment?”

She shook her head. “Lord Paxton was the wisest man I ever knew.”

“I concur. Therefore, madam, you must acknowledge Lord Paxton’s wisdom and accept Darnley.”

She didn’t dare allow herself to look at Stevie. He might just be a child, but he was intelligent enough to understand what he’d just heard. The prospect of returning to Darnley would have him wild with glee.

“I’ve never admired anyone more than I admired Lord Paxton. If he wanted us to live at Darnley Lodge, then we shall live at Darnley Lodge.”

Now she allowed herself to cast a glance at Stevie.

Her heart felt as if it could expand right out of her chest. She hadn’t seen him smiling like that since…since he’d been at Darnley nearly a year ago.

“Oh, Mama! We can be at Darnley for Christmas!” Then his little freckled face saddened. “I shall miss Lord Paxton.”

“So shall I, love, so shall I.”

Mr. Stonehouse cleared his throat. “Before you leave today, I am authorized to give you a sum of money. Your quarterly installment. It should help with your transportation expenses.”

The first thing Mary thought of was hiring a hackney to take them back to their lodgings. What a wonderful luxury it would be.

She took a quick glance at the bottom of her shoe. A hole had worn through. No wonder she’d blistered. Thanks to Lord Paxton she would be able to purchase a new pair of shoes, too.

Then she and Stevie would leave as soon as possible for their new home.

John Beauclerc, the Earl of Finchley, strolled into White’s, accompanied by his friends Christopher Perry and Michael Knowles. Their fourth friend, David Arlington, recently elevated to Earl of Paxton, had gotten a considerable start on them. His brandy decanter was already half empty. Lord Finchley came to stand beside David, wagging his brows as he regarded the bottle. “Drinking alone?”

“Got every right to drown in my own cups.”

“And why would that be?” The man they all referred to as Finch sat beside David while the others also sat at the table with their long-time friend. The four of them had been exceptionally close since their days at Eton.

“Because I’ve been grossly bestrayed by my own father.”

“You mean betrayed.”

David nodded. “Indeed.”

“But your father’s been dead over a month now…Good lord, did he leave his fortune to someone else?”

“Not exactly.”

Christopher leaned toward David. “Then how were you betrayed?”

“Of all the properties the Paxtons possess, I shall not inherit the very one that means the most to me.”

“Paxton House in London?” Knowles asked.

“No,” David replied.

Lord Finchley looked askance at him. “He couldn’t give away Tonton Abbey. It’s entailed.”

David’s eyebrows folded. “How long have you known me?”

“More than twenty years,” Finch answered.

“Since we were eight years of age,” Knowles said.

“And do you not know where I have always been the happiest?”

“Oh, yes!” Lord Finchley brightened. “Darnley Lodge.”

David nodded morosely. “Ever since I was a wee lad, that was where I wanted most to be. That’s where I learned to ride. Papa and I would always go there without the women and girls. Just the fellows.”

“The shooting there was the best,” Christopher Perry acknowledged.

“It still is,” David said. “But I won’t get to enjoy it.”

“Who the devil did you your father bestow it upon?” Lord Finchley asked.

David poured another glass of brandy and took a long swig. “Some She-Devil who bewitched the old fool.”

“He left the lodge to a woman?” Perry asked, his dark eyes narrowed to slits.

David nodded, the set to his head as grim as one in mourning.

“A doxy, no doubt,” Lord Finchley said.

“It does seem so, though Papa was