A Pitiful Remnant Read Online Free PDF Page B

stood under a mirror with an
ornate gilded frame. "I can take it from here."
    "Aye, sor." Nettles stepped back, but Clarence sensed he
stood ready to serve as a prop if and when needed.
    The woman who entered was clad in black, from her narrow
skirt to the deep poke bonnet on her head. She was plain as a
pikestaff, and unsmiling. Behind her came a slip of a girl, also in
black, but with a lively, curious expression on her pretty,
rosy-cheeked face. They were closely followed by a tall, solemn man who
carried a portfolio. The solicitor, no doubt. Whitsome... more? ...ton?
...worth? Ah, yes, Whitsomeworth.
    Carleton bowed them inside and stepped aside, after a quick
glance at Clarence. On your good behavior, if you please, my
lord, it said.
    There was something to be said for hiring servants through
an agency, rather than raising them from childhood. Clarence
remained where he was. He was afraid that without the meager
support of the table, he would fall on his face at their feet. "I bid you
welcome," he said, and looked between the two women, half hoping
the pretty one was his bride. "I am Guillemot." Saying so still felt
strange. For all his life, Guillemot had been his father.
    The plain one stepped forward and curtseyed. "Thank you. I
am Lisanor Hight."
    "I trust your journey was an easy one."
    "As much so as is possible on wretched roads." She made no
pretense to be lacking in curiosity, and looked him over very well. "I
confess that it became tedious as the day wore on."
    Reminded that they had been traveling for many hours, he
said, "Carleton, would you ask Mrs. Smith to show Miss Hight and her
maid to the chamber prepared for her? Ma'am, will you come to the
morning room when you've refreshed yourself?"
    She inclined her head. "Of course." Turning away, she
followed Mrs. Smith up the wide staircase, trailing the pretty little
maid behind her.
    He watched her go. Just my luck. Plain, humorless, stern.
Ah, well, it will be dark in the bedchamber.
    The solicitor stepped forward and introduced himself.
"While Miss Hight is absent, perhaps you would like to discuss the
marriage contract. Have you any questions?"
    "A few. Let's move upstairs, though, before I fall." Nettles
stepped forward. The very young footman joined them and, with two
sets of strong legs to augment his own shaking ones, he
accomplished the journey to the morning room. Once Nettles had
helped him to his chair, he said, "I confess, Mr. Whitsomeworth, that
I'm wishing I'd followed the doctor's advice and greeted you from
my bed." He closed his eyes and willed the nausea and trembling
away.
    After a few moments, the solicitor said, "This can wait, my
lord, until you're feeling more the thing."
    "No." Clarence forced his eyes open. "That's likely to be days
hence. I've read the contract. It's straightforward enough, if
somewhat unusual. Miss Hight is to have sole authority to manage
Ackerslea Farm, and it is to be left intact to our second son, or, if
failing that we produce two male offspring, to our eldest daughter.
Do I understand rightly?"
    "You do. Miss Hight will also have sole control of Ackerslea's
finances, but has agreed to combine the revenues with those of
Guillemot for the next five years, in order to put both estates back in
trim."
    "She will sign an agreement to that effect?"
    "She already has." He held out a folded paper. It has been
notarized, my lord, and will go into effect upon your marriage.
    Privately Clarence thought the agreement was the least the
woman could do, considering she was demanding that he violate a
basic principle. A husband should control the finances. How could a
mere girl of tender years possibly be competent to manage a manor
comprising nearly a thousand acres? Good God! Ackerslea Farm was
somewhat greater in extent than Guillemot, if one considered only
the principal seat. "Excellent," was all he said. Again he leaned back
and closed his eyes.
    "You are not as well recovered as we were led to believe, my
lord. Will you