Lord Deverill's Heir Read Online Free PDF

clothing that shrouded her from head to toe.
    George Brammersley, solicitor to her late husband, had arrived only yesterday in one of the earl’s crested carriages; now he arranged himself with his usual show of dignity behind the great oak library desk. Lady Ann watched as he dallied, first polishing the small circles of his glasses, then settling them with practiced ease on the bridge of his vein-lined hawk nose. He slowly spread a sheaf of papers before him on the top of the desk, arranging them first one way and then another. His rheumy old eyes studiously avoided the three women. Lady Ann longed for a brush to smooth down the unruly wisps of gray frazzled hair that stood about his scalp at odd angles. He was a very old friend of her late husband’s. She had always felt sorry for him. Now, she wished she could spare him, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to.
    She could feel a mounting intensity in Arabella’s body, now too thin since she had not eaten much of anything since they had been informed of her father’s death. Lady Ann knew that Arabella wouldn’t hold herself in check much longer. She knew, too, that her daughter viewed the reading of her father’s will as the irrevocable recognition of his death. There could be no more questions, no more doubts, no more hope.

    She knew that soon Arabella’s control would crack under the strain of Mr.
    Brammersley’s delay. She sought for words to whisper to her daughter. Not comforting words, for Arabella would never accept those from anyone. Just words that were commonplace, words that would mayhap distract her, words that would send her mind for just a brief moment in another direction.
    Lady Ann was too late. Arabella sprang from her seat and strode to the desk. She leaned toward Mr. Brammersley, her hands splayed on the desk, hands covered with black mittens.
    She whispered with ferocious calm, “I do not wish you to delay further, sir. I do not know your reason for tarrying in this ridiculous manner, but I will not have it. My mother grows weary, if you have not sense enough in your head to see it. Read my father’s will now, else I shall relieve you of the responsibility and do it myself.” The red veins on Mr. Brammersley’s nose seemed to stand out even more and seemed to grow like a fine-webbed network to his wizened cheeks. He sucked in his breath, outraged, and looked toward Lady Ann. She nodded to him wearily. He assumed a dignified position, thrusting his receding chin out over his shirt points, cleared his throat, and said, “My dear Lady Arabella, if you will please return to your seat, we will begin the reading.”
    “A miracle has visited us,” Arabella said, not masking the contempt in her voice. “Get on with it, sir.” She returned to her chair. Lady Ann didn’t have the energy to reprimand her. She felt a flutter of apprehensive movement at her right, and turned a gentle smile to Elsbeth.
    Taking a small hand in hers, Lady Ann squeezed it. Shy Elsbeth, as different from her half-sister as was a sword from a pen, not that Elsbeth could write all that well. That made Lady Ann smile behind her black veils. Odd the thoughts one had at the most inappropriate moments.
    George Brammersley grabbed an impressive document, smoothed down the first page and said, “It is an unhappy occasion that brings us together this day. The untimely demise of John Latham Everhard Deverill, sixth Earl of Strafford, has touched us all—his family, his friends, those in his employ, and above all, his country. His courageous sacrifice of his life, so selflessly and gallantly offered to preserve the rights of Englishmen . . .”
    There was a flutter of movement, and Arabella felt a light brush of air on the back of her neck. She realized the library door had opened then closed. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered now. Maybe it was a magistrate come to remove George Brammersley, thank the good Lord. No, not now. Now, at least, Brammersley was getting on with it.