Richmond, 1814
Lady Juliana Rivenhall sat in the bookroom of Thornhill Manor, a considerably greater estate than the modest name implied, and listened to the droning voice of the solicitor reading the Last Will and Testament of Geoffrey Rexford Rivenhall, her husband. Her late husband. What a hot-headed fool he was, to indulge in pistols at dawn with a man known for his feats of marksmanship. But that was Geoffrey—passionate in all pursuits. Including any reasonably attractive female who did not instantly succumb at the first touch of his hand to her hip. Geoffrey hunted for the challenge, the wit, the repartee, the triumph of a successful hard-won conclusion . . .
“To my devoted housekeeper, Mrs. Emmaline Thorpe, the sum of . . .”
Would it never end? The devil take all solicitors and the other ghouls present, each wondering if Geoffrey had remembered them.
Unfair. Unkind. They had all served well, from the vicar who hoped for a new steeple to the estate steward who had served as long and faithfully as Mrs. Thorpe, who was now sobbing into her handkerchief at the unexpected generosity of her bequest.
For all his faults, Geoffrey had been a good man. The things he had taught her . . . the adventures they’d had. He had broken her in quite gently to his often startling world, though not without shocking the sensibilities of a properly brought up young lady of twenty. There had been times Juliana vowed to be on the next mail coach back to Mama and Papa. She hid a nostalgic smile behind her black veil. Those days were long gone. She had enjoyed a surprising amount of her five years of marriage. Though a determined effort not to think about society’s reaction to the way Lord Rivenhall and his wife lived their lives—should they ever be discovered—was all that kept her head high, a gracious smile on her face.
And then there was the child, the babe she so longed to conceive. And now never would. Juliana forced her attention back to the solicitor, Thaddeus Leath.
“And to my beloved wife, Juliana Augusta Rivenhall, I leave the remainder of my estate. Thornhill Manor in the county of Surrey, the hunting box in Melton Mowbray, our house on the Marine Parade in Brighton, the racing stables in Epsom.”
For all the stern discipline Juliana had cultivated to hide her emotions, she failed to choke back a gasp. Geoffrey and she had visited all those places, of course, but somehow she had not thought he owned them. At least not all.
“Also to my wife’s sole benefit, I leave ownership of Rivenhall Shipping, my four mills in the Midlands, and my investments in the Funds.” The solicitor cleared his throat. “The sum invested in the Funds, my lady, should bring you approximately £30,000 per annum.”
Murmurs of astonishment echoed through the bookroom. Juliana, struggling with shock, forced herself to speak. “Mr. Leath, are you saying that I will have £30,000 per annum in addition to the income from Thornhill, the shipping company, and the mills?”
“That is correct, my lady.”
Geoffrey had once told her ninety percent of the population lived on less than a hundred pounds a year, and she was to have . . . Merciful heavens, the sum was staggering.
They had always lived well, of course. She had, in fact, frequently chided Geoffrey for his extravagance, telling him he would soon have the bailiffs at the door. Never, ever, had she dreamed of wealth on this scale.
Mr. Leath cleared his throat. “If I may, Lady Rivenhall, there is a bit more.” She offered a negligent wave of her hand, and the solicitor continued. “I name Juliana Augusta Rivenhall sole Executor of my estate. She is to have access to any and all funds once belonging to me and may make any and all business decisions once made by me. I name my good friend and long-time employee, Darius Wolfe, to assist her in these matters of business. Lady Rivenhall, a woman of high intelligence and great common sense, has been an exemplary wife, and it gives me great pleasure to put this power in her hands. Signed in the presence of Witnesses this Fourth Day of the Tenth Month in the Year of our Lord, 1810, by Geoffrey Rexford Rivenhall of Thornhill Manor, County of Surrey, England.”
Darius? But of course Darius. Who else?
Beneath her veil Juliana smiled.