Free The Saint by Madeline Hunter Page A

had never visited the study before. It faced north, and the light coming through the pointed Gothic windows offered veiled illumination of the dark wood desk, the wall of books, and the watercolor landscapes.
    Her visitor rose from a chair near the window.
    â€œMr. Peterson, I am delighted that you came.”
    â€œI was relieved to receive your summons, Miss Kenwood. When you did not make our last appointment I grew concerned.”
    â€œLord Laclere found me and had other plans for my visit in your country.”
    She took a place on the padded window seat. A deep sill ran inside the window. It held an assortment of what appeared to be unusual toys. One was a wood-and-chain catapult. Another was a wood-and-leather carriage. A third appeared to be nothing in particular, just a series of grooved ramps leading one to the other, decorated with chains and wheels.
    Their construction was somewhat rustic. She guessed that Vergil had made them when he was a boy. The notion that the proper and stern viscount preserved memories of his childhood in his inner sanctum charmed her, even though, for the life of her, she could not imagine such a man as ever being boyish.
    Mr. Peterson was a man of middle years, balding and pale, with gray eyes that could look shrewd or deferential depending on the circumstances. When she had first visited him in London, the shrewd side had been quick to understand her explanation that, while she could not pay his fees now, she had expectations that would ultimately settle things quite nicely.
    â€œYou have reviewed the will?” she asked.
    â€œI have. I met with your grandfather’s solicitor. He seemed surprised that you had engaged me, but cooperated to the extent he was obliged to. No more, however.”
    â€œWhat did you learn? Can Lord Laclere’s rule be broken?”
    â€œIf you are not cared for, or if there is evidence of fraud, it is possible to have that provision set aside, but the court will not permit you the independence that I think you seek. If the viscount is not your guardian, someone else will be named. With a man of his stature, any abuse of his position would have to be egregious before a court took action.”
    She fumed with disappointment. The pointless toy caught her attention and she noticed a little lead ball at its base. Debating her next move with Vergil, she absently lifted it and dropped it on the uppermost ramp. It rolled its way down from one to the other, back and forth, setting off little wheels and pulleys when its weight hit different levels.
    â€œMiss Kenwood, it is not a permanent situation—less than a year. You are a wealthy young woman, and it is understandable that your grandfather did not want to leave you the unprotected prey of unscrupulous fortune hunters.”
    â€œHow wealthy?”
    â€œExcuse me? I assumed that you knew.”
    â€œI know in general terms. Exactly how wealthy?”
    â€œThe income from the amount invested in the funds should reach at least three thousand pounds this year.”
    â€œThat is a fortune in itself, and far more than enough for my purposes.”
    â€œYour guardian will control it, releasing funds to you as necessary, to cover your expenses. He is required to be reasonable regarding your requests.”
    She doubted that Vergil would be so reasonable as to hand her several hundred so that she could escape to Milan. If he controlled her income, he controlled her movements. In point of fact, he controlled her life.
    â€œNow, the other part of your inheritance is more complicated,” Mr. Peterson said, continuing his report.
    â€œWhat other part?”
    â€œYour grandfather was a man of business. Toward the end of his life he sold out of most of them. However, he held on to three partnerships. Two were minor holdings in transportation companies, and the third was a majority in a cotton mill in Manchester. You were also bequeathed his interest in those businesses, less ten