Free The Second Mrs Darcy by Elizabeth Aston Page A

well for that, discretion is essential in our profession, Mrs. Darcy. Now, I am one of the executors of the will, and the other is a Mr. Portal—ah, I see you know the name. He is presently abroad, travelling in France, I believe, but that need not hold us up, although, as a lifelong friend of your great-uncle and -aunt, I know that he is very eager to make your acquaintance.”
    â€œHe wrote to me, from France, but I did not quite understand his position. So he is an executor?”
    â€œYes. Meanwhile, you will want someone to advise you; your brother, Mr. Arthur Melbury, would be the proper person, for I understand that Sir James Melbury is rarely in town. I can be in touch with Mr. Melbury at his earliest convenience to discuss—”
    Octavia cut in swiftly. “I forbid you, I absolutely forbid you to have any contact with Mr. Melbury about this or anything to do with me.”
    Mr. Wilkinson’s grave face took on a look of astonishment.
    â€œI am twenty-five, and as a widow I believe I have full control of my financial affairs, is not that so?”
    â€œIn law, yes, but as a practical matter, I beg of you to consider what a responsibility such a fortune is. Mr. Melbury is known as an astute man, he will be better able to—”
    â€œNo. If I decide to run wild and sell out of the gilts and gamble the money away at the card table, I shall do so; it is entirely my own business.”
    â€œBut, Mrs. Darcy,” he began in appalled tones.
    â€œI joke, Mr. Wilkinson. I am not a gambler, and I have been too poor for most of my life not to know the value of large sums in gilts. But I mean what I say. Whom did Mrs. Worthington rely on to advise her?”
    He looked doubtful. “We were her lawyers, and she had a man of business in Yorkshire, but as to investments and so forth, and the plantations—well, I believe she saw to all that herself.”
    â€œThen so shall I.”
    â€œBut, Mrs. Darcy, the cases are quite different. Mrs. Worthington was a woman who—”
    â€œI shall make mistakes, I am sure, but my mind is quite made up.”
    She could see that he was going to argue, and could watch his mental processes as he thought better of it. She knew just what was going through his mind, that in no time at all, she would be married again, and her fortune would pass into the hands of a man, someone who would take care of everything for her.
    â€œNot so,” she said to the nearest cow, who gazed at her with huge, soft eyes. “I am a woman of independent means, definitely in possession of a good fortune, but I am not in the least in want of a husband!”

Chapter Seven
    Arthur called early the following morning, when his sisters and niece were still in the breakfast parlour. Penelope was toying with a piece of toast, looking out of the window, and, while her mother was attending to her morning coffee and arranging everyone’s day for them, letting herself give way to a heavy sigh. She rose politely as her uncle came into the room, dropping a neat curtsy, and presenting a dutiful cheek for his avuncular kiss.
    â€œYou are not in looks, Penelope,” he said. “You need to get some roses into your cheeks. I saw Louisa yesterday, and she is blooming, quite blooming; you will have to look to your laurels.”
    â€œWhat have Louisa’s looks to do with me?” Penelope muttered as she sat down again.
    Arthur greeted his sisters, Theodosia with enthusiasm, Octavia less so, and sat himself down, calling for a fresh pot of coffee. “I have just time for a cup, but I shan’t stay. I have called on Octavia’s account, as it happens. I met Lady Warren last night, at the Batterbys’ rout—I didn’t see you there, Theodosia. It was a sad crush, you did well to avoid it.”
    â€œWe called in early, probably before you arrived, for we were going on to the Tollants’ ball.”
    â€œOh? Well, as I say, Lady Warren