There had been no time to talk to Galahad about it this morning. Thanks to the reverend and his wife, who had decided to breakfast early and who were already there when she arrived downstairs. Although they insisted he join them, too, when Galahad had emerged but a few minutes after her, they had not shared a single private moment together.
He had shot her a few heated looks across the table when their chaperones weren’t looking, though. Heated enough that she was convinced that, like her, he had absolutely no regrets about their kiss, but uncertain enough to confirm that he had no more earthly idea what to do about it yet than she did.
Their situation—the close bond of their families—was indeed a complication. One that could potentially create awkwardness between them and their kin forever if things did not work out, as well as perhaps creating awkwardness if they did. The family would certainly all be as shocked by this wholly inconceivable development as Vee was.
Her and Galahad? Who would have thought it possible that there could be a friendship between them, let alone the elusive frisson Olivia kept going on about? And yet undeniably a thrilling frisson was now there. It had positively sizzled as they had kissed. Enough that she had been sorely tempted to encourage him to take more liberties beforecommon sense had prevailed and she had put some much-needed distance between her suddenly wanton body and his. Then she had felt it plain as day all night as her body had relentlessly yearned for his. Felt it keenly throughout breakfast—a tangible awareness of his presence to her core, even with three feet of solid oak table between them.
Or perhaps it had always been there and that explained why he had always bothered her so? Why Galahad Sinclair had always been the annoying itch she couldn’t scratch? The man who always drew her eyes. Whom she never failed to be aware of whenever he was near?
Now, there was some serious food for thought.
How on earth could a person as clever and as intuitive as she was have missed something so staggeringly obvious? Was the annoyance she had always felt wherever he was concerned not annoyance at all, but frustrated attraction manifesting itself as irritation?
Was he the Benedick to her Beatrice?
She had certainly always thought him handsome. Always, and much to her chagrin, she found his cocky charm compelling, too. If one considered constantly lamenting about why he got under her skin compelling. But he had always done that, and she had never been able to ignore it, so she supposed that spoke volumes. Love and loathing were two vastly conflicting emotions yet with more in common than not. Both caused a visceral, involuntary reaction in the body and the mind. Both also undoubtedly clouded judgment and masked the truth. She was honest enough with herself to know that she wasn’t always the best judge of character, as proven by her insistence on ignoring the obvious flaws in her father, Lord Argyll, and now, she realized, the irritating and incompatible Lord Dorchester. The idea of marrying that make-do, much-too-old fool now, when Galahad had ignited something magical within her, was as preposterous as preposterous could be. Such a compromise was inconceivable and would never make her happy—no matter how much she willed it or ignored the pompous lord’s many flaws. There, it stood to reason that if she was prone to ignore the bad, it was quite conceivable she could also ignore the good. That she hadconfused the obvious frisson of attraction between her and Galahad for disquiet? Or distrust? Were they both too wise to woo peaceably, as the Bard himself had said?
It was entirely possible.
As well as entirely thrilling.
Her and Galahad?How marvelously unexpected but right!
Vee was so deep in that giddy thought, she jumped as the solicitor’s door opened and a surprisingly young lawyer stepped out.
“Reverend Smythe—Miss Merriwell—all the papers are now ready for you to sign.”
Vee followed Mr. Pendle into the room and perched opposite his desk, hoping her suddenly wayward and inappropriate thoughts weren’t written as plain on her face as they were playing havoc with her body.
“As you will realize from my letter—” Without any preamble, the lawyer steepled his fingers the second he sat. “—my client, the late Mrs. Leyton-Brown, made some provision for the Covent Garden Asylum for Orphans in her will. It is a generous provision.” His brows lifted as if he was stunned by it, which boded well. “A very generous provision indeed.”
“Mrs. Leyton-Brown, God rest her…” The reverend glanced heavenward with a sad smile on his face. “… was one of the kindest and most supportive souls I ever knew. Especially to our orphans. She campaigned tirelessly to help raise us money. She did that alongside being our most generous benefactor from the outset. Without her, there would be no orphanage. She even donated the roof over our heads.” Which was the first thing they intended to fix as soon as they returned to it. “Her largesse has already helped so many young souls in need.”
“Clearly she was desirous of saving many more.” Mr. Pendle slid a sheet of paper across the desk. “For I am to transfer you that sum in its entirety, with no caveats or stipulations beyond her insistence that you be able to continue your good works for many years to come.”
Vee and the reverend stared at the figure in disbelief. As his jaw had dropped, she managed to find the wherewithal to query it.
“Seven thousand pounds? Seven.Thousand.Pounds.” They could repair their leaky roof with gold tiles instead of slate with such a staggering sum.
Mr. Pendle nodded. “Seven thousand pounds, Miss Merriwell. Almost three-quarters of the contents of her bank account.”
“Good gracious.” She slumped back in her chair, as overwhelmed by the news as she had been by Galahad’s unexpected kiss. “She has left us such a fortune I can hardly comprehend it.”
“Yet comprehend it you must.” No nonsense, Mr. Pendle passed a second sheet across the table. “If you could sign at the bottom and confirm where you would like the funds deposited, I shall ensure it is all done by the end of the week.” He pushed his inkwell and pen toward the Reverend Smythe, who still apparently lacked the capacity to speak, but managed to scrawl his name on the bottom of the document, at least, while he gaped.
Mr. Pendle blotted it, blew on it, and added it to a neat stack on the side of the desk before he reached out to shake his hand. “Thank you for coming so promptly, Reverend. I did wonder if I would see you before Christmas, thanks to the weather.” He reached for Vee’s hand next and shook that. “I do hope it holds off long enough that you can get home without issue.” As that sounded like a dismissal when the solicitor had clearly forgotten something, she had no choice but to prompt him.
“Is thateverything, Mr. Pendle?”
“Yes. Now that the ink is dry, our business is concluded.” He stood, clearly eager to be rid of them, and swept his arm toward the door. “As I said, the funds should be transferred and available to you by the end of the…”
“I meant, is that everything fromMrs. Leyton-Brown’s bequest, sir?”
He stared as if she had grown a second head. “Were you expecting more than seventhousandpounds, madam?” He shook his head as if she was the most ungrateful person he had ever met. “When mostwould surely agree that Mrs. Leyton-Brown has left your orphanage a king’s ransom? I have certainly never seen a charitable donation of the like in any other will I have executed.”
“Oh, Miss Merriwell and myself are beyond grateful to Mrs. Leyton-Brown for her phenomenal benevolence, sir! Be in no doubt about that.” Finally, the reverend found his voice to save her from further censure. “But to be frank, and sorry to sound so indelicate, Mr. Pendle, while we weren’t expecting anything close to the seven thousand pounds she so generously left, wewereexpecting some property.”
“Property?” This was obviously news to Mr. Pendle. “I know that she owned a lot of it but still, in my experience, property usually only ever goes to family members. That aside, why on earth would you expect any property on top of all that money?”
