Page 2 of A Very Roguish Boxing Day
“Well, come on, man,” Joseph said.“Fetch us a box, and let’s be done with it.”
A keen gleam came into Mr.Reynolds’s eyes.“That would be a very large box, indeed.Mrs.Brocklesby’s principal effects include…” He paused to shuffle through the pages of the will, then began to read.“Frogcroft Cottage?—”
“Frogcroft Cottage!”Joseph interrupted.“I thought the old bat rented the cottage.”
Gwen had thought so, too.She had been under the impression that Aunt Agatha scraped by on a minuscule army pension inherited from her late husband.Considering the fact that John Brocklesby had never risen above the rank of captain, the amount could not have been too generous.
Mr.Reynolds looked up.“She did.But she was able to purchase it around ten years ago.”
Joseph grunted.“And it’s been left to Gwendolyn, you say?”He shifted around in his seat, looking more interested in the proceedings but also annoyed.“Anything else?”
“Yes, as it happens.”Mr.Reynolds returned to perusing his list.“In addition to the cottage grounds, Mrs.Brocklesby owned about forty acres of land to the southeast?—”
“Forty acres!”Joseph exclaimed.
Mr.Reynolds looked up, holding his gaze in silence.“May I?”
“By all means,” Joseph said, looking more pleased than ever.
Gwendolyn didn’t care for the look of anticipation on her brother’s face.She had a fair idea how this was going to play out.Growing up, Joseph had been the apple of their parents’ eye, the oldest son, the heir.They had not felt the same way about Gwendolyn, an awkward, bespectacled bluestocking who couldn’t seem to fit in amongst thetoncircles in which her parents aspired to move.She was interested in all the wrong things.Instead of readingLa Belle Assemblée, she read theJournal of Science and the Arts.She was a clumsy dancer and an awkward conversationalist, her thoughts full of birds and bees—and she meant the literal kind, not the lateston ditabout whose husband was carrying on with whose wife.
Nor did Gwendolyn possess the sort of lithe, delicate figure most men seemed to prefer.To be sure, she had caught more than one man staring at her full hips and her ample bosom.But in addition to being short and plump, she was a sturdy sort of girl from hours spent hiking through the woods in search of natural wonders and summers with Aunt Agatha spent digging up carrots and carrying crocks of honey.
Joseph, on the other hand, had been the very picture of a young Corinthian with his curling dark brown hair.His build was similar to Gwendolyn’s, but whereas she was derided as stocky, he was praised for his muscular physique.He was precisely the sort of son her parents had wanted, and they had demonstrated this by giving him the world.If Joseph liked the look of Gwendolyn’s dessert, he got it.If he spontaneously decided to leave town on the morning of the lecture Gwendolyn had been anticipating for weeks, he was granted use of the carriage, every single time.His wardrobe cost five times as much as Gwendolyn’s, not that she cared about such things.But it would have been nice to have more than a pittance of pin money to spend on books and the like.
And here was Gwendolyn, receiving a cottage, a farm, and, as Mr.Reynolds was in the process of describing, investments worth more than thirty thousand pounds.
She knew her brother well enough to know that as far as Joseph was concerned, that washiscottage,hisfarm, andhisthirty thousand pounds.
Once Mr.Reynolds concluded his summary, Joseph leaned back in his chair.“Well, I’ll be damned.”He slapped his thigh.“How on earth did the old bat accumulate all of that?”
There was disapproval in Mr.Reynolds’s eyes, but he kept his voice even as he said, “Mrs.Brocklesby had a keen eye for an investment.And in this case, the thing she invested in was the people of Merstham.Over the many decades she lived here, Mrs.Brocklesby would make small loans to various citizens hoping to start a business.Take the butcher, Mr.Cutler.Fifty years ago, she loaned five pounds to his grandfather so he could make his start.Or Mrs.Danforth, whose straw chip bonnets are much in demand at the shops of London.It was Mrs.Brocklesby who loaned her the money to buy raw materials for that first batch of bonnets.”He smiled, giving an elegant bow from his seat behind his desk.“Once upon a time, she even helped a hopeful young solicitor with his school fees.And here I am today.”
Joseph snorted.“You expect me to believe that the interest some butcher paid her on a five-pound loan added up to thirty thousand pounds?You must think I’m daft.”
Mr.Reynolds’s eyes fell on Joseph’s watch fob, a flashy piece with a carved amethyst seal as big around as a farthing coin set in a frame of gold roses.“You would be surprised how far frugal living, practiced over many years, can get you,” Mr.Reynolds observed dryly.“But as far as interest goes, Mrs.Brocklesby didn’t charge any.Not formally, at least,” Mr.Reynolds added at Joseph’s incredulous look.“Although many recipients of her loans would pay her whatever they thought was fair.But it happens that she invested heavily in the initiative to extend the Surrey Iron Railway so it could be connected to the local quarries.”
Joseph frowned.“The Surrey Iron Railway has not been a great success.”
Her brother was correct.The Surrey Iron Railway was an unusual project in which metal rails were installed on the ground in a route from Merstham to the River Thames at Wandsworth.Because the rails were so smooth, it was easier for horses to pull heavy loads of stone, coal, and the like without being hampered by every rock and divot in the road.
“Not today,” Mr.Reynolds agreed.“Although it still breaks even.But it did quite well in its early years before the canal opened.And that is how our Mrs.Brocklesby went from being a moderately prosperous widow to being in possession of a proper fortune.”He smiled at Gwendolyn.“And she wanted you, Miss Brocklesby, to have it.The cottage.The farmland.And the investments, which produce a return of”—he paused, leafing through his papers—“two thousand pounds a year.”He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled behind his spectacles.“Congratulations.”
Gwendolyn managed to stammer out an awkward thank you.Two thousand pounds a year!She had never imagined being in possession of such a fortune.Aunt Agatha’s bequest would be life changing.She could leave the life she hated in London behind.There was no longer a need for her to marry, no longer a need for her to attend balls and routs, ostensibly for the purpose of meeting a suitor, but knowing full well that no man wished to court her.
Yes, such an amount would be life changing, and Aunt Agatha had wanted her to have it.But, as she peered at her brother out of the corner of her eye, she saw that a familiar, weaselly expression had come over his face.Joseph had never let her have anything in her life.
If she wanted Aunt Agatha’s fortune, she would have to fight for it.
Chapter2
Gwendolyn tried to make her voice breezy as they exited Mr.Reynolds’ office.“There’s no need for me to go back to London with you.I plan on making Frogcroft Cottage my home.I may as well start tonight.”
She didn’t much care for the way Joseph chuckled.
She soldiered on.“I know you’re eager to return to Town for that card game.I won’t detain you.I can very easily walk the distance.”
Joseph’s voice was rich with irony as he said, “Now, Gwen, what kind of brother would I be if I allowed my maiden sister to live alone and unprotected?”
