A Pitiful Remnant Read Free

bequests would never be forthcoming,
because the funds that would have paid them were gone, squandered
by her father. She silently vowed to fulfill her grandfather's wishes,
no matter how long it took her.
    The recitation of bequests had a soporific effect. She was
caught by surprise by a sudden silence. Mr. Whitsomeworth was
gazing at her expectantly. "Oh! I beg your pardon. I
was...thinking..."
    Again that quiet little clearing of the throat. "Indeed." Mr.
Whitsomeworth tapped a finger on the remaining page of the will.
"Fully cognizant of the need for a strong hand to guide Ackerslea
Farm into the future, I have arranged a marriage contract between
my granddaughter, Lisanor Isolde Hight, and Major Clarence Eustace
Lamberton, son of Eustace Lamberton, Marquess of Guillemot, the
marriage to take place by proxy, unless Major Lamberton returns
from the Peninsula within six weeks of the date of my death." He
raised his chin and looked straight at her. "This codicil to the
deceased's will was written shortly after the casualty reports from
the Battle of Coruña were made public. Among those lost was
Dunstan Foxworth."
    Lisanor had known since childhood that she was to marry
Gregory Sealand, but he, like so many second sons, had gone to the
army. He'd been posted to Spain, just in time to waste his life in the
fighting in Vimeiro village. Not to be discouraged, her grandfather
had found Dunstan Foxworth, nephew of an old friend in Devon, and
another who had no prospects of his own. She had met Captain
Foxworth and had found nothing to dislike about him, except that he
was a cavalryman. Military men had short life expectancies, but
other than that she'd had no objection to him.
    His few stilted letters had showed her little of the man, but
she'd believed Grandfather when he promised that if she disliked
Captain Foxworth on closer acquaintance, she would not be forced to
marry him. In her admittedly meager experience, one man was much
like another. He would have done, as well as any man. She knew her
duty.
    "Outrageous!" Uncle Percival snapped. "And who's to know
if this fella's alive either? Ain't they still reporting losses from that
debacle at Coruña?"
    "Indeed. Which is why Mr. Hight named two guardians who
will be responsible for Miss Hight until her marriage."
    "Well, tell us, man," Uncle Percival said. "Who are named her
guardians?" His tone made it clear he believed himself qualified for
the task.
    Lisanor crossed her fingers. I pray he is wrong in his
expectation.
    "The Marquess of Guillemot and my humble self, if Major
Lamberton is...unavailable. Until Miss Hight reaches the age of
twenty-nine or marries a man of whom we approve. Whichever
comes first. Unfortunately--"
    Before he could continue, the room erupted with speech.
Only Lisanor, Alanna and Mr. Whitsomeworth were silent.
    She was still numb. Even before her grandfather's death, she
had been demoralized by the loss of not one, but two, prospective
husbands. She'd numbly agreed to Grandfather's suggestion of
Clarence Lamberton as a third candidate without really thinking
about it. After all, he was another military man, and would probably
not survive long enough to marry her.
    Now she was being told she would be under the thumb of an
unknown nobleman for the foreseeable future. And Grandfather was
gone. His sudden death had left her reeling, especially since she
knew that nothing had really been settled. His death had been so
sudden, so unexpected. The tears she had suppressed while she and
Alanna waited for the men to return from the cemetery welled up
and overflowed.
    Mr. Whitsomeworth held up his hands. "Unfortunately," he
said again, in a loud voice, "there is a further complication, one Mr.
Hight was unaware of when he requested me to write the
codicil."
    His gaze, as it traversed the room, from one face to the next,
dampened all speech. "I learned just yesterday that Lord Guillemot
passed away two months ago. Unfortunately."
    The gabble resumed, until Lisanor