Page 27 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

She held out the paper. ‘I’ve had a letter from a solicitor about my house.’

Lucian took the letter, guilt twisting inside him. Had one of the other neighbours reported the animals to the authorities, just as he had threatened to do? Had they complained about the goat bleating in the middle of the night or the geese leaving unsightly messes in the shared back pathway?

He quickly scanned the letter.

Dear Miss Fairburn,

I write to you on behalf of my client, Jasper Fairburn, Earl Stonely, with regards to the Kensington property known as Fairburn House. It has come to our attention that said property might rightfully be considered part of the Stonely estate, but you have taken up residence since the passing of Miss Clementine Fairburn without the earl’s approval.

We must therefore request that the matter of ownership be addressed, as my client asserts that the property was never owned by Miss Clementine Fairburn and therefore should revert to the estate.

Kindly advise us of your position at your earliest convenience so the matter may be resolved without unnecessary delay.

Yours faithfully,

Edmund Smythe

Smythe & Harrison, Solicitors

‘He wants to throw me and the animals out on the street,’ she said, causing rage to well up inside Lucian against this reprehensible man. Whether he owned the house or not hardly mattered. The earl had a duty of care towards his unmarried cousin, which included making sure she had somewhere suitable to live.

‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ Lucian said, certain of no such thing but desperate to console her. ‘If your aunt owned the house outright and she left it to you in her will, then I doubt there is anything he can do.’

She chewed the edge of her lip and continued frowning at him.

‘Did your aunt own the house outright?’

‘That’s what I was always led to believe, but I never made certain, I just assumed.’ Tears again clouded her eyes, and once again Lucian had to fight the temptation to wrap her in his arms and comfort her as best he could.

But that would help no one. Not Primrose and certainly not him. Instead of giving in to dangerous impulses, what he had to do was offer practical solutions.

‘Do you have a solicitor? I’m sure he will be able to tell you whether Stonely has a case or not.’

She looked around the room, as if searching for said solicitor. ‘I suppose so. I dealt with a solicitor when my aunt died, but I was so bereft at the time I didn’t take much notice of what was happening, and I can’t even remember his name. I suppose I’ll have his details somewhere, but I’m not sure where I would have put them.’

‘Let’s not worry about that now. What I believe we should do is visit my solicitor so he can tell you exactly where you stand and what we should do next.’

She blinked away her tears and sent him a trembling smile. ‘Oh, could we? Would you? Thank you.’

Lucian forced himself not to react to the way she was looking at him, as if he was some sort of hero, even though he knew himself to be no such thing.

‘We should do so immediately so we can put your mind at rest. I’ll inform my cousins that we won’t be attending the talk.’

She nodded.

It would be unconscionable in the face of her distress to feel pleased about that, but part of Lucian couldn’t help but be relieved that Primrose would not be meeting the handsome, passionate, charming but decidedly suspicious baron.

He left the house to inform his cousins of the change of plan. ‘Primrose has received some bad news that must be dealt with immediately,’ he said through the open carriage door.

‘Oh dear,’ Beatrice said. ‘Is there anything we can do to help?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. Her cousin has threatened to take the house from her, so we’re going to visit my solicitor. Hopefully, he has no legal right to do so, and an end can be put to all this nonsense.’

Reginald’s brow furrowed. ‘But isn’t that what you—’

‘Then, you must help her,’ Beatrice said, interrupting her husband.

‘But—’ Reginald tried to say something before his wife put her hand on his arm and frowned at him.