“Miss Devon,” he said with a bow. “That is, Mrs. Fairfax. How do you do this lovely afternoon?”

“Fine.” She did not offer her hand. Now that her heart had calmed, she recognized the man as Mr. Underwood, the solicitor who had followed her from Scotland to Nottingham to inform her that her dead father had named her in his will.

He stepped closer. “Have you given any thought to my proposition?”

She hadn’t given any thought to him at all. “What proposition?”

“To manage your funds, should you receive any. To represent you at the reading of the will, and argue on your behalf, should the family cause trouble.” His lip curled. “You can be assured they will. The duke’s elder sister is an implacable harridan. Believes herself queen. The whole of London trembles before that harpy. They even call her ‘the old dragon’ when she’s not close enough to overhear.”

Charlotte shivered. How was she to keep her defenses intact in the presence of someone even her betters feared?

“You’ll be present for the reading of the will?” she asked.

He lowered his hat. “As your personal solicitor, I wouldn’t miss a single word.”

“Are you not the personal solicitor to the new duke?” she asked in confusion. A sudden thought occurred to her. “Is there a new duke?”

“There is, indeed. He is still being fetched from overseas.”

“Then why should you wish to help me? Won’t the new duke be your employer?”

Mr. Underwood’s lip twisted. “My employment was with the duke himself, not his estate. He wasn’t even cold before the old dragon sacked me.”

Ah. Charlotte curled her hands into fists. Only those with an ulterior motive ever showed kindness to one such as her.

She moved closer to the door. “I am not in the market for a solicitor at this moment.”

“Then who shall manage your funds?” he asked quickly. A crafty smile twisted his lips. “Your husband?”

She paused with her hand on the knocker.

What if she did inherit money today? It would not be hers for long. A wife’s husband was sole owner and administrator of all property, was he not?

A cold sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Anthony’s lack of control with money had nearly ruined both their lives, and was not yet over. Until he repaid the Duke of Lambley, the specter of debtors’ prison continued to cast its shadow over their future and their marriage.

Anthony was unquestionably the last person who should control a single farthing of their money—yet, legally, he was the only person who could.

Unless a solicitor managed some portion of the process. Who did she trust more?

In a gaming hell, there was no fortune too big to be lost forever on the turn of a card. London was full of a thousand such opportunities. To a man who loved to wager, temptation would be everywhere. She could not swallow her dread. Had she come this far only to lose it all? To lose Anthony…If not today, then tomorrow or the next day?

She glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Underwood.

He placed his hat against his chest. “It would be an honor to protect your interests.”

An honor. She laughed without humor No one cared about her interests other than Charlotte herself…and Anthony.

She turned back to the door and rapped the knocker against its base.

The door swung open to reveal an impassive butler in impeccable attire. “May I help you?”

“I’m expected,” she stammered. Her neck heated. “My name is Mrs. Fairfax now, but it should be on the list as Charlotte Devon.”

The butler held out his hand expectantly.

She stared at him blankly, then colored in humiliation. “I—I don’t have a calling card. It’s just…Charlotte Devon. It should be on the list.”

“See?” whispered Mr. Underwood from behind her. “You need an advocate.”

She ignored him.

The butler motioned her inside. “Just a moment.”

She took a deep breath and stepped into the manor. The door silently swung closed behind her.

“Please wait here.” The butler crossed the hall and entered what Charlotte presumed to be a parlor. She could not see within, but the hum of voices was unmistakable.

“Who?” shrilled a voice. “We cannot possibly entertain admittance to my uncle’s bastard. We should not compound his mistakes with our own.”

Charlotte’s cheeks burned with shame. She wrapped her arms about herself and wished Anthony could be with her. Perhaps she did need an advocate.

“Her name is on the will, Mabel,” snapped a cold female voice. “This is a legal matter, not a family one. Show her in, Teagle.”

Charlotte winced. She should not be surprised that an illegitimate daughter would not be considered family.

“As you wish, madam.”

Within moments, the butler reappeared in the entryway. “If you’ll come this way, please.”

Humiliation hunching her shoulders, Charlotte concentrated on her breathing and forced her feet to carry her toward the parlor.

“But a by-blow isn’t legal.” The shrill voice climbed even higher. “You cannot be serious, Aunt. It’s a humiliation to us all. This Devon creature is nothing more than the spawn of a—” The voice choked off as Charlotte stepped into the room. “You?” She flung a shocked gaze toward the solicitor. “‘Charlotte Devon’ is Mrs. Fairfax?”

 Charlotte’s limbs stopped working. Her face flooded with embarrassment. The family member so offended at the thought of a whore’s daughter in their midst was none other the baroness who had sought her advice not five days prior.

“Lady Roundtree,” she said weakly. “Lovely to see you again.”

The baroness stared at her openmouthed, then harrumphed.

“Mabel, that will do,” snapped a majestic older lady who sat in an ornate chair. “You will hold your tongue if you wish to attend this meeting. I shall deal with your impertinence later.”

The old dragon, Charlotte realized. This was the dragon lady Mr. Underwood had warned struck fear into all of London. Charlotte’s entire body trembled.

“Sit,” the dragon lady commanded. “Mr. Gully will commence with the reading of the will.”

Charlotte stumbled over to the empty chair closest to the doorway and forced herself to sit.

The only other person in the room was an elegant older lady who fanned her narrow face impatiently, as if both Charlotte and Lady Roundtree were wasting her time.

Dismissing them all, the dragon lady turned her attention to the executor. “Mr. Gully, you may speak.”

The solicitor cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming today. While we had anticipated the new duke’s presence for the reading of the bequests, he has not yet reached England. However, as his name is not mentioned in the late duke’s will, we may continue without worry.”

Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. “The new duke won’t inherit anything?”

“Besides the dukedom?” the elegant lady drawled from behind her painted fan.

The back of Charlotte’s neck prickled. Once again she had embarrassed herself. How much proof did she need that their world was not hers?

“The majority of the estate is entailed.” The dragon lady’s sharp voice carried as she gave a curt explanation. “Courteland was thus reduced to providing a few monetary disbursements from his private funds.”

Charlotte nodded dumbly. Entailed property was so foreign to her experience, it hadn’t even crossed her mind. She shrank back in her chair. The thought of being “reduced” to mere pots of money was equally ludicrous. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She didn’t belong here at all.

The solicitor cleared his throat. “To the duke’s elder sister, Lady Dorothea Pettibone, His Grace the Duke of Courteland leaves all monies not otherwise specified, and grants her the power to oversee all of the following bequests.”

The other two ladies gasped. The dragon lady merely inclined her regal head.

Not the dragon lady, Charlotte reminded herself. Lady Pettibone.

“To the duke’s younger sister, Lady Adelia Upchurch, His Grace the Duke of Courteland leaves an annuity of four thousand pounds for the remainder of her life.”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped at the exorbitant sum.

“To the duke’s niece, the Right Honorable Lady Mabel Baroness Roundtree, His Grace the Duke of Courteland leaves a single payment of five thousand pounds.”

“Not an annuity?” Lady Roundtree choked out in affront.

“You’ve a wealthy husband,” Lady Upchurch pointed out dryly. “Isn’t your current portion far greater than five thousand pounds?”

Lady Roundtree sniffed. “One can never have too much money.”

“To the duke’s daughter, Miss Charlotte Devon,” the solicitor continued, “His Grace the Duke of Courteland leaves an annuity of one thousand pounds for the rest of her life.”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped in disbelief. One…thousand…pounds. For the rest of her life. Her heart thudded. The sum was unthinkable.

“Mrs. Fairfax,” she stammered inanely. “I’m Mrs. Fairfax now.”

“Mrs…Fairfax?” Lady Upchurch turned to Lady Roundtree. “Is this the woman you claimed was an angel sent to earth because she performed nothing short of a miracle organizing your downstairs staff?”

Lady Roundtree glared back stonily.

Lady Upchurch arched a disbelieving eyebrow toward Charlotte.

“The very one,” Charlotte admitted, peering up through her lashes with an embarrassed smile.

“There,” Lady Pettibone said briskly. “Surely no Courteland has hubris enough to blame an angel for the sins of her father. Do you disagree, Mabel? Are you qualified to cast the first stone?”

Lady Roundtree shook her head mutely.

Charlotte could not gloat over witnessing a baroness being put squarely in her place. Her head was still spinning at the sum she had just received. It was enough for a non-Society family to live quite comfortably. More than enough. She tried to catch her breath. Her mother had no debts, or Charlotte would pay them off without blinking an eye. Anthony—

Anthony. This could shorten his contract with the Duke of Lambley. Next year, perhaps, they could purchase a small cottage in the country. It would not be the life Anthony had hoped for, but it would have to do. She let out a shallow breath. ’Twas actually far better than she had dared to dream.

“How did the duke learn of my existence?” she asked in a small voice.

“He always knew,” Lady Pettibone replied flatly.

Charlotte’s heart fell. Her father hadn’t been ignorant of her existence. He simply hadn’t cared.

Lady Pettibone’s tone was imperious. “I, however, only learned of the matter after my brother took ill.”

Charlotte glanced up.

“I came to his bedside to oversee the final draft of his will,” Lady Pettibone continued. “When I saw no mention of Mother’s ruby necklace or ear bobs, I inquired as to their whereabouts. When Courteland confessed he had given them to the mother of his illegitimate daughter, I was shocked not to have learned of his indiscretion earlier.”

Charlotte flinched. She had spent her life fighting to be seen as someone of value. Even now, after inheriting an annuity, she was still nothing more than a mere indiscretion.

She lifted her chin. The devil could take the lot of them! She didn’t care about their high-flown opinions or their world-weary lack of interest. She was a person whether they cared to acknowledge her or not. If her esteemed “betters” had no use for her, well, the feeling was mutual. She didn’t need their approval.

Lady Pettibone cast a cold eye at her niece. “While a by-blow is not in fact a legal relation, a family such as ours must meet our obligations.” She lifted her nose. “I handed Courteland that quill, and informed him that he would fulfill his responsibility, by God, even if it was on his deathbed.”

Charlotte’s chin jutted defiantly. “Thank you, my lady. No one appreciates your attention to obligations more than I do.”

“You were Courteland’s responsibility,” Lady Pettibone corrected. “You’re my niece. You may not have known your father while he was alive, but now that he’s gone… In my home, you will always be welcome to call. I hope you do.”

Shock stole the breath from Charlotte’s lungs as she stared at Lady Pettibone in amazement. And in hope.

Of all the fashionable people who had disdained and belittled her, these were the individuals who should despise her the most. She was an embarrassment. She had no legal claim, yet had been bequeathed money that would otherwise have gone to them. She was a bastard. A whore’s worthless mistake.

And yet the most feared dragon in London would welcome her into her home.

Charlotte’s throat stung. Perhaps she wasn’t worthless after all.