heard their voices as he walked down the hall. He had invited his friends to visit Wyndmoor Manor for a short holiday before he had left for Hertfordshire. James had been under the mistaken impression that the business of purchasing the country property would go smoothly, and he had looked forward to spending time with his friends away from their chambers and their hectic dockets. He had not expected a merry chase throughout Hertfordshire, searching for Sir Redmond Reeves to sell him Wyndmoor Manor.
As soon as James opened the library door, two of his colleagues, Anthony Stevens and Brent Stone, rose to greet him.
“Hello, Devlin,” Anthony drawled. “Or should we call you ‘Duke’?”
James rolled his eyes. His friends had always referred to him by his surname, Devlin, and he had no desire for them to start addressing him by his new title.
“Don’t even jest about it. It’s bad enough that I will have to leave Lincoln’s Inn.” James knew it to be true. He couldn’t handle the vast responsibilities he had inherited, sit in the House of Lords, and continue to practice as a barrister.
“Where’s Jack?” James asked.
Jack Harding was the fourth barrister in their chambers and the most successful in the courtroom. Known as the smooth-talking “jury master,” Jack was the only married barrister in their chambers, having wed his pupilmaster’s beautiful daughter, Evelyn Darlington, five years ago.
“Jack’s with Evie. He has an upcoming trial and they plan to arrive as soon as he’s free,” Anthony said.
“It will be the first time they’ll leave little Phillip to travel together. I suspect their new nanny will have her hands full with that mischievous three-year-old boy,” Brent said.
James laughed. “Let’s drink a toast to your arrival then.” He went to a sideboard, poured three glasses of whiskey, and handed them out. “I’m glad you’re both here. I need some advice.”
Anthony and Brent lowered their glasses.
“What’s amiss?” they asked in unison.
James sipped his whiskey before answering. “I arrived here only to find the place occupied. A sharp-tongued widow who claims she purchased the property three days prior to me from the same man, a Sir Redmond Reeves.”
“Have you seen her deed?” Anthony asked.
James nodded. “I have, and as far as I can tell it is not a forgery.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Brent said. “As a barrister, I’ve heard of it, of course. With the increase of population in debtors’ prison, swindlers and thieves have grown desperate and bold. There are others out there selling properties to numerous owners in short amounts of time and then fleeing before they can be held accountable.”
“I’ve assumed as much,” James said dryly.
“I take it you already recorded the deed?” Anthony asked.
“I did. She did not.”
Anthony shrugged. “Then technically the place is yours.”
“Wait,” Brent said. “She purchased it first, you say?”
“By only three days,” James said.
“But she was also first to occupy the manor?” Brent asked.
“Yes.”
“Then the matter may not be so cut and dried. She may have an arguable case. What of the old adage possession is nine tenths of the law? If I was her barrister, I would paint her as a sympathetic widow and argue she has the winning side. It would be up to a judge and a jury to decide. Quite simply, there is a possibility, albeit small, that you could lose,” Brent said.
Anthony frowned in exasperation as he turned to Brent. “You tend to favor the lady?”
“I’m only giving a legal opinion. Yours tends to be skewed against women,” Brent said.
Anthony laughed bitterly. “What the devil do you know about women? You’re celibate, for Christ’s sake.”
Brent’s lips thinned with irritation. “Your legal practice has turned you into a jaded man, Anthony. One day a woman will get the best of you.”
“Sod off, Brent,” Anthony growled.
James rolled his eyes. Even though Brent and Anthony were longtime friends they often mercilessly baited each other.
“You two bicker like old magpies. I don’t desire fisticuffs on your first day here.” James refilled their glasses, leaned against the sideboard, and eyed the pair.
Anthony was a tall, muscular man with massive shoulders. When not in chambers, he spent his free time at Gentleman Jackson’s. An experienced pugilist, Anthony’s size did not hinder him in the ring, and James had witnessed Anthony’s agility and fast footwork firsthand as he beat a seasoned boxer in the first round.
As for Brent’s comment that Anthony was jaded when it came to women, it was true. Anthony specialized in marital matters and had successfully obtained what few barristers dared attempt—the highly desirable divorce. Requiring an Act of Parliament, divorce was close to impossible to obtain despite the fact that marital strife was commonplace among the beau monde.
But Anthony had managed to obtain divorces for three wealthy, titled men—all by proving the adultery of the wives. Anthony had become an overnight success, one of the richest barristers in Lincoln’s Inn, but the dark side of his practice had a price. Anthony had a hard, cutthroat manner about him, and he scoffed at the notion of love.
Brent Stone, on the other hand, was cut from entirely different cloth. His tawny hair and blue eyes had always attracted attention from females. Yet Brent showed little interest in women. His practice focused on obtaining letters patent for wealthy and oftentimes eccentric inventors. Brent rarely set foot in a courtroom and spent long hours drafting patent claims in their chambers at Lincoln’s Inn. To James it seemed like a tedious, unbearable existence, but Brent thrived upon it.
James had never seen nor heard of Brent with a woman. The man claimed to prefer the fair sex, but as far as James was aware, Brent had never had a mistress or lover. At times the difference in their approach strained their friendship, as James had numerous affairs without commitment, and Brent claimed to be searching for a lady with whom he could have a long-lasting relationship.
James’s thoughts returned to his own predicament, and he considered Brent’s argument in favor of Bella Sinclair.
Bella could take the matter to court. Any barrister worth his salt understood that trying a case before a jury could be as unpredictable as the gaming tables. Wyndmoor Manor was in the jurisdiction of Hertfordshire, and as such any trial would be held here, far from the Old Bailey and London where James had practiced. He was familiar with every judge at the Old Bailey, their procedural likes and dislikes. But in Hertfordshire, he was an outsider, and a sympathetic judge or jury could find in the lady’s favor.
“You said she was a sharp-tongued widow. Is she an eyesore?” Anthony asked.
“No,” James said. “She’s stunning, a true beauty.”
There was an awkward silence.
“You’ve never had a problem with the ladies in the past,” Anthony said.
“Don’t listen to him,” Brent said. “You may anger the lady if you treat her like a common affair.”
Anthony’s voice held a note of impatience. “Then use your newfound influence as duke. What judge or jury in these godforsaken hinterlands would find against a duke? Bribe the judge if you have to. I doubt it would be difficult. A few hunting outings here at Wyndmoor ought to do it.”
“Is that how you practice?” Brent inquired of Anthony. “Not everyone can be bribed or coerced.” Brent looked to James. “Your solution may be as simple as reimbursing her for the property.”
“I