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Authors: Heather Rose Jones
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wealth.” LeFevre’s voice took on some of the cadence and tone of his late employer. “As my nephew Estefen Chazillen is doubtless anxious to come into his inheritance, I shall break with custom and begin by easing his mind.”
Estefen snorted at that but stirred in his chair uneasily. Normally the will would begin with the litany of small bequests and token gifts and work slowly toward the more substantial transactions.
“From my family, I inherited the estate of Saveze and with it the title of Baron. Thanks to the profligacy of my forebears, in particular my brother Mihail, the estate was greatly encumbered.”
LeFevre cleared his throat again and his voice dropped back to its normal tone. “Pray have patience. I told him there was no need to include ancient history in the will, but he insisted.”
He rustled the papers and took on the baron’s tone again. “Through my own efforts, I not only lifted the debts on my ancestral lands but amassed a considerable fortune and added several other properties to my holdings. And though my relations have been disdainful of the industry that made this possible, they have lived in the expectation of benefiting from the profits. My nephew Estefen—the heir-default to the title and estate of Saveze—has in particular been living for years on the expectations of his inheritance. It is now time for him to reap his just reward.”
Estefen frowned at the word “just.”
“Estefen Chazillen, the eldest son of my sister Iosifin, will receive—with the grace and permission of Prince Aukust, should he choose to grant it—the ancestral lands of Saveze, with all their rents, revenues, incomes and debts, and I wish him the joy of the title of baron.”
It would be startling indeed, Barbara thought, should the title not be confirmed, but the common formula bowed to the prince’s right.
“He will find,” LeFevre continued, “when he reviews the accounts of his property, that every penny he has begged, wheedled and extorted from me over the years has derived from the revenues of that property that is now his. If he had lived a careful and frugal life, he would now be a wealthy man. However as his financial demands have frequently exceeded the income of the estate, he will find that it once again bears mortgages, though not nearly as heavy as when I first received it. May he enjoy the fruits of his labors both past and present.”
Barbara saw LeFevre raise his eyes to meet Estefen’s, not in challenge but with confidence. “The baron consulted the best doctors of law concerning inheritance of titular land. The legacy is sound. If you contest it, you will spend your own substance to no return.”
Estefen pushed up from his chair. “I have friends higher than your doctors of law. I will have what is due me. And you—”
When Estefen stepped toward LeFevre, Barbara shifted her stance. There was no motion toward her sword, just enough movement to catch his eye and remind him of her presence. His mouth curled in a snarl. “You will be sorry you stood by him in this charade!”
He strode from the room, pushing through the people standing closest to the door. Barbara didn’t relax until she heard him shouting distantly for his horse to be fetched.
LeFevre accepted a glass of wine from one of the waiting attendants and once again cleared his throat. “Please forgive the interruption. I fear the young man has suffered a disappointment.” With a repetition becoming ritual, he once again shuffled the papers before him and continued reading.
Now the document fell into the usual pattern. The servants were remembered. Distant relations and absent friends received gifts or keepsakes. The local notables were granted their tokens. A sum to the cathedral in Rotenek and another to the village church at Saveze for Masses to be said. It continued for several pages, as the baron’s circles had been extensive and eclectic and reflected long years of tightly woven webs of relationships.
Estefen snorted at that but stirred in his chair uneasily. Normally the will would begin with the litany of small bequests and token gifts and work slowly toward the more substantial transactions.
“From my family, I inherited the estate of Saveze and with it the title of Baron. Thanks to the profligacy of my forebears, in particular my brother Mihail, the estate was greatly encumbered.”
LeFevre cleared his throat again and his voice dropped back to its normal tone. “Pray have patience. I told him there was no need to include ancient history in the will, but he insisted.”
He rustled the papers and took on the baron’s tone again. “Through my own efforts, I not only lifted the debts on my ancestral lands but amassed a considerable fortune and added several other properties to my holdings. And though my relations have been disdainful of the industry that made this possible, they have lived in the expectation of benefiting from the profits. My nephew Estefen—the heir-default to the title and estate of Saveze—has in particular been living for years on the expectations of his inheritance. It is now time for him to reap his just reward.”
Estefen frowned at the word “just.”
“Estefen Chazillen, the eldest son of my sister Iosifin, will receive—with the grace and permission of Prince Aukust, should he choose to grant it—the ancestral lands of Saveze, with all their rents, revenues, incomes and debts, and I wish him the joy of the title of baron.”
It would be startling indeed, Barbara thought, should the title not be confirmed, but the common formula bowed to the prince’s right.
“He will find,” LeFevre continued, “when he reviews the accounts of his property, that every penny he has begged, wheedled and extorted from me over the years has derived from the revenues of that property that is now his. If he had lived a careful and frugal life, he would now be a wealthy man. However as his financial demands have frequently exceeded the income of the estate, he will find that it once again bears mortgages, though not nearly as heavy as when I first received it. May he enjoy the fruits of his labors both past and present.”
Barbara saw LeFevre raise his eyes to meet Estefen’s, not in challenge but with confidence. “The baron consulted the best doctors of law concerning inheritance of titular land. The legacy is sound. If you contest it, you will spend your own substance to no return.”
Estefen pushed up from his chair. “I have friends higher than your doctors of law. I will have what is due me. And you—”
When Estefen stepped toward LeFevre, Barbara shifted her stance. There was no motion toward her sword, just enough movement to catch his eye and remind him of her presence. His mouth curled in a snarl. “You will be sorry you stood by him in this charade!”
He strode from the room, pushing through the people standing closest to the door. Barbara didn’t relax until she heard him shouting distantly for his horse to be fetched.
LeFevre accepted a glass of wine from one of the waiting attendants and once again cleared his throat. “Please forgive the interruption. I fear the young man has suffered a disappointment.” With a repetition becoming ritual, he once again shuffled the papers before him and continued reading.
Now the document fell into the usual pattern. The servants were remembered. Distant relations and absent friends received gifts or keepsakes. The local notables were granted their tokens. A sum to the cathedral in Rotenek and another to the village church at Saveze for Masses to be said. It continued for several pages, as the baron’s circles had been extensive and eclectic and reflected long years of tightly woven webs of relationships.
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