An Offer for a Spinster:
Katharine's Story
WILLENSHIRES #1
Preview
Prologue
Twelve Months Previously, the Dunleigh Estate
The door slammed hard, making Katharine flinch.
It was a fine day outside, sunshine streaming over the well-manicured grounds. Today was Saturday morning, and the Duke of Dunleigh always went riding on Saturday mornings.
Unfortunately for his children.
Katharine, pleading a headache, had shut herself up in the library. Her brothers would never have gotten away with such a trick, but the Duke didn’t much care whether his daughter rode well or not. Ladies should, after all, confine themselves to carriages, in his opinion.
William, the oldest of the four, came storming in, disheveled and with a smear of mud on one cheek.
“I can’t stand it a minute more, Kat,” he gasped, breathless. “I can’t stand it.”
He was dressed for riding, the knees of his riding breeches muddied and torn, and was drawing in deep, shuddering breaths, like he might burst into tears at any moment.
Katharine closed her book with a snap, hurrying over to him.
“Oh, Will, I’m so sorry. Did that wretched horse try to kick you again?”
“Try? It succeeded. I know why he got that horse for me, Kat. He wants me to master it, but it’s an impossible creature. I’m just so tired.”
Katharine nibbled her lower lip, rubbing her brother’s arm consolingly. She glanced out of the window, where she could now see figures moving around in a specially-build horse paddock out the front. There was the Duke himself, of course, tall, broad-shouldered, and no doubt grim-faced. The third Willenshire boy, the youngest of all four, was Alexander, hunched over in the corner of the paddock. It stood to reason that he would stay. Anything to secure their father’s approval.
The second eldest of them all, Henry, was not here. He had gone on a Grand Tour, which was a great source of contention between the siblings. As a mere woman, Katharine would never have been permitted to go travelling. She doubted she would even be allowed to go on a local countryside walk without a handful of attendants. William had requested to go – just for a few months – and his request had been denied. He was, as the Duke had said, the eldest son, the heir, and had greater things on his mind than travel.
Henry’s request, however, had been granted. The Duchess, who liked Henry the best out of them all, had been somewhat melancholy since he was gone. Apparently her other three children were a poor substitution.
Aside from the family, there was a knot of grooms, shifting nervously from foot to foot, eyeing the horse.
The horse in question was a fine creature, with a jet-black, glossy coat, a smooth black mane, massive hooves, and a well-arched neck. It was the largest horse Katharine had ever seen, as well as the most bad-tempered.
The horse was supposed to be William’s new mount, which was all kinds of unfair.
“You must tell him you don’t want to ride that horse.” Kat said firmly. “It’s going to break your neck if you keep trying. I don’t think anyone can ride that bad-tempered creature.”
William gave an angry snort, and shook his head. “Can you imagine what will happen if I do that? No, thank you, Kat. I don’t care to be so thoroughly humiliated by my own father. It’ll be his tale of choice at every dinner and party we throw, told round and round all the clubs and made more ridiculous until I’m described as a crying wretch in the corner.” He broke off, throwing himself into a chair. “It’s no use. He won’t rest until I’m on that wretched horse.”
Katharine sighed, turning back to the window. The Duke, her father, was standing to face the house now, fists on his hips, glowering up at her. He could surely see her in the window, and she automatically drew back.
The Willenshire siblings all resembled each other, famously so. They all had the same olive-tinged skin, the same hazel-green eyes – brown in some lights – and the same delicate chestnut locks. They were good-looking, all of them, and that always made things a little easier in Society.
The world loved pretty people, regardless of what was beneath the handsome exterior.
The Duke, for instance, was a remarkably handsome man, despite his age. And as such, there were people who still believed that he was a fair, generous, and good man, and a decent husband and father to boot.
“Listen, Will…” Katharine began, but was interrupted by the door creaking open.
Their mother stood there, and William dutifully bounced to his feet.
The poor Duchess of Dunleigh, Lady Mary Willenshire, was quite a faded woman. She’d been beautiful once, with rich blonde curls and a perfect porcelain skin, but time had not been kind to her. Even the light colour she’d had in her cheeks was long gone, and not one of her children resembled her. They all looked exactly like their father, much to their horror.
She folded her hands before her and looked severely at them both.
“Your Papa is summoning you, William,” she said, in the light, tentative tones of a woman mostly used to staying silent. “He wants you to have another go at Midnight.”
“If I try and ride that horse again, it’ll break my neck,” William said curtly. “Father knows it.”
The Duchess shook her head. “Don’t be so unkind. Your father only wants to improve your riding skills. You must go down, William.”
Katharine watched the fight drain from her brother’s face. He looked exhausted.
“Very well,” he murmured, since they all knew that once the Duke had commanded something, it had to be done.
“I’ll go with you,” she said at once.
The Duchess frowned at her. “There’s no need for that, Katharine. Why not practice your pianoforte instead? Your dear Papa said that you must practice more frequently.”
Katharine loved hearing the pianoforte played but loathed playing it herself. She didn’t let on, of course. Informing their beloved father of their distaste for any matter was a certain method of guaranteeing its frequent occurrence henceforth.
“I’d like to see the horse riding,” Katharine said placidly.
The Duchess sighed in annoyance. “Very well, but bring your parasol. It’s very sunny out there, and it will do your skin no good. You’re already shockingly brown, Katharine.”
The fashion was indeed for fair beauties at the moment, ladies with skin so pale one might assume that they’d never encountered even the concept of the sun. Katharine found it ridiculous, but one must pick one’s battles.
So, she dutifully fetched her parasol, and scuttled after William and the Duchess onto the sun-drenched terrace.
William walked brusquely ahead of them all, head down, shoulders tight, and marched towards the horse paddock. The Duchess stayed on the terrace, where seats and tables were laid out, along with her embroidery, but Katharine followed her brother across the grass.
She heard her mother try and call her back, but the poor woman had never had a strong voice, and it was easy enough to ignore her.
“There you are,” the Duke said shortly, glaring at William. “I don’t expect any child of mine to give up so easily, William. Especially not the man who will be Duke of Dunleigh one day. I’m not entirely sure I can call you a man.”
William lifted his head a little higher.
“I can’t ride that wretched thing, Father. You know I can’t.”
“Are you afraid of a little tumble?”
“I’m afraid of breaking my neck.”
The two men glared at each other for a long moment, and it occurred to Katharine – not for the first time – that the Duke and his eldest son resembled each other too well for anyone’s comfort.
The Duke looked away first, his gaze sliding over William’s shoulder to fix on Katharine, annoyed.
“Katharine, what are you doing out here?”
“I wanted to see the horse,” Katharine said, as lightly and stupidly as she could manage. It was always easier to let her dear Papa see what he expected to see, which in her case was foolish but harmless good nature.
He snorted, shaking his head. “Very well. If nobody here is brave enough to climb onto a horse’s back, I shall do it.”
He turned his back, gesturing to one of the grooms. The man nervously hurried forward, snatching up the dangling reins of the big black horse.
A shiver of foreboding ran along Katharine’s spine. William had his back to her, arms no doubt folded tightly, and was doubtless not in the mood to talk, so she edged along the fence to where Alexander stood. Her younger brother was stuffed into the corner of the paddock as if he were trying to squeeze through, arms folded tightly around himself.
“Is the horse really that bad tempered?” she whispered.
Alexander gave a short nod. “It kicked William when he was trying to mount it, even with all the grooms holding the creature still. It’s half wild, Kat. I’m not sure anyone ever tried to break it in. It’s a fine creature, certainly, but not easy to ride. I wouldn’t dare ride it myself.”
And yet the grooms were leading it over to the mounting block, and the Duke strode purposefully towards it. As Katharine watched, the horse snorted and bridled, huge hooves kicking up clouds of dust, scratching out grooves in the earth. She shuddered again.
“This is a bad idea,” she murmured.
Alexander wet his lips nervously and stepped forward.
“Father,” he said, his voice light and tremulous, “I’m not sure this is a good idea…”
That was a mistake, of course. The Duke cast him a quick, furious look, heavy with dislike, and did not deign to make a response. His look was enough, it seemed. Alexander shrunk back, visibly cowed, and wrapped his arms tighter around himself.
Katharine pressed her lips together and said nothing. All of them had gone through phases of trying to win their father’s approval. For the most part, it was impossible, but Alexander had never quite given up. Lately, he seemed to think that conquests and gambling would impress the Duke.
They did not, naturally, but still, he persisted.
The horse reached the mounting block, and the Duke stepped up briskly. Before Katharine had time to suck in a breath, the Duke swung his leg over the horse’s back, and settled himself in the saddle.
She breathed out, not daring to glance at William.
The grooms backed away, on edge, hands poised to catch the Duke should he fall. The horse snorted and pranced, ears going back, but the Duke kept his seat.
He allowed himself one tight smile, his cold blue gaze scanning his children.
“You see, William? All it takes is courage and confidence. I had flattered myself that you had both, to an extent. I was wrong, it seems.”
Tapping his heels against the horse’s flank, the Duke urged it forward. The horse’s ears were still pinned back, and it jerked its head. The Duke kept a punishing grip on the reins, and Katharine saw blood and froth at the horse’s mouth. She winced.
“Do you see, William?” the Duke called, a hint of triumph in his voice. The horse was walking forward, as quiet as a lamb, but she saw the tremor in the Duke’s hands, and the way the reins strained.
“Papa, I…” Katharine began, not entirely sure what she intended to say or whether it would be listened to or not. “Papa, I really think…”
She never finished what she had to say. The horse jerked its head, yanking the reins out of the Duke’s hand. It tossed its head, giving a horrible scream, and lurched forward.
Everybody cried out, running forward as if they could catch up to the creature. Clouds of dust and clods of earth kicked up behind the horse, raining down over them. She could see the Duke grabbing in vain for the reins, bouncing around in the saddle like a sack of potatoes.
But the paddock was not large, and the horse would surely have to turn… Katharine realised her mistake immediately. The horse was galloping towards the paddock fence and did not slow down.
“He’s going to jump!” she heard a thin voice scream, a little shocked to discover it was her own. “He’s going to jump the fence!”
Nobody responded. There was nothing anyone could do, and besides, they’d likely already worked that out.
The horse leapt, with a grace that Katharine had to admire even at a time like this, easily clearing the high fence, hooves leaving the ground.
Time seemed to slow, and she saw her father shifting in the saddle, trying in vain to adjust his balance, to weather a jump he had not been prepared for, still scrabbling at the reins in an attempt to retake control.
Perhaps that was his undoing, in the end.
Slowly, very slowly, it seemed, the Duke slid sideways out of the saddle. The seconds seemed to last forever. Strange flashes of memory impressed themselves in Katharine’s mind – the sun glinting off the Duke’s signet ring on his outstretched hand, one booted foot flying up to be silhouetted against the sun, a spray of grass falling around them.
Then the endless second passed, the horse hit the ground, and the Duke was underneath its hooves.
Thump.
Somebody screamed. The Duchess, perhaps, and commotion broke out.
The horse galloped away, kicking and rearing in an attempt to get the saddle off its back. The Duke lay still, in a crumpled heap on the ground.
The grooms raced forward, but William was quicker. He covered the length of the paddock in a blinking, vaulting the paddock fence as if it wasn’t there, and dropped to his knees beside their father.
Katharine made to run after him, but Alexander grabbed her wrist, pulling her back. She’d dropped her parasol at some point, and the ridiculous lacy thing lay on the ground, a muddy smear of white.
“Alex, what are you doing?”
“You won’t want to see,” Alex said, his face bone white. “This isn’t good, Katharine.”
She pulled her wrist out of his grip and ran towards the Duke. The grooms were crowding around him now, and William was leaning over him.
She waited for the Duke to do something, to sit up, to groan, to start scolding someone – because it would never be his own fault that he’d fallen off a horse. He would have to blame the horse, naturally, or perhaps one of the grooms for not saddling it up properly. Perhaps he would blame William for distracting him, somehow.
But there was nothing. The Duke did not move, and he did not speak. The babble of voices got higher and more panicky, and a heavy weight of dread landed in Katharine’s stomach.
Surely not.
William sat up, his hair wild and his face pale.
“Send for a doctor, at once!” he shouted to no one in particular. “It’s an emergency!”
A handful of footmen scurried away, and Katharine watched them go. There was a pile of crumpled white fabric lying across the terrace, and it took her a moment to realize that it was their mother, having fainted.
She should probably go to her, but Katharine’s feet felt as if they were rooted to the spot.
“William?” she called, hearing the tremor in her own voice. “William, is he badly hurt?”
Alexander appeared at her elbow, breathing raggedly and seeming on the brink of tears.
William sat back on his heels and met Katharine’s eye squarely. She knew the truth then, before he had to say a word.
He said it anyway. Perhaps it didn’t seem real, so saying it aloud made the truth of their situation sink in deeper.
Or perhaps William felt the same way as Katharine – the whole thing was surreal, almost funny, somewhat ridiculous.
“Somebody should write to Henry,” Alexander said, under his breath, half to himself. “If we can get a letter to him, of course. He could be anywhere in the world right now, and I daresay he’s lived in fear of a summons home.”
Katharine shook her head, like a dog trying to get water out of its ears.
“William?” she asked again. William raked a hand through his hair. She noticed a splatter of blood on the white cuff of his sleeve, and she didn’t think it was his own blood.
“He’s dead, Katharine,” William said bluntly. “Father is dead.”
Chapter One
Present Day, London, Springtime
Holding her breath, Katharine turned a page in her novel. The fashionable etiquette handbook her mother had become addicted to since the funeral had a great deal to say about reading material in times of mourning.
Novels, needless to say, were heartily frowned upon.
Still, the Duchess – or Dowager Duchess, as she was now – was not quite as forceful as her husband had been, and only had heavy disapproval to threaten her children with.
It was quite freeing, not that Katharine would dare voice her opinions aloud.
To all intents and purposes, the Willenshire family was still in mourning after the tragic loss of their patriarch, the great Duke of Dunleigh himself. Consolations came rolling in, although notably, the second son of the family did not.
Henry, as Alexander had predicted, had been impossible to contact. Numerous letters were sent to him, explaining the situation and requesting his return home at once, since the will could not be read until his return.
No response had been forthcoming. In the end, just as the family was tentatively creeping out of mourning, a family friend had acted on a tip and gone to France, finding Henry in Paris, and bringing him disconsolately home.
Henry had never said whether he’d received the letters or not, and nobody had asked. It was easier that way.
He had naturally missed the funeral, of course, and was obliged to go into his own period of mourning since he’d missed the family mourning. They generally contented themselves with a black armband at this stage, and Henry was somewhat peeved to be plunged into deep mourning.
There was a sense of guilt among them all, that was generally not mentioned. For her part, Katharine had not been able to cry a single tear at the funeral, although thankfully her thick black veil had covered her face well enough.
There was a gentle tap on the door – that was something new, their mother knocking before she entered a room – and Katharine just had time to mark her place in the book before the Duchess sailed in, plucking the book from her hands and slamming it closed.
“Novels, Katharine?” the Duchess said, her voice dripping with displeasure. “You know how I feel about such things.”
She eyed the title and shook her head. “Rosalie’s Trials, by L. Sterling. This author is particularly crass.”
“They are not crass. They’re wonderful.”
The Duchess snorted, tossing the book onto a nearby seat.
- Sterling was a relatively new author, but their books were already sweeping the country. The critics, of course, decried them, preferring their books to have solid morals and heroines who did more Womanly things, like fainting and needing to be rescued.
Her current book, the second volume in Rosalie’s adventures, was just as thrilling as all the others. Rosalie was a plucky and intelligent young woman, who was naturally enjoying a romance with a likeable young man, but also managed to do things by herself, and rescued herself quite frequently. It was a refreshing change, and the swooning was kept to a minimum.
“We’re reading the will,” the Duchess said shortly. “Meet us in the study at once, Katharine.”
The Duchess turned on her heel and strode out, leaving a strong scent of rosewater in her wake.
Katharine didn’t immediately follow. Since her father’s death, it felt as if she’d lost two parents, instead of just one. The Duchess seemed to feel her husband’s death more keenly than anyone else, although that made little sense to Katharine. The Duke had been just as cruel to his wife as he had been to his children.
Not the point, Katharine reminded herself. He’s dead. No need to be cruel. It doesn’t matter what he did to us, or how he treated us. He died, and that’s that.
She rose to her feet, shaking out her skirts with a sigh. Part of her was excited, which only made the guilty feeling worse.
By the sounds of it, everyone was already gathered in the study already, the murmur of voices drifting out into the hall.
Katharine was the last to arrive. Seats were arranged in a semicircle in front of the late Duke’s desk – she supposed that William was now the current Duke, although the estate had been in limbo while they waited for Henry to return – and the executor of the will, Mr Thompson, shifted from foot to foot behind the desk.
They all turned and looked at her, a trifle annoyed at the delay.
William’s face was white and drawn – the last year had been troublesome for him. Henry was deeply tanned and looked rather too handsome and satisfied for a man who’d lost his father. Alexander looked miserable, his round face thinning out a little. Their mother, of course, seemed to have aged at least ten years.
Katharine knew that she looked more or less the same, if a little paler from all their time shut up in the house, mourning. She flashed a weak smile around and sat down beside Alexander.
A year ago, she would have preferred to sit beside William. It would be a lie to say she didn’t have a favourite brother. But William had acted strangely since the accident, and of course Henry was distant as always. If he couldn’t be literally distant from his family, he kept a neat emotional distance.
“Now that we are all here,” Mr Thompson said, with the barest hint of reproach in his voice, “we can begin the will reading, which has long been delayed. His Grace the Duke of Dunleigh left a specific will. Naturally, the title and the entailed estate goes to his heir, Lord William Willenshire, but that leaves a vast part of the estate which must be divided. I shall begin.”
Clearing his throat officiously, the man began to read. It started much as Katharine had expected, with a list of the late Duke’s belongings, wealth, estates, and so on. Some of it was connected to the title, so the new Duke of Dunleigh would inherit that, but what about the rest?
Katharine frowned, leaning forward in her seat. The executor appeared rather nervous. He was a thin, balding man, with wisps of grey hair at his ears, and too-tight pince-nez on his nose. He glanced frequently up at them, gaze flicking nervously around the room.
He must have already read the will, of course. What was he afraid of?
One by one, he listed the members of the family who would be provided for. The Duchess, being the primary heir, would naturally receive Dowager House along with a substantial jointure and a significant sum of money, easily enough to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. He listed the sums of money each of his children would inherit. Only William inherited land and the estate, but Henry, Katharine, and Alexander would be tremendously wealthy in their own rights.
It had occurred to Katharine, of course, that their father would try some last-minute nastiness, like cutting somebody out of the will, or something equally spiteful. But no, he seemed to have provided for everybody. Katharine watched Alexander sink back into his seat with a relieved sigh and guessed that he had outstanding debts to pay off. She could almost see the maps revolving in Henry’s head, thinking of where he would travel next.
As for herself, that money meant freedom. No need to marry, if she couldn’t find a man who suited her. She could buy a house and live there by herself, if she liked.
I could travel, if I wanted. I can do what I like. I’m free.
The will seemed to come to an end, but Mr Thompson still stood there, eyeing them all nervously.
“His Grace added a stipulation to the will, shortly before his death,” he said hesitantly. “He was concerned about what would become of his family after his death. I… I shall read what he wrote. ‘In case my family should forget what is due of the Willenshires and the great Dunleigh Estate, I have chosen to remind them. While I cannot stop my eldest son inheriting his title and the small amount of money attached to the estate, the rest of the property and money is mine to dispose of as I wish. The inheritance due to my widow will remain unchanged and unencumbered. However, before my children may access their inheritance, they are required to marry in a court of law. On the date of their marriage, they may receive their full inheritance, and…”
Clamor broke out. Henry leapt to his feet.
“We have to marry?” he shouted, clenching his fists. “All of us? Are you mad?”
Mr Thompson held out his hand in a placating gesture.
“Please, Lord Henry, let me finish…”
He was not allowed to finish. Alexander started to shout, and William was saying something, and the Duchess was crying, and Katharine found herself on her feet, trying to tug the will out of the poor lawyer’s hands. He hung on grimly.
“This cannot be legal,” William said, pitching his voice above the chaos.
Mr Thompson adjusted his pince-nez. “I am afraid that it is. You may try and break the will, if you like, but I can assure you it will take years, and the entire Dunleigh estate will likely be eaten up before it is settled. Regrettably, this will is completely impervious to challenge. If you wish to receive your inheritance, you must marry. You’ll receive a small allowance each until that happens.”
He named the sum, and Henry groaned aloud, sinking back into his seat. It was a paltry amount.
“So, all of us must marry to receive our inheritance, or can one of us marry and receive their money?” Alexander asked. Shockingly, he was the level-headed one today. The Duchess was still weeping quietly.
Mr Thompson fiddled with his pince-nez again.
“That brings me to my next point. Each may receive his inheritance once he marries, with one exception. Lady Katharine must marry first, before anyone can receive any money.”
A heavy silence landed on the room. Katharine felt guilty over mocking those swooning heroines, as her knees buckled under her. Thankfully, a seat was there – Alexander to the rescue, she suspected – and she landed heavily in it, knocking the breath out of herself.
“So, if I don’t marry,” she heard herself say, voice wobbling, “nobody can get their inheritance?”
Silence. Everyone looked at Mr Thompson. The poor man – who really did not deserve this – drew in a breath.
“No,” he said quietly. “They cannot.”
Chaos again. William was arguing with Henry, Alexander was over at the desk trying to reason with Mr Thompson – as if that would do any good – and Katharine sat where she was, feeling as if she’d been turned to stone.
There’d be no money, then. No freedom for her. If she didn’t marry, her entire family would be doomed to poverty. Henry and Alexander would be penniless, and William saddled with a title and estate he could not afford to run.
It all depended on her.
She recalled that fateful morning in the horse paddock, the way the Duke’s gaze had slid over William’s shoulder and landed on her, full of contempt and disapproval.
How he must have hated me, Katharine thought, tears pricking at her eyes. Even dead, he wants to have the last laugh. He wants to control us.
And he’d succeeded, quite nicely.
She considered getting to her feet. The study was too hot and stuffy, somehow, and she wanted so badly to get some fresh air, although her legs felt like jelly.
“There’s more,” Mr Thompson said, his voice wavering. Five pairs of eyes turned on him. No, four pairs, as the Duchess had fainted again.
“Tell us,” William said heavily. “I’m not sure you can make it any worse.”
Mr Thompson gave a nervous chuckle. “You have one year from the date of the reading of this will to secure a spouse and your inheritance. Whoever is not married will lose their money forever, and it will go to a distant relative. If Lady Katharine is not married, the entirety of the inheritance will be lost.”
Katharine had worried about bursting into tears, but the reality was much worse. She started to laugh, high, hysterical giggles bubbling up out of her mouth no matter how hard she pressed her hand against it.
It’s over, she thought dizzily. It’s all over.
Chapter Two
The dedicated readers of L. Sterling might have been surprised to find their favourite author in such an unfashionable part of London, in an apartment, no less.
L. Sterling was, as the critics had speculated, a pseudonym. The author of Rosalie’s Trials and various other books was a young man by the name of Timothy Rutherford, a mere second son, a simple Mr.
Timothy didn’t much care what Society thought of his home. His income consisted of his money from the writing, and a small allowance from his mother’s fortune. Not much, but enough to keep himself going. It allowed him to write, as he’d always wanted to, instead of clerking at some dreary law office or ingratiating himself with his father or older sibling. They’d make him jump through hoops for his money, and no mistake.
No, this method allowed him a little pride. He liked his apartment well enough and got on well with his landlady. Nobody knew he was L. Sterling, and even if someone put two and two together – Sterling was his mother’s maiden name, and lilies were his favourite flower – well, it was a common enough name.
His little study was crammed with books, with a space cleared by the window just large enough to admit a small desk and chair. Crumpled bits of paper scattered across the floor, and a cold, half-drunk cup of tea stood forgotten on the edge of the desk.
The second volume of Rosalie’s Trials was very well received, but he found that the third volume was coming along slowly. How to end the story in a satisfying way?
He sat back, crumpling up yet another piece of paper and tossing it onto the floor.
It’s no good, he thought miserably. He took off his spectacles, wire-rimmed and round, and rubbed his sore eyes.
Timothy did not look much like the heroes he described in his books. Timothy himself was of average height, slimly built in a way a person might generously describe as wiry, with dark blond hair that would not go into the popular styles, and large green eyes.
As far as he could tell, his readers like strapping, classically handsome heroes, who did manly things like excessive horse riding and boxing. Timothy wryly flexed his own hands, white and elegant and decidedly writer’s hands.
He didn’t have time to sit and puzzle over Rosalie’s next adventure, though. He had to get himself to the club to meet his friend. As far as he knew, the infamous Dunleigh will had finally been read, meaning that his friend William might now be excessively rich. How nice.
Shrugging himself into a somewhat patchy coat and clapping last season’s hat on his head, Timothy firmly put Rosalie out of his mind, and headed out into the gray January day, collar turned up against the drizzling rain.
It will be good to know that somebody has received good news recently. I bet the Willenshire family are celebrating as we speak.
***
“That can’t be right,” Timothy said incredulously. “You must all marry?”
William looked exhausted. He’d drunk one large glass of brandy before Timothy had got there and was well into his second. There were dark bags under his eyes, and lines on his face that hadn’t been there the last time Timothy saw him. They’d been friends for longer than he could remember, and William had had plenty to say about his father’s cruelty.
This, however, was a new low.
“We can get some of it, if we don’t all marry, but not all of it,” William explained wearily. “But we can’t get a penny unless Katharine marries. She must marry first. We’ve got a year.”
“A year to find someone, or…”
“A year to get married.”
Timothy blew out a heavy breath. That didn’t leave a great deal of time. In London, the Season was just ramping up. That gave at least six months to find a person, as well as to organize the wedding and get the ceremony over with. For all of them. The Season was called the Marriage Mart for a reason, but to have a deadline like this was… well, it was something new.
“It’s… it’s doable, is it not?” Timothy heard himself say, somewhat lamely. No doubt they’d considered this, as well as all the angles.
William shrugged weakly. “I hadn’t considered marriage. I have too many responsibilities, and I intended to spend a year or two as Duke of Dunleigh to acclimate myself before even thinking about marrying. I wanted to marry, of course, but to be forced into it…” he broke off, shaking his head. “Alexander hoped to marry an heiress, but on his own terms. Henry had never thought of marriage at all, as far as I know. And as for Katharine, do you know what she looked forward to most out of all this? Freedom. She longed for freedom. And now she’ll never see a day of it.”
A lump rose to Timothy’s throat at the mention of Katharine.
He’d been friends with the Willenshire family for many years. Friends, of course, was a loose term.
Henry, the traveler, was somewhat aloof in London, preferring his friends abroad, and Alexander gambled too deeply and drank too much for Timothy’s liking. Timothy and William were twenty-six, the same age, and had the most in common.
One thing they had in common was that the late Duke had not liked either of them.
Oh, and that Timothy knew exactly what it was like to have a father so deeply disappointed in you. He didn’t want to bring that up now, of course. With the contents of the will, he assumed that William knew that already.
He’d only really known Katharine from a distance, but that was enough to discover that she was the most beautiful and interesting girl he’d never quite met.
Not helpful, Timothy told himself sternly. Aloud, he said, “Shall we go somewhere more private to talk?”
William shot him a quick grateful look. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Their club of choice was White’s, coincidentally the only one that Timothy was granted membership to. It was considered rather important that a man be clubbable, although he didn’t much enjoy the process of attending clubs. His father and older brother would be mortified if he wasn’t a member of at least one. Even Henry Willenshire, the man with his mind always elsewhere, was a member of White’s.
The place was crowded, as it usually was at this time of day. It was all too easy for something to be overheard and repeated. Timothy led the way to a small alcove, just large enough for two men to sit on opposite armchairs, with a low coffee table in between. William drank down his own brandy in one large gulp, and snatched up another, following Timothy.
“I don’t want this talked about,” William muttered, settling down. “I know you’ll be discreet, of course, but if this gets out… well, we’ll be bombarded by hopeful mammas and fortune hunters. Alexander’s a fool, Henry might well be stubborn enough to refuse to marry altogether, and as for me… well, I don’t have much faith in my own judgement, to be frank.”
Timothy leaned forward, propping up his elbows on his knees.
“That’s your father talking, Will. Your judgement is fine.”
William smiled bleakly. “Thank you, Timothy, that’s kind of you to say. My father clearly thought that we’d all go unmarried and let the Willenshire name die out. Or else he just wanted to punish us. A bit of both, perhaps. I’m tired of trying to work out what he wanted, what he was thinking.” He paused and gave a short laugh. “Even from beyond the grave, he’s controlling us. It’s impressive, when you think about it.”
Impressive was not the word that sprang to mind, in Timothy’s opinion. He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
“I hate to speak ill of the dead, but the man was evil. I’m sorry, William.”
William shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m worried most about Katharine. Out of all of us, she’s the one who must marry, or else we’ll all be paupers. I know exactly why Father set up the will in that way. We were all disappointments to him, but Katharine was the one he struggled most to break. I suppose he thought he’d manage it this way.”
That lump rose to Timothy’s throat again. He swallowed hard, trying to fight past the surge of anger he felt towards the man. How dared he ruin his children’s life in this way? What was it all for?
The answer presented itself at once. The late Duke of Dunleigh believed that his children belonged to him, in the same way that his wife and house did, and it irked him that he could not control them the way he thought he could. The will was a final effort to do that.
Unless they all marry for love, Timothy thought. Not that that’s likely to happen.
“Do you think Katharine will refuse to marry?” he heard himself say.
William shook his head. “No, not with all of our futures at stake. She’s too kind. She may be careless with her own funds, but not with ours. It just means that her inheritance will never really be hers. It’ll belong to her husband right away.”
“Unless he agrees to let her keep it and signs a few legal documents.”
William gave a hoarse laugh. “And who would agree to that? No, I’m afraid that if this gets out, she’ll be surrounded by fortune hunters. Please, Timothy, you must join the Season this year, help me keep an eye on her. I can’t trust Alexander to stay focused, or Henry. She’s my only sister, and I do worry about her so much.”
Timothy swallowed hard. His head was reeling, and his heart clenched worryingly.
Stop it, he scolded himself. Be honorable. Protect your friend’s sister, can’t you? Put your own feelings aside – the woman scarcely knows you.
He smiled weakly at William. “Of course, if that’s what you want. I’ll do my best. I can’t promise to protect her properly, but…”
“No, no, that’s fine. I’ll feel better knowing that you’re looking after her, too. As if she has a fourth brother.”
“Yes,” Timothy murmured bleakly. “A fourth brother.”
“The thing is,” William continued, rubbing his eyes, “she’s twenty years old. This will be her third Season. She’s hardly old, but you know how cruel Society can be. Even the doddery old men think they have a right to marry the eighteen-year-old debutantes. I’m worried that Katharine will simply marry the first man she meets. I’m afraid that she won’t get many offers, and that she’ll settle, for our sake. She’s my sister, Timothy. I love her, and I can’t bear the idea of her being unhappy. But I don’t know what to do.”
Timothy reached forward and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. The good thing about being a writer was that words were always at one’s disposal. Usually, at least.
When one had a piece of paper and pen to hand.
Now, though, it seemed that Timothy had hit a stroke of luck, and the words came easily.
“Katharine is stronger than you think,” he said firmly. “She’s clever, and thoughtful, and a good judge of people. Your siblings and you need to be closer now, more than ever before. You’re all in the same boat, and your marriages will likely take place very close together. You’re the head of the family now, William. You need to draw everyone together and present a united front. Your father spent his life pushing you all apart, but he never succeeded, did he? You can draw together now.”
William swallowed hard, thinking it over. He nodded slowly, and Timothy felt a knot of anxiety loosen in his chest.
“You’re right, Timothy. This is father’s last attempt to control us, but if we take control of the situation first, we’ll pull through.” He swigged back his brandy in one gulp. “I’m glad we met up today.”
Timothy smiled weakly, trying not to think about Katharine Willenshire walking down the aisle with a fortune hunter.
“Well, a problem shared is a problem halved.”
I could marry her, he thought, and a strange tingling feeling rolled down his spine.
This Post Has 5 Comments
This looks to be a good book. Just the little bit you have shared has me very interested. Thanks again for your writing. Roberta
Enjoyed the preview!
OK…you’ve captured my attention with this prologue/preview. When will you be releasing?
Looking forward for its release. Thank you for the preview.
Wondering where to find Williams story. Love these books.