by Ella Edon
The Dowager Marchioness went on. "When I lost Victor's father and was left with two children to fend for, I was enraged. Angry. I was so lost in my hatred for him, for how he ruined everything. I directed my hatred at Anne, but still, it affected my son, as well."
Katherine clenched her teeth. "Why are you telling me this?"
The Dowager Marchioness stepped forward; her lips curled upward in a sad smile. "Because I know how angry you were at Victor as he left. You didn't want him to go."
"I was scared," Katherine whispered. She had been frightened that storms would beset Victor’s ship. She had been right.
"I know. Do not let your guilt be the reason you keep away from Victoria. It was irresponsible of you to leave her. You have to know something, dear— be strong, for yourself and your daughter." The Dowager Marchioness's eyes were glistening with tears.
Katherine creased her brows, knowing full well that the tears were not only from Victor's death. Katherine and the Dowager Marchioness had never really been close, but they had mutual respect for each other. Katherine rarely ever spoke to her; they never argued over anything. The Dowager Marchioness never outright expressed hate or anger towards Katherine, and yet, there was something there. Katherine felt that the Dowager Marchioness simply saw her as a means of escaping the debt Victor's father had put them all in. Now, Katherine was moved to inquire what the problem actually was.
"Pray tell, is there something more that I should be worried about, other than burying my husband?"
Louise nodded slowly. "Victor is dead. You bore him no son. Therefore, this house now belongs to neither of us. The former Lord Bowmount had a sister Victor’s Aunt. She lives in Flitwick, a small town far from here." The Dowager Marchioness's eyes widened. "She has a son, and he is the next in line. Katherine, we have to brace ourselves. Her son will come to claim what is his. The moment the news of Victor's death reaches them, this manor is no longer ours."
Katherine felt her blood drain from her face. Of course, of course! The blasted rules that left a lady vulnerable. The manor was no longer hers the moment Victor’s death was announced. None of it was hers anymore. Nothing for Victoria. Everything that Victor had worked so hard for, everything that she had invested all her dowry in, would be given to some stranger who only had to set foot inside to lay his claim. Without knowing the sweat that Victor had put into everything, and without knowing how much she had given to see the rise of the house of Bowmount.
She felt as though she had been punched as the reality of her situation hit her. Everything that belonged to her alone that had been in her name alone had been put into reinstating the house of Bowmount. Bowmount Hall was for the male heir. She sucked in a breath as everything clicked. She had nothing. Nothing to her name, nothing for herself. Nothing. And her husband's hard work was gone, to undeserving strangers who knew nothing of it.
"Katherine, you must be strong —"
"I am strong," Katherine said sharply. "I am strong. No one will take away what Victor put such hard work into rebuilding. No one!"
"Katherine, it’s not your call," the Dowager Marchioness whispered. "It is how it will be."
"We would have nothing."
The Dowager Marchioness shook her head immediately. "We would have something to live with dignity and ensure Victoria’s future. Isn’t this important too?"
"You know what I mean," Katherine said. Of course, she knew they would have something. They would be given a relatively satisfying yearly income that ensured their comfort. Money and grain and anything for survival. Any other lady in her place would be more than satisfied. But not Katherine— to her, the estate was important.
Victor had put in much work to put it all together and no amounts of money, or support from her own family could replace what her husband struggled to create.
Staring at the Dowager Marchioness, Katherine wondered what she must have gone through when Victor's father had died, leaving her penniless. Had she been faced with this? Had she felt so empty, so weak that she needed to prove that she was strong? Katherine wondered a lot of things, and above all, what it felt like to lose everything at the snap of a finger.
"Katherine —"
Katherine squared her shoulders as she cut her off. "We won't think about anyone taking away what my husband worked and sacrificed his life for. I won't let it happen. This is our home."
"Katherine —"
"We will focus on Victor's funeral and mourning him. We will give him the respect he deserves. We won't cloud our minds with rubbish. This is our home!" she thundered. "This is my home!"
The Dowager Marchioness looked like she wanted to say more, but she pressed her lips together, nodded once, squared her shoulders, and clenched her teeth.
Katherine went on. "We will get ready for Victor's funeral. We have nothing to fear. We won't let anyone take our home from us."
Louise said nothing, her jaw only clenched, and her hands clasped together. Katherine stared at her green eyes, seeking a response, an assurance, some kind of hopeful words.
"Promise me that we won't lose what Victor worked for. We will keep it together, won't we, Mother?" Katherine breathed. She felt like she was suffocating. She had never had such a long conversation with Louise and not one where she needed to say, Mother, in seven years. And yet, one day and everything had changed. Everything. Even Louise was showing her vulnerable side.
"Katherine, this is a reality that we must face," she said, sternly.
Katherine shook her head. "We will keep this manor and everything else my husband worked for before his death. We will let no one claim what is ours."
"Katherine..."
She began to mutter to herself, assuring herself that everything belonged to her. To her daughter. For their future. She turned back to the Dowager Marchioness. "No one will take it all away from us."
Louise wanted to say more, but she relaxed her shoulders and nodded very slowly. "No one will take anything from us, Katherine. We will make sure."
Katherine was not sure why the Dowager Marchioness said that, and with such faith, with such eagerness, with such sincerity and certainty. Perhaps it was the realization that both of them were in this together, that they had been the most important people to Victor before his death. But as Katherine turned, knowing well that the Dowager Marchioness was solidly by her side made her feel stronger. She raised her shoulders as she walked down the rest of the stairs. All she had to think about was Victor's funeral. That and her daughter's future. No one would take what was hers away from her. No one.
Chapter Two
Seven Months Later.
Lord Arthur Shepherd, Marquess of Bowmount had expected that the path that led to his Uncle's home would be quite distant from the rest of Somerset, as the Bowmount Hall was a frontier, one of the greatest frontiers of England — save for its tragic fall, he sighed, shaking his head softly and opting to stare outside, rather than think too much about the fall of the house.
He didn't like change, movement, adjustment. He hated it. When his mother had told him of his inheritance, he had been stunned and had refused to go. His mother had insisted that he left right away to claim what was his. But Arthur had thought that it was disrespectful, to simply storm into the Bowmount Hall and claim everything while they were grieving.
His heart clenched again, for a cousin that he barely knew and for his young widow, whom Arthur had never met. He recalled seeing Victor a few times when they were younger. Hearing of Victor's death had saddened his mother, left her down for days, knowing that he had no heir. His mother never liked the Dowager Marchioness, Victor's mother. They never got along. And she barely knew Victor's wife, so she kept insisting that he go there, to claim what rightfully belonged to their family. Arthur didn't know Lady Katherine Willington. He had never met her, but his mother had. She had described the current Lady Bowmount as unpredictable, fierce, and unreadable.
Her persuasion left Arthur no other choice than to write to them, expressing his condolences. The
reply he received from Victor's widow had been cold; nothing more than a brief thank you. He shook his head. Perhaps he was overthinking, but he felt odd about her reply. He felt as if she was angry at him. Perhaps it was just him. What had he expected her reply would be like?
Then he wrote to the house again, announcing his arrival. He hadn't felt that he needed to state that he now owned the estate and the manor, but his mother had made sure he included why he was coming. To claim what was his, being the next in line, after Victor. The next reply had been from the Dowager Marchioness, Lady Louise Willington. She had written him a short response, straight to the point.
We await your arrival, Lord Arthur Shepherd, Marquess of Bowmount.
He was not sure if the reply was a sign of acceptance or a mockery, but either way, he felt most uncomfortable by the change. He had, however, proceeded to inform them of the date of his arrival. He had predicted that he would arrive late evening, instead, he arrived midday.
He poked his head outside the carriage and called to the coachman. "Are we almost there?"
His eyes took in the large house, built like a castle, with wood and high stone slabs. The combination amazed him. The pillars by the large entrance door caught his attention. He stared up at it. The green grasses cut low and clean surrounding it looked beautiful. He blew out a breath just as the driver announced.
"My Lord, we have arrived."
Arthur nodded, knowing that they had indeed arrived. He alighted the hackney, his black valise in his left hand, and his right hand clenched to his side. He paid the coachman and turned to stare up at the mansion as the carriage rolled away.
Nodding to himself, Arthur muttered words of encouragement to himself before he ran up the stairs and raised his hand to the door to knock. He knocked twice and stepped back, staring at the door as though it led to a foreign land.
There was no response. He knocked on the door again, louder this time. The door swung inward, opening to reveal a man. He seemed about middle-aged, but his hair had no grey in it. His cheeks were chubby, and so was he. The man raised a brow at Arthur. "Yes?"
Arthur smiled at the man and raised his trunk. "Hello, I am Arthur Shep —" He stopped, he was not simply a barrister now, he was more.
The man still raised his brow, questioning. His dark hair seemed too dark for one who looked like he was aging.
Arthur cleared his throat. "Lord Bowmount. I sent a letter to inform the family of my arrival."
The man's eyes widened a fraction, and then his expression turned still as he bowed stiffly, and most unwillingly. "Welcome, Lord Bowmount."
He pulled the door wide open, so that the daylight filled the hallway. Arthur stepped through the threshold, feeling very self-conscious. This was now his home. He felt like he had stolen it.
The man breathed out, and then with a slight bow of his head again, said, "Lord Bowmount, welcome —"
He nodded curtly, although he didn't like when he was called Lord. It was foreign to him, new. Everything was new. To himself, he was still simply Mr. Shepherd. Not a Lord with all of what he was seeing. The excess light in the hallway soon faded as the door was closed.
"Did you arrive with a coach? A coachman, valet?" The man behind him asked. Arthur sensed his question was asked irritably. He ignored it and turned to the man with a small smile.
"No, I came alone."
The man's eyes widened. "Alone? A Lord such as yourself has traveled far to settle in your new — to settle, and you have come with no carriage or coachman, or valet? "
Arthur was tempted to smile, and he did. "You sound as though I have done something atrocious."
The man raised his nose and squared his shoulders. "I haven't said such. I was only asking. It’s most unusual, My Lord." He looked away from Arthur, his gaze bouncing around, as though waiting for something. After a while, he said. "Come with me, My Lord. I presume you do not mind waiting in the drawing room while I inform the ladies of your early arrival?"
Arthur shook his head. That was indeed the right thing to do. "I shan't mind. Lead the way."
He was led through the wide hallway, with closed doors at every corner and a bright light from the very end of the hallway, where a large window was situated, sending sunshine into the house. The man, whom he presumed was the butler, stopped at the large door on the left and pushed it open. Arthur blinked at the large settee at the corner, before taking in the rest of the furniture. He walked in to take his seat on the blue velvet settee beside the shelf.
Arthur felt uncomfortable. The house was quiet, as though no soul lived in it. It had been seven months since the death of his cousin. Surely, the household had recovered a fraction. Why then was a large home so lifeless? He crossed his left leg over his right and set his valise beside his feet. He relaxed into the settee, exhausted from his tiring journey.
"Excuse me?" A voice distracted him from his rest. He opened his formally closed eyes and sat up.
A young girl with dark hair pulled back in a chignon and dressed in a plain grey cotton dress stared back at him. Her large brown eyes were blinking in horror. She was a maid. He knew this from her dress, and the white pinafore she wore over it. She seemed to be surprised that he was sitting there. She recovered quickly and curtsied, though he could tell that she was confused as to who he was.
Then slowly, she said. "Lord Bowmount." It was a statement that sounded like a question. He was about to respond to her when they were interrupted.
"Darlene!" a voice called. The voice was cool, feminine, strong, and sharp-edged. The voice came with authority. "Whom are you speaking with?"
Darlene looked to the side, into the simple opening by the corner. She looked at him briefly, curtsied, then walked away. He heard whispers, before the clump of shoes echoed in the hallway.
From the corner, he saw a black dress peek out before he saw the lady who wore it. She stepped into the hallway slowly, but with certainty. He froze as he took the lady in. There was a kind of authority the woman emanated. He sucked in his breath as the lady came to a halt in the middle of the hallway. He blinked, wondering if she was truly Victor's widow.
Standing inches away from him was a woman who possessed everything he had so often seen, but with so much more. She had golden blonde hair, and blue eyes that were so bright they seemed to dance and sparkle as she watched him. Her cheekbones were high, and they suited her face well. Her lips were small and plump and pink — they looked as though she pouted. They attracted his eyes.
He felt his insides twist at the sight of her. It was as though time stood still and all he could do was to stare at was her. She stood with both her hands clasped, her shoulders squared, and her jaw tilted upwards. His mother had been right. Lady Katherine Willington, Marchioness of Bowmount, was fierce. But no one had told him that she was beautiful and breathtaking, beyond anything he'd ever seen before, anything he'd imagined. The way she stared him down made him go still, because he was mesmerized by what he saw, and her gaze intimidated him.
Arthur rose and bowed. "I am Arthur Shepherd, Lord Bowmount's cousin. I wrote to you about my arrival, Lady Bowmount."
He saw her raise her brow for a second before her lips turned down and her gaze dimmed. Her quick change of mien was unsettling. "You must be Lady Bowmount, I presume?" he blurted, uncertain if he was right. However, he trusted that it was indeed she who was Victor's widow. She was dressed as a lady, stood as one would, wore black, which would signify her mourning, and she was in Bowmount Hall.
She creased her brows; her lips turned down in a slight frown for only a second before she went back to her blank stare. He swallowed hard at the movement. Her gaze flickered to his, and for a second, it held his. He parted his lips to speak, but was still captivated. Finally, he looked away from her and spoke. "Lady Bowmount, my condolences about Victor. He was a great man."
Lady Bowmount said nothing. She simply blinked and cast her gaze down for a second before they rose again. Every move she made caused him to go more and more still
. He was not sure what was going on, but suddenly he was afraid to be there, standing before her, or even talking to her.
He went on. "It's been such a long journey from Flitwick. But after a bit of time to refresh myself, I would like to sit and discuss the details of the manor and title with you."
Lady Bowmount narrowed her eyes at him. "Very well."
With one glance beside her, she said, to someone whom he could not see, as they were all standing behind the door. "Mr. Stewart, show Lord Bowmount his bed chambers." To Arthur, she said coldly, "Welcome to Bowmount Hall."
With those words, she turned and walked down the hallway, leaving him standing there, staring at the open doors of the waiting room.
From beside him, the man he'd seen earlier walked in front of the door. His jaws were still, but he bowed. "Lord Bowmount, I shall take you to your bedchamber."