daughter of lies

by Kenley Davidson

  Daughter of Lies

  Kenley Davidson

  Page Nine Press

  Copyright © 2018 Kenley Davidson

  All rights reserved.

  Published by: Page Nine Press

  Editing by: Janie Dullard at Lector’s Books

  Cover Design, Layout, & Formatting by: Page Nine Media

  This is an original work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and incidents are products of the creative imagination of the author or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, institutions, places, or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner without the written consent of the author, excepting short quotations used for the purposes of review or commentary about the work.

  http://KenleyDavidson.com

  For Jeff, who is everything a father should be to his daughters.

  You have always been my Rom.

  Contents

  Books by Kenley Davidson

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  A Special Offer from Kenley

  The Series

  Also by Kenley Davidson

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Kenley Davidson

  Fairy Tale Retellings

  THE ANDARI CHRONICLES

  Traitor’s Masque

  Goldheart

  Pirouette

  Shadow & Thorn

  Daughter of Lies

  THE ENTWINED TALES

  A Beautiful Curse

  Romantic Science Fiction

  CONCLAVE WORLDS

  The Daragh Deception

  The Concord Coalition (coming soon)

  To hear about new releases and other updates, sign up for Kenley’s newsletter here.

  When the Queen heard the glass speak thus she trembled and shook with rage. “Snow White shall die,” she cried, “even if it costs me my life.”

  Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, Little Snow-White

  Prologue

  The portrait lay on the desk, face down, with a pile of papers atop it, and yet she still wanted to look.

  Someday, it would hang on the wall, where everyone could see. Someday, she would have a larger one made, so that everyone would know of her greatest achievement, but not yet. She could not afford for anyone to know just yet.

  As she rose from her desk and moved towards the tea tray, she glanced impatiently at her reflection in the mirror on the far wall. It was so much like the portrait. She could not help tracing the curve of her own jaw, the straight line of her nose, and wonder at the similarities.

  For so long, she’d been forced to pretend. To ignore her longing to hold and to love and to nurture the child she’d given birth to. Her husband had insisted that it was necessary. That their legacy could only survive if they were willing to accept the difficult task of indifference, so that no one might ever guess there was anything amiss. But that requirement had eaten at her soul, day after day, year after year, and the gulf between her and her child had grown so vast that now all she had was the portrait to fuel her ambitions.

  Those ambitions had grown over the years to a fire that burned deep and hot, a need that gnawed at her even as she sipped her tea, nibbled at a biscuit, and penned various messages. It waited, lurking at the edges of her consciousness as she gave instructions to her housekeeper, fielded questions from the butler, and planned her strategies for the upcoming weeks.

  She was close—so very close—but winning was an exhausting business, especially when the entire kingdom wanted you to fail. Losing, however, was out of the question, so the woman accepted the possible consequences of victory, even as they nagged at her relentlessly.

  Could she destroy her rivals without bringing about her own destruction? Would she gain what she most desired only to lose it again? And would the child she sacrificed so much for be willing to forgive her deception or would they be separated by the pain of all those necessary betrayals?

  The eyes of the portrait seemed by turns forgiving and accusing, and on some days, she was almost afraid to look. But look she did, after setbacks and after triumphs, hoping to see the absolution she desired. Always, always, it eluded her.

  She would not look today. She would wait, until she had taken another step closer to her goals. Well, perhaps until she had finished her messages. Or her tea.

  Already she had begun to consider new alliances. Her plans were proceeding exactly as she intended—no, better—and only a few more pieces needed to be in play before her victory was assured.

  Someday soon, there would be no need to gaze into the painted eyes of a portrait. She would look upon the real thing and beg for forgiveness. Beg her child to understand why she’d pretended for so long. On that day, she would come not as a broken supplicant, but as a woman who had survived the disdain of the world and was still unbowed, a woman who had gained power by her own efforts and could offer an alliance. She would have earned her victory over the forces that had always attempted to relegate her to the background of her own life, a forgotten pawn in the games so often played by men alone.

  Before she was through, the Seagrave name would be rescued from the ash heap of history. No one would remember its failures, only its final success. She would prevail, and those who stood in her way would be vanquished.

  On that day, she would have her child beside her, and there would be no more need for portraits.

  But that day was not today, so perhaps a single glance… Smoothing her skirts, she locked the office door before retrieving the tiny gold-framed canvas from her desk and gazing anxiously into its guileless blue eyes.

  The eyes in the portrait shone with all the promise of youth, alongside golden hair, an unlined face, and a charming smile. She, too, had been that young—that naive—once upon a time. She’d been dazzled by the promises of an older man, promises of wealth and consequence, promises of a place by his side. And she’d been fooled into thinking that he meant to share his power. But he’d meant only to smother her, moment by moment, into accepting his decrees and following his blundering course, and she’d had no choice but to pretend—to bank the fires of her ambition and shutter the passion in her soul.

  For so many years, she’d pretended to be something she was not, and those years had not come without price. As she gazed at the youthful portrait, she pressed a trembling finger to the lines beside her eyes, across her forehead, at the corners of her mouth. They seemed longer, deeper, than they had been only yesterday. She knew it was impossible, but the thought frightened her. Perhaps she would try a new beauty treatment to hold them at bay, at least until after the wedding.

  Though it wasn’t as if her suitor would notice. He was strong, but gullible. Younger than she, but old enough to be desperate. He needed money. She needed a title. They were perfect for each other, and she expected his proposal any day now.

  After they were married, he would discover she was nowhere near so rich as he supposed, but by then, she would no longer need him.

  First, however, there was a loose end to be tidied up. The woman shoved the portrait out of sight once more, and began to pen an invitation.

  The end game had begun.

  Chapter 1

  My Dearest Breanne,

  I realize that this letter may come as a surprise to you, given the manner of our only prior meeting. Until recently, any correspondence was forbidden by
order of the earl, who felt that such a connection would be ill-advised and only serve to remind society of the unfortunate events of the past.

  Allow me to assure you that I have always wished our circumstances to be otherwise. Had your father not insisted that it was for the best, I would have had the privilege of bringing up our heir as a beloved member of one of Andar’s most ancient and respected noble families. Our firstborn child should never have been deprived of the opportunity to learn of the duties and responsibilities of a proud heritage, and I feel that this lack has been one of my greatest failures as a mother.

  I very much regret the course of action to which your father persuaded me all those years ago, and beg you to believe that I wish very much to correct those errors which have led to the present state of our relationship. If you can find it in your heart to begin anew, I would feel privileged to have you as a guest in my new home near Camber. Crestwood is the name of the modest estate to which I have retired in order to remain out of the public eye, and though it may prove disappointing to one now accustomed to the grandeur of Norleigh, I hope that this will not affect your intentions regarding an extended visit.

  It would be my pleasure to serve as your hostess for as long as your forbearance will permit you to stay. I have chosen to invite no one else during this time, as it is my fondest wish to spend the coming weeks correcting as many of my past failures as a mother as our time together will permit.

  Please reply as to your plans, and whatever you decide, know that I remain,

  Ever regretful,

  Louise Seagrave

  The force of the slamming door rattled the windows and made Countess Lizbet Norelle look up from her desk with an expression of mild curiosity.

  “I quit,” Brenna announced, pausing just inside the closed door to deliver her pronouncement as firmly and irrevocably as possible. “Resign. Abdicate. Surrender. Whatever it is that a countess does.”

  Lizbet placed her quill on her desk and leaned back in her chair. “A countess,” she responded dryly, “smiles graciously at everyone no matter the provocation, while privately consigning them all to damnation. But she does not quit. And neither,” Lizbet added, picking up her quill again with a slight smile, “do you. Which you will remember in a day or two and then be grateful that I have refused to accept your resignation. What is it this time?”

  “My fourth proposal this week.”

  “So bad as that?” Lizbet’s eyebrows twitched. “Any of them on their second try yet?”

  “No.” Brenna Seagrave dropped gracelessly into one of the rather uncomfortable chairs in front of her friend and former employer’s desk. “All new. But with the same tired reasoning.”

  “No, don’t tell me.” Lizbet sighed and rested her chin on one ink-stained hand. “They all want nothing more in life than to remove the tremendous burden of responsibility from your delicate shoulders.”

  Brenna snorted. “My dear Lady Seagrave,” she mimicked, batting her eyes beseechingly, “you must know how ardently attached to you I have become in the eternal three seconds we have known each other. Please permit me to express my undying affection for you and your money. Only marry me and I will be the happiest of men, once you relinquish complete control of your life and property into my hands, as you are clearly unfit to oversee them yourself.”

  Lizbet laughed, a soft sound of sympathy in the quiet room. “A clumsy lot, thank goodness. I’d hate to see you taken in by one who hid what he was and what he wanted until after the wedding.”

  “Small chance of that. I can’t imagine putting up with any man long enough to marry him.” Brenna shook her head slightly, as though she could cast off her frustration like a cloud of gnats. “You sent for me?”

  Countess Norelle leaned over her desk and offered her former protégée a sealed packet. “The reports you requested have arrived.”

  Brenna took the papers and glanced at the front, where someone had scrawled her name in an impatient hand—“Lady Breanne Seagrave.” The sight of it made her wince, and wonder anew what she could possibly have been thinking.

  For years, she had been driven by bitterness over the knowledge of her parentage, wrongly believing herself to be the illegitimate daughter of Stockton Seagrave, Earl of Hennsley. In truth, she was his heir, but her parents had been unwilling to allow the estate to pass to a female. Instead, while she was still an infant, they had exchanged her for a convenient male child and allowed Brenna to grow up as a nameless orphan.

  Fortunately, she’d been too driven to remain in a foundling home for long. Her skill with numbers and eye for detail had enabled her to establish a successful career as a member of Countess Norelle’s staff, at least until the previous year, when her family’s deception had been discovered and made public. After a lengthy investigation and trial, the former earl and his heir had been stripped of lands and titles, all of which had been made over to Brenna, and she had become a celebrated member of court almost overnight.

  She’d always wanted to be accepted. To have a family. She’d also wanted justice, but none of it had turned out quite the way she hoped. Except perhaps for Kyril, the second son of the Earl of Hennsley and therefore her younger brother. Brenna had resented the irritatingly charming young nobleman from a distance for years, and the beginning of their relationship had been far from cordial, but Kyril Seagrave had somehow become the best brother she could have imagined.

  Otherwise, while it was satisfying to know that their father—the man most responsible for her lonely early life—would never profit from his actions, Brenna wasn’t entirely certain that her life had changed for the better.

  It had been a shock to realize that she liked being Brenna Haverly, clerk and occasional spy for Countess Norelle. The job had kept her busy, engaged her mind, and utilized her talents. She had been good at what she did, and she loved knowing that she was able to aid her kingdom.

  But Breanne Louise Seagrave, Countess of Hennsley, seemed to be an entirely different person. She was a dress that didn’t quite fit. Brenna (she refused to think of herself as Breanne) still didn’t quite feel that she understood what a countess was supposed to do, but it was already clear that she was rarely, if ever, useful.

  Unless that countess happened to be Lady Norelle. The pleasant, middle-aged, brown-haired woman across the desk was even more of an anomaly than Brenna had realized when they began working together all those years ago. But then, Lizbet was the king’s sister-in-law and Prince Ramsey’s aunt, so perhaps that explained how she had managed to establish both her authority and her ability so firmly that no one in the kingdom would dare to question it.

  “Brenna, my dear”—Lizbet interrupted her thoughts rather abruptly—“I am very much afraid you are unhappy.”

  Brenna looked up from the papers in her lap, saw the expression on her mentor’s face, and sighed.

  “Why should I be unhappy?” she countered, not sure how to have this conversation with a woman who had once been her supervisor, and was now, in most ways, simply her social equal.

  “Because you never asked for a life of privilege and you find it lonely, confining and utterly without merit in all other ways?”

  Brenna made a sound that she intended to be a laugh, but it turned into something rather different as it emerged. It was not quite a sob. Not quite. “I’m sorry,” she said, smoothing her skirts and looking fixedly at the floor. “I shouldn’t complain. I won’t complain. I have everything in the world to be happy about.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lizbet said. “Everything except the things you most want. Like meaning, and purpose, and family.”

  Brenna’s gaze darted up fleetingly. “But I do have a family, now. More so than I ever did before.”

  “You have a mother who has disappeared from society, a father who has chosen exile, a brother who pretends you aren’t real and another brother who’s been away in a foreign country for the last two months.”

  Lizbet’s recitation was calm, but Brenna winced anyway.


  “What would you have me do?” she answered caustically, preferring combat to showing weakness. “I tried being conciliatory, and look where that got me. And it isn’t as though I would ask Kyril to give up his position in order to make my life easier. He is genuinely the best of brothers, but he has a complicated enough life without adding my concerns to his.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you try harder,” Lizbet returned dryly. “Merely hoping you would stop denying the problem.”

  “Very well,” Brenna replied. “I’m miserable. Is that what you wanted to hear? I hate being a countess. I preferred working alone in utter obscurity to dressing up and pretending that my title means something. I’ve tried managing the affairs of my estate, but no one at Norleigh seems to have any need of either my input or my oversight. The housekeeper acts like I’m an interloper and the bailiff treats me like a child so that I’m forced to argue with both of them constantly. I thought it might be less stressful staying here, but for the past month I’ve been desperately bored and ready to punch the next man who dares propose to me.”

  Lady Norelle chuckled. “Perhaps what you need is a change of scene.”

  “I would be happy to change my scene, but where would I go?”

  Lizbet tapped her finger on her lips. “Well, I would suggest throwing a house party, but it sounds like returning to Norleigh is not quite what you had in mind.” She grinned and waved her pen in the air. “It’s also traditional to go visiting your friends’ country estates when you’re bored with court, but considering your antipathy towards nearly everyone, I’m not sure who I’d recommend that you visit.”