Kiss of a Traitor

by Cat Lindler

  The younger solicitor, Terrance Alden, began. “As the Earl of Westchester, Colonel Lord Bellingham, left certain properties entailed by the Crown, those being the manor seat at Westchester, the estate in Kent, and a castle in Aberdeen, and he left no direct male heir, these properties pass down to Lord Westchester’s nephew, John Bellingham, the son of Westchester’s deceased younger brother, Edward Bellingham.”

  Willa eyed Terrance Alden with fondness. A pleasant man of thirty years, he had a mild, open face, sandy hair, and large spectacles. The other solicitor, his father, Prescott Alden, had acted as the colonel’s solicitor since the Bellinghams’ arrival in Georgetown. The elder Mister Alden tended to nap in the middle of sentences and had all but turned over his practice to his son. She had known them for years and held great affection for them and their families.

  Terrance nodded to Willa and Marlene and sent them a sympathetic smile. It waned when Marlene gestured with an impatient hand for him to get on with it. He cleared his voice and looked down at the will again. There were bequests for Willa’s sisters and their husbands and children, the servants, and even for some of the slaves. Her father also granted manumission, along with their bequests, to Jwana, Plato, and six other loyal slaves.

  “Now for the major bequests,” Terrance said, drawing everyone’s eyes again. “To my beautiful wife, Marlene Coates Bellingham, who, if not faithful, was a comfort to me—” Marlene gasped loudly beneath her veil, causing Terrance to hesitate. His face reddened, but he forged onward. “I leave the town house in London and an annual sum of ten thousand pounds on the stipulation that she remarry within five years of my death. During my wife’s natural life, as long as she remains unwed, she may reside at Willowbend should she desire to do so. Should she fail to marry within the stipulated time, the remainder of her bequest shall go to my daughter, Wilhelmina.”

  Marlene started to rise. Digby seized her arm and forced her back into the seat. He whispered furiously in her ear, and she remained seated.

  Terrance looked up over his spectacles. “May I continue?” he asked. No person objected. “To my daughter, Wilhelmina, I leave Willowbend and all my other monies and properties not assigned to other parties. She and her heirs are entitled to all the furnishings, livestock, slaves, rents, and other moneys accruing from these properties.”

  Marlene flung back her veil and surged to her feet. Her face turned a mottled hue of purple. “I protest this will!” She shook a fist at the solicitor. “'Tis a fraud, and I shall not abide it!” Digby tugged on the skirt of her dress but failed to quiet her.

  Terrance removed his spectacles and gazed at Marlene. “There is more, Lady Bellingham,” he said in a long-suffering voice. “If you will kindly be seated and allow me to continue.”

  Marlene huffed and directed an angry glare at the other faces turned her way. Flipping her veil back down, she lowered herself to the chair.

  Terrance sighed and donned his spectacles. “The bequest to my daughter, Wilhelmina, is contingent upon her arranged marriage as I have requested. Should Wilhelmina fail to marry Baron Montford before her twenty-first birthday, her bequest will revert to my wife, Marlene, considering that she is unmarried at that time. Should my wife marry before Wilhelmina turns twenty-one, the aforementioned bequest shall revert to my other two daughters, who will receive an equal share. Wilhelmina may reside at Willowbend for as long as she wishes, whether or not she marries as stated, and will receive an annual stipend in the amount of thirty thousand pounds for her own use.”

  The room held a deafening silence. Marlene got to her feet again. This time she spoke in a calm, icy voice. “The provisions of this will cannot be implemented as stated,” she said. “Baron Montford is dead.”

  A gasp resounded around the room.

  Terrance looked at her askance. “I beg your pardon?”

  Digby answered him without bothering to rise. “She means to say that Aidan Sinclair, Baron Montford, died last October, killed by a rebel patrol. The man who courted Wilhelmina is the baron’s half brother and an imposter. Therefore, Wilhelmina cannot possibly marry Aidan Sinclair. It will be impossible for her to satisfy the terms of the bequest.”

  “The facts are clear. Wilhelmina’s marriage to Baron Montford will never come about,” Marlene put in. “As I am now unmarried, I should receive the bequest meant for my stepdaughter, seeing as I have fulfilled my part.” She lifted her veil and threw a triumphant smile at Willa.

  Terrance looked more confounded than ever. “Well, I don’t know.” He glanced at his father. The old man slept with his mouth open, small snores and snorts issuing from the crevice.

  Willa stood. “Mister Alden, if I may address my stepmother’s concerns?”

  Terrance turned to her like a man grasping a lifeline. “Certainly, Miss Bellingham.”

  “My father’s will states that I must marry Baron Montford, is that not correct?”

  “Yes, yes it is.”

  “It has no stipulation saying I must marry Aidan Sinclair, does it?”

  “For God’s sake, whatever is your point?” Marlene shrieked. “Aidan Sinclair and Baron Montford are one and the same.”

  “Do shut up, Marlene,” Digby said and yanked her back down to her seat.

  Willa smiled and angled her body to face Marlene with an unwavering stare. “My point is, they are not one and the same. When Baron Montford died, another male relative inherited his title. Therefore ‘tis still possible for me to wed with Baron Montford. All I am required to do is find and marry him before I turn twenty-one. By my calculation, that allows me four years. And to receive your own bequest, Marlene, you must marry within five years. But I feel certain you will prefer to wait and see whether I can accomplish my somewhat daunting task. Should I manage to wed Baron Montford, then you will have only one year remaining in which to convince a man to marry you before the bequest expires.” Willa gave Marlene her shoulder and returned to Terrance. “Am I accurate in my assessment?”

  He granted her a wide smile. “Indeed, Miss Bellingham, I suspect you are.” He shook his father, who awoke with a start and a muttered, “Here, here,” and gathered up the papers of the will. “Should no one have any additional questions, we shall bid you good day. This is a trying time, and you will wish to be alone with family.”

  “I still protest that the will is a fraud,” Marlene cried. Digby grasped her by the upper arms and turned her toward him, speaking low and urgently. Marlene nodded and stood. She extended her hand to the solicitors. “Naturally, I am distraught by the death of my beloved husband, gentlemen. I pray you will forgive my outbursts.”

  Terrance bowed over her hand. “Of course, Lady Bellingham, I completely understand. Once again, if my father or I can be of additional assistance, please feel free to call upon us.”

  Digby’s hand on her arm brought her around, and the two departed.

  When Willa approached the solicitors, Terrance winked at her. “I always admired your powers of deduction but never more than now,” he said. “You bloody well put her in her place.”

  She went up on her toes, gave him a peck on the cheek, and did the same with the elder Alden. “Thank you, Terry. I vow I shall never allow that grasping viper and her paramour to gain from Papa’s death. I know he would have wanted me to keep his assets out of Marlene’s hands.”

  Terrance smiled. “You have the right of it as always. Colonel Bellingham used to speak of Marlene and her peccadilloes with less than affection. However, he could not leave her destitute. After all, she was his wife, and to snub her would cause talk that could harm your standing in the community. And he loved her despite her infidelity. So he guaranteed that Marlene received merely her just desserts.” A small frown formed between the brows on his amiable face. “You truly believe you have a chance of finding and wedding the new Baron Montford? What if he is still a child or already has a wife? How will you marry him then?”

  “I have no intention of marrying him,” she said, causing Terrance’s frown to grow.
“I was merely playing for time. And I have to tell you I gained a great deal of pleasure in thwarting Marlene’s grand plans. Should I ever marry, I expect I shall wed an American, not a British lord.”

  The solicitor looked taken aback.

  She patted his arm. “Now, dear Terry, you have no need look so appalled. I know you are British to the bone, as am I. But I find a certain charming appeal in this rough country and its courageous people. I have no desire to return to Britain and Society.”

  Willa mistook the young man’s expression. “You speak of Captain Brendan Ford, do you not?” he asked.

  Now it was her turn to look shocked. “How did you learn of Brendan?”

  “My father and I may be British, but not necessarily to the bone,” he said to her bemused look. Bowing, he exited the room with his father shuffling alongside.

  “Explain yourself. Why did you prevent me from challenging the will?” Marlene ripped off the veil, tossed it aside, and paced the study floor, her fists balanced on her slim hips.

  Digby collapsed into a wing chair and draped one leg over the chair arm. Lighting a cigar from the taper on the side table, he drew on it, releasing a stream of blue smoke. “It would avail you naught and draw attention to the fact that you loathe your stepdaughter and are greedy for your late husband’s wealth. We cannot afford an inquiry into Bellingham’s death.”

  Marlene halted by the bookcases. She patted her hair, which the veil had disordered, back into place. “How crass you are, Tom. This has naught to do with greed. I want only what is rightfully mine. And if you will recall, George is in the ground, communing with the worms. What can the authorities do now, for pity’s sake?”

  He flicked his ashes onto the expensive rug. “How did you dispose of the remainder of the poison?”

  “I secreted it in the garden shed.” Her gaze swiveled to his. “Why?”

  “And the bottle of laudanum?”

  She spread her hands. “I have no notion. I suppose ‘tis still in George’s bedchamber.”

  “Get it!” he said as he crushed out his cigar in a porcelain dish.

  She sailed out of the room with Digby following her. “Why are you so overset?” she asked while they ascended the stairs and negotiated the hall to her husband’s suite.

  “Willa is suspicious of her father’s death.”

  “Rubbish,” she retorted with a toss of her head. “She knows naught. She cannot harm us.”

  “I beg to differ, my dear.” His jaw was so tight, the words nearly vibrated. “Should she possess that bottle, she can cause us a great deal of mischief.”

  They entered the room. “The bottle is right there.” She pointed to the bedside table.

  The bottle was gone.

  When they retired to the study in silence, Digby closed the door to prevent their conversation from being overheard by Willa or the servants.

  “What now?” Marlene asked. She plopped down on the couch and sprawled her limbs in a suggestive manner.

  Frustration clawed at Digby’s throat. Marlene’s mind was on sex again, as it always seemed to be. She was insatiable. He desired to reap something more tangible from this relationship than pussy, regardless of how agreeable it was. And now he saw it all slipping away. After pouring a tumbler of strong whiskey, he sipped at it while he brooded over their dilemma, voicing his thoughts aloud. “We must prevent Wilhelmina from marrying Baron Montford, whoever he is, before she turns twenty-one. Should she be unable to find and wed him, all Bellingham’s assets revert to you.”

  “And all that lovely money will come to us,” she chimed in.

  He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Think, Marlene. Should we allow Wilhelmina to pursue her own sweet course, we may be obliged to wait for up to four years to collect. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but another four years of sitting about, dependent on your stepdaughter’s charity and biding one’s time, is hardly the path either of us desires to take.”

  She stretched with a sultry smile and slipped the bodice of her dress downward to reveal her breasts. “Speaking of desire—”

  Digby whirled and hurled the brandy glass against the fireplace brick. When he came back around, she recoiled from his angry look. “Christ, Marlene,” he roared. “Do keep your mind on the problem. At times I despair of your having any thoughts other than those concentrated in your cunt.”

  Her lips formed a pout, and she tugged on her dress until it covered her. “You have no need to fly into a panic. In point of fact, I cannot conceive of waiting that long. Should the bitch succeed, I end up with naught. Dare I ask what you suggest as an alternative?”

  He drove stiff fingers through his hair. “Damme. You stagger the imagination.” He stabbed her with a glare. “Let us understand each other. Time grows short. I trust you are convinced of the necessity to take action with all possible haste. As I see it, we must thwart Willa’s efforts permanently and put a period to her wedding any man.”

  “I concede your point.” She licked her lips and wagged a finger at him. “For shame, Tom. You do believe we should arrange for poor Wilhelmina’s accident sooner rather than later.”

  “Exactly,” he said and began to disrobe with a lack of haste that brought a moue to settle on Marlene’s lips. “The sooner the better.”

  Chapter 30

  Brendan Ford’s escape from the Georgetown garrison and Francis Marion’s continual raiding in eastern Carolina spurred fury and action among the British in February of 1781. Incensed by his inability to capture or contain the rebel general, Lord Francis Rawdon, who assumed the position as field commander of the King’s forces after the departure of Cornwallis, launched a campaign to scrape the wily Swamp Fox from Britain’s hide for good. He sent out Lieutenant Colonel John Watson with five hundred Tories, “for the purpose of dispersing the plunderers that infest the eastern frontier.”

  While Watson prepared to hunt Marion, Thomas Sumter called on the Swamp Fox to join him in an attack on Fort Granby. Marion decamped to connect with Sumter and left Captain Ford in North Carolina under Plato’s care. The captain had come close to death during the harrowing ride from Georgetown to a safe refuge in the Great White Swamp, but due to Plato’s skills and knowledge of Indian medicine, he pulled through and was on the mend. He voiced his frustration at Marion’s decision to leave him behind, complying only out of respect for his commander and vowing to join the fight again as soon as he was capable of sitting upon a horse.

  Marion missed linking up with Sumter. By the time overwhelming odds forced Sumter to withdraw from Fort Granby, Watson took up his commission to rid the state of the Swamp Fox. Marion received no word of Sumter’s retreat and was traveling to the rendezvous when he learned of Watson’s approach and intentions. Marion knew the coming fight would prove decisive. Colonel Watson was Britain’s attempt to destroy, once and for all, the deepest pocket of patriot resistance. Marion’s men had no hope of reinforcements. The fighting would be bloody and man-to-man. Conflict had never daunted Marion, and now he rode head-on and ordered his troops to stage an ambush for Watson’s troops. After killing twenty Tories and Watson’s horse, Marion retreated. By the standards with which generals judged battles in the guerrilla war, Marion had bested Watson and won the day.

  Watson and Marion met again at Mount Hope Swamp and once more at the Sampit River nine miles from Georgetown. When Marion fell upon Watson’s troops and sent them fleeing, Watson said with bitterness, “Marion and his men will not sleep and fight like gentlemen, but like savages, are eternally firing and whooping around us by night, and by day, waylaying and popping at us from behind every tree!”

  Then calamity struck. Colonel Doyle and the New York volunteers discovered and captured Snow Island while Marion was sparring with Watson. The Tories crossed to the island after a bloody exchange of fire, and Colonel Ervin retreated with no time to spare, leaving the worst of the wounded partisans behind. Marion heard of the attack and rushed to Snow Island. Along the way, his large force melted away, one by one, the unprofess
ional soldiers drawn to their farms, crops, and families. Marion had only seventy men left in his brigade by the time he reached the island.

  Marion viewed with dismay the destruction of the camp. Doyle had destroyed his horde of supplies, which had taken so much effort and time to accumulate through raids and forays. And the island no longer provided a safe refuge. Marion led his men from Snow Island in search of Doyle to punish him for the sacrilege he had committed.

  Willa bought back Jwana from James Broom immediately after the reading of the will. True to her word, Carrie Broom had employed Jwana as her personal maid and kept her from harm. Her eyes watery, Willa hugged Jwana. “I dared not fetch you until I could be quite certain it was safe,” she sobbed.

  Jwana stroked Willa’s hair. “It be a’right,” she crooned. “Miss Carrie been real good ta me, an’ I knows you be bringin’ me home.”

  When they retired to Willa’s bedchamber, Willa apprised Jwana of Colonel Bellingham’s will. “Papa freed you to go wherever you wish and do whatever you want.”

  Jwana gave Willa a look tinged with hurt. “Why I be leavin’ you an’ gonna live anyplace ‘cept Willowbend? You be wantin’ me ta go?”

  Willa clasped the older woman’s hands. “Not so; not in the least. I want you to remain with me … as a paid servant not a slave. I was merely thinking of after the war when Plato returns. With the money Papa left you and Plato, you can marry and buy your own farm should that be your desire.”

  Jwana sniffed and walked away to the chest-on-chest to tidy the cluttered items on its top. “Now why you be thinkin’ I wants ta marry dat half-wild black Injun? An’ even if’n I did, I ain’t goin’ nowhere till I see you birth dat child you be carryin'.”

  Willa glanced down at her belly to where its slight bulge hid behind the fullness of her skirt. “How did you know?”

  Jwana huffed, looking up from her housekeeping efforts. “You be thinkin’ I can’ tell when ma child’s gonna have a baby? I done seen it in yur bright eyes an’ de glow on yur face. An’ dat dress, it be near burstin’ at de seams ‘cross yur bosom. Dat baby be as plain as dem spots on yur horse’s hide, if’n you knows wot ta look fer.”