by Lora Thomas
“I see.” Did she sound disappointed? “Where have you been staying while here?”
“My mother has an estate close by.”
“Who is your mother? Wait. I would not know. I have been away from Swindon for so long, I fear I do not know anyone here anymore.”
“And how long have you been away, Miss Wilcox?” Thomas asked.
“Six years.”
Thomas pulled back on the reins of the horse, stopping the animal.
“Why are we stopping?” Catrina asked.
Thomas dismounted. “We are near your home. As I said earlier, I do not wish to be found in an inappropriate state with you. I cannot have your reputation ruined simply because I was riding behind you.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course. We cannot have that. I mean, we just met and all.” She flinched. She was babbling again.
Thomas led the horse through the gates to Windy Ridge. Catrina’s eyes were not on her home but the man leading the horse. There was an arrogance about him. It should make her loathe him, but instead, she found it intriguing. She knew lords possessed arrogance, yet he came off more as self-confident and not self-righteous. His overcoat was well-tailored and showed off his athletic physique. He was a fine specimen to behold.
“Was your brother expecting you?” Thomas asked, approaching the home.
“No.”
“I figured as much,” Thomas answered when he noticed the lack of servants present out front. If Catrina were his sister, he would have prepared for her arrival by having footmen present and someone watching for her carriage.
“Why do you say that?” Catrina asked, annoyance in her tone. Her eyes went to her childhood home. It was a two-story gray stone structure with black shutters and a black roof. A few hawthorn bushes were around the home, along with several tall oaks, but no other plants. No colorful flowers. No flowering shrubs. In her youth, she found her home grand. Now it seemed cold and aloof.
Thomas stopped the horse at the tall steps leading to the front door. The door suddenly opened.
“Catrina?” she heard Branson say.
She turned to spy her brother standing in the threshold. He had not changed since her last visit. His blond hair was still short. He still possessed the same thin frame and sallow complexion from spending all his time indoors. And his blue eyes still held the same cold contempt they did each time he saw her.
“Hello, Branson,” Catrina said.
“Where is your coach?” Branson asked, descending the steps. “Whose horse is that?”
Thomas purposely kept himself hidden behind the horse. He reached upwards and took hold of Catrina’s waist, aiding her to the ground.
“Thank you, Lord Huntsley,” Catrina said.
“Huntsley?” Branson repeated, stopping at the last step.
Thomas stepped around his horse and nodded his head. “Wilcox.”
Branson looked between his sister and worst enemy. “Catrina, why are you with him?”
“Branson!” Catrina protested. “Is that any way to address the man who aided me in my time of need?”
“Time of need?” Branson repeated.
“Her carriage became damaged,” Thomas supplied.
Branson addressed Thomas with disdain, “So you, being the gentleman you are, took it upon yourself to see her home without a proper chaperone?”
“Branson,” Catrina said again. “Lord Huntsley has been nothing but a gentleman since he rescued me.”
“Catrina, I need more of an explanation,” Branson growled.
“My carriage became damaged. I took a walk. A man tried to take me. I ran and twisted my ankle. Lord Huntsley stopped him and brought me home for medical treatment.”
“I see,” Branson bit out. With distaste, he addressed Thomas, “Thank you for your assistance with my sister, Lord Huntsley.”
“My pleasure,” Thomas replied with equal contempt.
Catrina went to take a step but stopped. “I need assistance in walking, Branson.”
“Winston!” Branson yelled to a servant at the door. “See to my sister.”
“Very good, Mr. Wilcox,” the servant answered.
Thomas watched the elderly man climb down the steps. A frustrated growl left him. Wilcox was an ass. There was no way the servant could help Catrina up all those steps, and it appeared that Branson was not even going to try. Before Thomas could convince himself of the folly of his actions, he scooped Catrina up in his arms.
“Lord Huntsley!” Catrina protested.
“I know. Highly improper,” Thomas mumbled.
“Here now! Put her down,” Branson ordered.
“She cannot climb the steps by herself, and your man is not physically capable of assisting her. Since you seem inclined not to aid her, someone needs to.” Thomas began climbing the steps.
Catrina placed her arms around his neck to aid in her balance. She glanced down at her brother and noticed the fury upon his features. She smiled weakly at him, but deep down, she was enjoying the feel of Thomas’s grasp upon her.
Winston held the door open as Thomas carried her inside.
“Where should I take you?” Thomas asked her.
She motioned her head down the hall. “The second room on the left.”
Thomas carried her to the room. It was large. Several settees were scattered about along with wingback chairs and a pianoforte. Thomas placed her down upon one of the settees. He stood and gazed down at her.
She smiled bashfully.
“Good day, Miss Wilcox,” Thomas coolly replied, bowing.
“Thank you for your assistance, Lord Huntsley,” Catrina said.
He turned and left.
“Call for the physician,” Thomas ordered the servant. “Miss Wilcox’s ankle needs attention.”
“Yes, my lord,” Winston answered.
Thomas’s footsteps echoed around the room as he left. She laid her head upon the arm of the settee and closed her eyes. Elena would never believe this!
She could hear Thomas’s horse race away from her home.
“How did you meet that man, Catrina?” Branson demanded from the doorway.
“I told you, brother.”
“But why him? Of all the people in Swindon, how did you encounter Thomas Summers?”
“What is so wrong with Lord Huntsley?”
Branson sat down in the red leather chair beside her. A maniacal laugh caused his chest to shake. “What isn’t wrong with him? He’s arrogant. Coming to my home and ordering my servants about like they are his own. The lot of his kind. Arrogant and demeaning to us all.”
Catrina raised her head and stared at her brother. There was a change to him. Almost angry. Vengeful.
“His mother is Josephine Montgomery. Did he tell you that?”
Catrina shook her head. “He never mention—”
“Of course, he wouldn’t. He could not have that vile woman’s name tainting his title, could he?”
“I’m not following, Branson.”
“Allow me to enlighten you. He is the stepson of Richard Montgomery.”
“As in the Montgomerys?”
“Of course, you simpleton. What other Montgomerys are there?”
“You do not have to be so rude, brother.”
Branson gave Catrina a disgusted look. “Why are you here?”
“This is my home. Or have you forgotten that? You seem to forget to write to me.”
Branson snorted and stood. He approached a cabinet and picked up the decanter of brandy. Pouring an ample amount of the liquid into a crystal goblet, he took a long drink before turning to address her.
“You needn’t remind me of our relation, sister. You have reminded me every summer for the past six years.”
“Would it have hurt you to send me a simple ‘hello’?”
Branson sneered at his sister. “Why? You are a grown woman. I needn’t write you a heartfelt correspondence for you to know that nothing has changed around here since you left.”
She snorted. “No, I gues
s not.”
A tightness of betrayal settled in her chest. She should have known that Branson would not have changed.
“Did you expect it to?” Branson asked, with hatred. “Mother and Father are still dead. It is still your fault that they died.”
“My fault?! I had nothing to do with their coach going over that ravine.”
“Yes, you did. If you had not gotten hurt, then they would have never left the Suttons’ ball. The coachman would have never run the horses as hard or as fast as he had. Their coach would have never skidded over into that ravine, killing them.”
“I did not tell them to come home. The servants were the ones to notify them—”
Branson waved his hand and interrupted her. “Yes, yes, I heard it all before. It was not your fault that you fell into the well. It was not your fault that you hit your head. It was not your fault that you were rendered unconscious from the fall.”
“I was just a child, Branson! Only ten years old.”
“And you are the cause of their deaths.”
Tears misted her eyes. How many times had they had this same argument? How many times had she defended herself? Her hand instinctively went to the scar running along her hairline…a constant reminder of that day. She had been playing at the well. Tossing pebbles inside and pretending to make wishes. The ground under her feet gave way, sending her falling into the well. By sheer grace, one of the servants spotted what happened and pulled her from the water before she drowned. Someone sent word to her parents about what happened. They left the soiree to return home. Their coach slid over a ravine, killing both her parents, the footman, and the horses. The coachman, Mr. Wilkerson, managed to survive by jumping from his seat just before the carriage careened over the cliff. It was several hours later before anyone found the coach. On the other hand, Mr. Wilkerson went missing for several days before returning, claiming no memory of what happened.
Over the years, Catrina had stopped blaming herself for her parents’ death. She now placed the blame on Mr. Wilkerson. Catrina could not help but think he had been drunk at the time. Whenever she voiced her theory to her brother, he waved away her conclusion and would ship her off to school again.
“Yes, yes. I am the evil daughter,” Catrina bitterly replied, fighting the shaking of her voice.
A knock on the door stopped their argument.
“The physician is here, Mr. Wilcox,” Winston announced.
Branson gave his sister one more heated look. “Have Dr. Coke see to my sister. She is in such pain that she is near tears.”
Branson downed his drink and stormed out of the room.
Catrina closed her eyes and resisted the urge to shout obscenities at her brother. How she hated him. Hated what he had become.
“Miss Wilcox?” Dr. Coke said, approaching.
She swallowed and forced a smile to her lips. “Hello, Dr. Coke. I seem to have hurt my ankle. Be a dear and take a look at it.”
“When did you return home, Miss Wilcox?”
“Today.”
“What happened to your leg?” Dr. Coke sat down beside her and opened his black bag.
“I took a walk and twisted my ankle,” Catrina answered. She had no desire to tell the good doctor about all the events. She was too angry. Her brother infuriated her. Instead, she extended her foot out. Dr. Coke removed her boot and examined her foot.
“Nothing more than a strain, Miss Wilcox. A few days rest is all you need.”
“Splendid. I have much to do before I leave.”
“Leave? I was under the impression you had just returned home.”
“I have. I will be traveling to Eden in a few weeks.”
“Eden? I am surprised your brother has agreed to take you. He detests the sea.”
“He hasn’t. I will be taking a holiday with a dear friend of mine, Elena Paxsley. Her mother has invited me to go with them.”
Mr. Coke smiled. “Splendid. Sea air is wonderful for one’s health.”
“I truly hope so.”
Chapter Three
Branson paced the floor in his study. His angry steps echoed around the room. How dare Huntsley show himself upon Wilcox lands? How dare he presume to act as though he owns Windy Ridge? How dare Huntsley act as though he has done Branson a favor by aiding Catrina?
Huntsley was just as arrogant and irritating as his mother, Josephine Montgomery. Josephine thought she was superior to the others in Swindon simply because she was the widow of a viscount, Timothy Summers, and now a wealthy landowner. Timothy Summers died after a boating accident seven years ago. Josephine wanted more than the allowance granted to her by her son and the meager inheritance the viscount left her. Hence, she sought to find her independence by marrying Branson’s distant cousin, Richard Montgomery. Montgomery might not have titles, but he had riches, lands, and no children. How convenient. The very wealthy Montgomery died after four years of marriage, leaving all his family’s wealth and properties to Josephine…ironic.
Branson learned of his family’s connection to Montgomery just days before his parents’ deaths. Since that time, he had tried to come up with every reason imaginable as to why he should have control of Montgomery’s money and lands. Then last year, Branson discovered the possibility of copper running along the borders of Wilcox and Montgomery land. It was by accident. Branson had an argument with one of his tenants over lack of payment. It turned violent and Branson accidentally killed the man. If the authorities were called in, he knew it would be a messy situation. So instead, he decided to cover up the accident and bury the man. He was digging the grave to dispose of the troublesome man when he spotted the vein. Upon finding the vein, his glee was quickly vanquished when he discovered it ran directly onto Montgomery’s land. He tried to schedule meetings with Montgomery, but the old man would not hear of it. Each correspondence Branson sent was returned with adamant refusal. And as luck would have it, the day he decided to pay an unannounced visit, old man Montgomery died.
Now the old hag had control of all the Montgomery lands. It was not fair! Branson was one of the few blood relatives of Montgomery! Those lands and riches should have come to him, not that shrew Josephine. Every time Branson thought he had a reason why Montgomery’s wealth should come to him, the lawyers would counter his argument with one of their own. Each idea he had met with no success. It seemed that Montgomery’s will was unbreakable. Deciding the legal route was not an option, he knew what he had to do. He had to turn his charm on the crotchety old widow.
Branson tried to schedule meetings with Josephine, hoping to convince her to see that she should not have Montgomery’s land. Each time, Josephine refused to see him. And Thomas? Well, he was just as arrogant as Josephine. He refused to even set up a meeting about the inheritance. Branson did not know why Thomas was so adamant about not meeting with him. They had only met a handful of times, although Branson was not the most hospitable towards Huntsley during those meetings. How could he be? Huntsley had everything Branson wanted. Power. Riches. Land. Women. No siblings. Everything.
And now? Now Branson was saddled with his sister. It was not fair. He was only seventeen when their parents died. He should have gotten to sow his wild oats, not be burdened with a little sister. The thorn in his side…that is until he found her a husband. That notion did not sit well with him either, for Catrina had a substantial dowry and inheritance. He did not like the thought of handing over twenty thousand pounds and five hundred acres to whatever dandy she was to wed. But being her guardian, it would be up to him to find her a suitable husband. He had been putting it off, hoping she would either run away or die.
Instead, she developed into a formidable opponent. She was independent. Always had been. Their mother encouraged it. So, he purposely sent her to seminary schools. Poorly trained individuals ran most. He had hoped that the uneducated teachers’ stupidity would rub off on Catrina…it did not. She was smarter than her teachers. And when illness struck the seminary, Branson’s hope soared. Surely Catrina would die from th
e fever and putrid throat. Instead, she seemed immune to the sickness and aided in caring for those who had taken ill. After Catrina finished one school, he sent her to another. Upon completing the second school, he decided she needed a stricter approach, so he sent her to Miss Eddy’s. He was hoping Miss Eddy’s rigorous training and discipline would drive her away. It only made her stronger. And now? Now the thorn in his side had returned, having successfully completed her training…again…and now too old to attend another.
“Who would be a suitable match for her?” Branson mused aloud. “Who?” He approached the window and looked outward. It had to be someone unappealing. Perhaps even a little firm-handed. Someone who would make her life as miserable as she had made his. Too bad Josephine Montgomery was a woman. That would only serve Catrina right. To have that old shrew for a spouse. But, alas, that was not possible.
“But Mr. Hector might be a wise choice.” Branson smiled.
Mr. Hector was their neighbor. He was old and senile. He was always ranting about a witch living in his cellar. He would even sometimes mistake his staff for the witch and attack them. Perhaps he would do the same to Catrina. An evil sneer pulled Branson’s lips. Or perhaps, after Catrina wed Hector, he would tell the old man that Catrina was the witch. Hector would kill Catrina.
Branson frowned. The only issue would be that Hector had children who would interfere on their father’s behalf and insist that Hector keep Catrina’s money. Not that Branson could blame them. It would mean that their inheritance would substantially increase upon the crazy man’s death. He shook his head. He could not allow that. There had to be a way for him to get to keep Catrina’s money. There just had to be.
A knock at the door disrupted Branson’s thoughts.
“Enter!” Branson ordered.
Dr. Coke entered. He was an unassuming man of average height and build with a receding hairline and a bulbous nose.
“Mr. Wilcox,” Dr. Coke said in greeting.
Branson gave a polite nod of his head. “How is my sister?” he asked, not really caring but knowing he had to come off as the loving brother.
