by Denise Daye
An Outlawed Heiress
&
Her Duke
Denise Daye
DEDICATION
For the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde
I loved working for you! Thank you for being nothing but kind to me and for teaching me about your beautiful culture…
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
A Few Notes of Interest
The Jicarilla Apache
Street Arabs of New York
The Brunot Agreement
Thank you!
The Series
About the Author
Chapter 1
D eath is never easy. Whether it happens for the first, or the thousandth time. Death is death, and it is painful every single time for the ones who are left behind. For Esther, this was the second painful death in her life. Both of her parents were now gone, forever.
She grasped her father’s cold hand against her soft, wet cheek as if it would bring back the warmth into him. Her tears were now gentle, a strong contrast to hours ago, when they ran down her cheeks like an angry thunderstorm full of despair that had lost all hope.
“Come now child, let him go with God,” she heard Father Pilgram say in a kind voice. But Esther couldn’t. Just a little longer, she said to herself. Let me hold him just a little longer. It broke her heart, more than it had when her mother passed away. Not because she didn’t love her mother as much; she probably loved her even more, but she was still so young when she'd passed away. All she had left of her were a few memories.
Her father had tried hard to make up for the loss of a mother at such a young age. He spent every moment he could with Esther. No dollar was ever spared when it came down to his little pumpkin. No man could have spoiled or loved a child more dearly than Cliff Silverton had loved his little girl. And now he was no more. If it wasn’t for the doctor announcing his death shortly before midnight, Esther could almost make herself believe that he was in fact just resting. He looked so peaceful—as if he was just taking a nap, like he did so often after a tiring work trip.
“Esther, Father Pilgram is right. It’s time,” Morris said in a supposedly intended sad tone, resting a hand on her shoulder. She jerked up, almost furious, shaking it off. If it wasn't for the presence of the doctor and Father Pilgram, she would have swatted it off like a fly. How dare he play the grieving friend now! She had sent for him yesterday evening, just as her father had wished, but Morris didn’t grace her dying father with his presence long until after he had already passed, his disproportionate, portly body stinking of cheap parfum and whiskey.
The doctor, an older man with a long, gaunt face and small glasses, exchanged confused looks with Father Pilgram. But Esther didn’t care and threw Morris another hateful glare with her fiery eyes. If it was up to her, she would have asked Morris to leave, get out, to never come back… But this was her father’s deathbed, not the place to make a scene, no matter how much she hated him.
“Yes, Morris, thank you,” her voice trembled, trying to sound as calm as possible.
And like so often in her tragic life full of death, Esther Silverton gathered all her strength once more and let go of her father’s hand, gently placing it back onto the silk cover next to his chest with a faint smile on her lips that said nothing short of goodbye, from the bottom of her heart, with all the love she had.
“Why don’t you go rest some now, Pumpkin, I shall arrange everything from here on,” Morris tried to provoke her. He knew how much she hated it when he called her by the name her beloved father had given her when she was still knee high to a bumblebee. She ignored him, turned her gaze back to her father. At least that way she didn’t have to look at the despicable man who in his heart had been waiting for this very moment every morning when he opened his eyes to greet the world.
Morris was her father’s business partner who had been at his side since before she was even born. And if it wasn’t for his gambling problems and terrible ways with money, Esther might count herself lucky to have a friend like him in times like these. But Morris was no man to count on. He was no friend in times like these. Every dime Morris would make at her father’s side went into whoring, gambling, drinking and every other despicable activity a man could possibly find in New York—and there were plenty. Her father was too kindhearted to see Morris for what he truly was. ‘He will find his way,’ he would always tell Esther after paying another gambling debt for Morris, fondly thinking back to the time when the two of them, barely old enough to grow a beard, had spent every cent they owned to buy a run-down cattle farm in Texas. The deal was too good to be true, and that is what it was, too good to be true.
The hundreds of acres of land they bought were known to every person in town as dead valley. Nothing ever grew on that land, and nothing ever would. But what at first seemed like the biggest scam in local history had turned out to be a fairytale. This dirt-dry piece of land that some said they wouldn’t even take for free turned out to sit on the biggest oil deposit in the state of Texas. Overnight, her father and Morris became wealthy beyond belief. Her father, who was too poor to buy his childhood sweetheart a coach ticket to join him in Texas, was now rich enough to build his own railroad right into the town that was now renamed Oilton. But unlike Morris, her honorable father was no man who would throw himself into expensive clothes, women, and houses. No, he re-invested his money, married the love of his life, and lived a quiet and peaceful life. This American dream unfortunately never came to life for Morris, who changed from a humble country boy into a despicable monster.
Esther shook her head in disbelief. Her beloved father was really gone now. For months he had suffered from a chronic, mild case of the new disease called appendicitis, so he’d decided to send for a famous English surgeon from London. But like countless times before, the Silverton curse struck again, and what was a mild case for months turned into acute appendicitis just at the moment they’d received a letter from the famous surgeon, Dr. Tait, saying that he would accept the ridiculously generous amount of money offered to him by Cliff and was already on his way to America.
“Miss Esther,” the familiar voice of Ginny whispered from behind the door, as if she knew it was bad timing but thought it was still important enough to knock.
“What is it, Ginny?” Morris hissed at her, swinging the door open. “Can’t you spare us your insufferable impertinence even in the face of death?”
Ginny was close to bursting into tears when Esther rushed to her rescue, but too late: the tears started rolling. She shoved Morris aside and took over control of the door. Ginny glanced quickly over to the bed where Cliff lay and shook her head, frantically wiping her tears away.
“I’m sorry Miss… I—I’m sorry for being dull-witted again…”
Esther gently placed her hand on Ginny’s shoulder. Ashamed of how Morris mistreated the poor servants at every chance he got, she tried to control the damage as well as she could. “Ginny, don’t say such things. My father cared deeply for you and he would not approve of you or anybody else calling you such.” Esther threw Morris a condescending glance before drawing her eyes back to Ginny, who still couldn’t get a hold of her tears and made a pitiful attempt to nod. It was obvious how much she and the other staff had cared for Cliff Silverton, a man whose kindness made them feel like they were part of the family.
She used her maid’s apron to wipe her face dry. “It’s the doctor. Lawson Tait. He just arrived asking for the master of the house.”
Esther nodded with a sad smile on her face. Once again, her mind was drawn back into thoughts about the Silverton curse. Her father was barely cold when his last and only hope had arrived all the way from London. Esther shook her head, pulling her thoughts back to face the tormenting world she now had to call reality.
“Of course. Please tell him to wait in the drawing room.” She’d barely got the words out when Morris squeezed past her and stepped out into the hallway next to Ginny. “I will take care of—”
“No need,” Esther interrupted him. If he thought he would take over the house, he was wrong. For a second, just long enough to notice, Morris clenched his jaw in anger before instantly fading into a fake smile once more.
“I will take care of the announcement then. The company has to be notified.” He straightened his vest and disappeared before Esther could say another word.
Ginny followed him with wary eyes before redirecting them carefully back to Esther, not sure what to make of this.
“It’s ok, Ginny. Go now and inform Dr. Tait that I will be right with him.” Ginny gave a curious nod before hastening over the red rugs downstairs.
Esther re-entered her father’s bedroom. The heavy curtains were drawn shut, letting in only the slightest amount of daylight to witness her father sleep forever. The gas lamps mounted on the walls gave the room a suffocating, gloomy feel. Esther looked over to her father, sensing that painful knot in her throat again that would turn her legs into a puddle. She clenched her fists as hard as she could as the blood between her palms turned warm, to avoid the storm of tears that would otherwise run down her cheeks. It worked, barely, and she was able to face father Pilgram without having another breakdown. He walked up to her the moment their eyes met.
“My dear Child, I will make the necessary preparations.” He gently caressed her hand. Were those tears she saw in his eyes? “Your father was a dear friend and it would be an honor for me to organize his last farewell.”
Esther nodded. Neither her father nor Esther were deeply religious, but Father Pilgram was the man who had baptized her and had been there for her family through every occurrence of death—and there were plenty if you counted grandparents and aunts. Father Pilgram squeezed her hand for one last time, before signaling the doctor to leave.
For the first time in hours, she was alone with her father. Esther wanted to walk over to him, to hold his hand, to whisper her last words into his ear, that it mayhap wake him from his slumber after all, to tell him that she loved him and always would, when she heard Ginny’s distressed voice shout from below.
“But the Miss said she would—”
“Mind your place, woman!” Morris yelled back at her in rage.
That painful knot in her throat turned to anger. There would be no time to say goodbye to her father. Morris would not allow it. And if she knew this man as well as she was certain she did, shouting at servants and pretending to be in charge of the house would be the least that Esther had to fear from him. There was an oil empire to inherit and although her father’s will was as clear as crystal broth, Morris would never get a better shot at taking over the company as he would now. And to give her even more of a headache, her family’s longtime friend and lawyer Douglas Jones was away on some urgent matters somewhere in New Mexico. He had agreed to lead talks between the Jicarilla Apache Natives and the US government regarding their lands. It was supposed to be four weeks at the most but had now turned into months. He might not even have received her last letter informing him about the horrible condition his longtime friend had had to endure.
Taking a deep breath, she faced the mirror that stood next to her father’s dresser. She looked awful. Her chestnut brown hair that was supposed to be combed into a tight bun hung loosely next to her face. Her usually passionate caramel brown eyes looked dull and swollen from crying. And her fine nose that made her the beauty she was famous for, was red with snot running down from it. At least her lips were as red as crimson from biting them too much, making them look as if she wore lipstick. Tying her hair back into a tight bun, she caught a glimpse of her father’s bed in the mirror. The burning sensation of tears was creeping up again when she heard Morris’ insufferable voice from the distance again.
“Ah, Doctor Tait! What an honor,” he touted, acting as if it was his house.
Anger replaced the tears that were about to roll down her face. She slapped both cheeks gently as an encouragement to get ready for battle. Morris’ antics needed to end now. “Don’t worry about me father, I’m a Silverton,” she whispered loud enough for her father to hear.
Robbed of the tender last moments she wanted to spend with him, she firmly closed the door behind herself, a mixture of sadness, anger, and determination written all over her face. If Morris thought that the death he had prayed for for so many years would finally place the Silverton company into his hands, then she would not only prove this man wrong, but she would also do so with a bang as loud as cannon fire. It was time to set things straight. It was time to take her place as the last remaining Silverton and make her father proud from wherever he was watching.
With long, confident strides, she descended the stairs and made her way through the enormous entrance hall that led to the drawing room, passing a few servants whispering at each other in excited anticipation of what was to come. The marble under her feet trembled, echoing after every step as if to scream out her anger in her stead. Ginny was about to carry in a tray of tea and cake when Esther gestured her to take it back. She understood instantly and threw Esther a proud smile that said, this is your home, go show him.
Esther swung open the door to the drawing room, almost banging it against the wall. Morris, and a chubby, dark-haired man in his thirties, jerked toward her in surprise. Both men stood next to the marble fireplace in between two golden painted silk couches that glistened under the warm dancing flames of the fire. Wide overarching crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, flickering like stars. Rich and long draperies covered towering windows that overlooked the estate—the biggest in New York City. Nothing in this house was less than the best and finest, a habit Cliff Silverton had acquired after the death of his beloved wife to spoil his daughter, who surprisingly had turned out kindhearted and selfless and to his dismay, did not care for such things at all. Not even moving her from her childhood ranch in Texas to the high society of New York could change that, and at some point, he finally gave up and let her be the independent, strong-willed woman she wanted to be.
“Doctor Tait! Thank you for making the long and tiring journey all the way from England. Welcome to my home,” she said confidently, walking toward him with her hand outstretched for a handshake. Doctor Tait glanced over to Morris for a brief, lost moment but then walked toward Esther to meet her in the middle of the room.
“Miss Silverton, I’ve just heard. My deepest condolences,” Dr. Tait said, taking her hand into his instead of shaking it. He squeezed it with the strong touch of honest sympathy. “I did not waste any time after I received your father’s letter, but as it seems, I am too late…” He stared down at the floor, almost as if he felt ashamed.
“Please, don’t apologize. I thank you for coming,” Esther said, slowly letting go of his hand.
Dr. Tait shook his head, still avoiding eye contact. “Of course, I shall not charge for this journey.”
Ester was about to say something, but Morris now stepped closer, nodding in agreement.
“How very honorable of you,” he said, crossing his arms. And there it was. Morris’ first public outing of handling the Silverton fortune as if it were his now. What made him think he had any say in how and where her money would be spent?
“Honorable indeed, but my father would have wanted you to receive every penny of what was promised. You crossed an ocean for the Silvertons, and a Silverton always keeps his—” Esther pau
sed, feeling the weight of her words. It wasn’t his word any longer. It fell on her now to continue the family’s honor. “A Silverton always keeps her word,” she finished, throwing Morris a quick sidelong glance. Was he biting his lip in anger? Good.
Dr. Tait seemed to be thinking about her generous offer, then grabbed her hand and shook it strongly as a sign of gratefulness.
“I thank you deeply. The money would be greatly needed at our hospital to continue the study of this terrible disease that has claimed so many lives.” For the first time that day, Esther was able to feel the slightest bit of joy. To think of the money having such a purpose filled her with a feeling of deep satisfaction.
“How very fitting for this sad occasion,” she said, squeezing the doctor’s hand for a last time. “Well why not double it?” she added with a smile. She heard Morris gasp from the corner.
“Are you certain? The amount would be…unheard of!” Dr. Tait asked with wide-opened eyes.
“It would be my honor,” Esther confirmed her offer to be genuine. The doctor’s face sparkled with gratitude as he bowed deeply in front of Esther.
“Miss,” Ginny knocked at the door, opening it carefully. “Sorry for the intrusion, but there's a gentleman here.”
Esther turned to Ginny, her brows closely drawn together. “Who is it?”
Ginny shook her head. “Not sure, Miss, but he says he is a lawyer and here on urgent business.”
“Jones!” She felt her heart skip a beat. Talking about family friends when they are needed. Jones had been the Silvertons’ lawyer for as long as Esther could remember. He was as loyal as he was smart. There was no doubt in her mind that he would help her remove Morris from her home and make certain that he would never see a penny of the Silverton fortune ever again. Jones hated Morris as much as she did, if not more. But just like Esther, he was never able to get through to her goodhearted father who always saw the best in Morris, and to her dismay, never the worst, even though it was glaringly obvious.
