Secrets in Mourning

  Secrets in Mourning

  By

  Janelle Daniels

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Secrets in Mourning

  Copyright © 2012 by Janelle Daniels

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 1

  London, 1836

  The wedding breakfast would have been a success if the groom hadn’t slumped over and died.

  The bride, the former Lady Victoria Haveston, had looked all that was fashionable in her white silk and lace overlay gown, opting for smooth, clean lines instead of a ruffled mess that detracted from her generous curves. The late Duke of Norwich, spry and youthful despite his seventy-one years, exuded the grace and dignity his station required. At the table, he remained poised until the moment he slid soundlessly to the side of his chair, falling gradually to the floor as any gentleman should, instead of drowning in his bowl of spiced vegetable soup.

  Victoria sighed, calmly looking to one of the servants. “Please fetch a doctor,” she said, her voice monotonal. Only one quick look was given to the man whom she had pledged herself to a few short hours before.

  That evening, already fitted in a jet gown, the cut a touch too provocative for a grieving widow, Victoria sat beside her brother, waiting for the Duke’s solicitor to arrive for the reading of the will.

  “Are you feeling well?” her brother, Derek Haveston, Viscount Lawrence, asked her quietly.

  She shrugged her delicate shoulders, causing the bunch of midnight curls caressing her neck to bounce with the movement. “Of course, Derek. It’s not as if I actually grieve for the poor man.”

  “He was your husband, Victoria. If only for a few hours,” he scolded softly. His deep blue eyes, the same shade as her own, bore into hers.

  “A few hours too long in my opinion. I should have never agreed to marry him. A fact which I would have changed if possible,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, well, try to make the pretense. He was a good man that had lived a full life.”

  She acknowledged her brother’s words with a curt nod. She wasn’t completely unfeeling.

  The old Duke had been a gentleman to her, assuring her that he would not take any liberties until she was ready. Just the thought of it made her cringe.

  But he had never been unkind to her. He had allowed her to continue on, flirting and attracting the attention of other men, regardless of their engagement. He hadn’t been under the illusion that she loved him, and he hadn’t been in love with her. He was lonely, he had told her. He wanted the companionship of a beautiful woman, and was happy to make her a duchess in return for that service.

  Heart tugging in her chest, she tried to force the feeling away. She could have been more attentive to him during their engagement, but once she had realized her mistake in accepting his proposal, she had tried to run away from it all, escape for just a bit before her fate was sealed in wedlock.

  She hadn’t known how long her life would be tied to his, but never in her imagination did she envision that it would be for less than a day.

  And now here she was, dressed in black, a widow, waiting to hear what the departed Duke had left her.

  “I apologize for my tardiness.” An older man dressed in a black suit and wilting cravat entered, sifting through a stack of papers in his hand. “I am Mr. Beckett, the late Duke’s solicitor.”

  “Thank you for coming.” Her brother stood and shook the man’s free hand, clearly surprising the public servant. It wasn’t often that a member of the peerage stooped down to his level.

  “Yes, well, it is a duty that must be done.” The balding man turned his attention to Victoria. “Let me offer my condolences. He was a great man.”

  “Thank you.” Victoria nodded in agreement, suddenly wishing she knew a bit more about the Duke’s life.

  “Why don’t we begin? I have already read the will to his son, the new Duke of Norwich, so he will not be joining us this evening.”

  Trying to sit patiently, Victoria smiled agreeably, wanting this duty over with. She couldn’t imagine there would be much regarding her in the document.

  Seeing the man settle in for a long reading, Victoria held up her hand, hoping to avoid hours of wasted time.

  “Please, Mr. Beckett, if you wouldn’t mind, just read any part of the will that involves me. My brother would be happy to look over a copy of the document in its entirety later.” Glancing to her brother, he nodded in agreement.

  “If you wish. This will was drawn up more than five years ago, and no revisions have been made since then.”

  Victoria bowed her head. It really wasn’t anything less than what she expected. “I see. Well, I appreciate your time, Mr. Beckett.” Victoria made to stand before the man’s words stopped her.

  “Please, if I might have another moment.” Rearranging her skirts, she waved her hand for him to continue. “While you aren’t listed in his will by name, he did made arrangements for any wife he may have at the time of his death.”

  Victoria paused. Was it possible that he had bequeathed something to her?

  “He has left you with an inheritance of thirty thousand pounds, pending some conditions.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “Thirty thousand pounds?” her brother asked, his head cocked to the side. “Such a large sum?”

  Mr. Beckett nodded, the extra skin on his face jiggling. “Yes. The Duke was a very wealthy man and erred on the generous side.”

  “I would say so,” Victoria whispered. Thirty thousand pounds. The freedom that that amount of money could give her would change her life. She could do anything she wanted, never would have to answer to anyone again. Not even a husband. “Was his son not upset by this section of his father’s will?” Victoria looked to the solicitor.

  He nodded hesitantly. “He was quite upset upon hearing the sum, but he has been left with much more and has contented himself with the title and property he received. I have also assured him that the document is binding and cannot be undone.”

  There would be no challenge to it. The money was hers. Excitement surged through her body in waves.

  “You said there were stipulations to the inheritance,” her brother prodded the man.

  “Yes,” he glanced uneasily at Victoria and she felt her stomach drop. “To be eligible to receive the endowment, you must spend your time in mourning with his sister, Lady Evelyn, the Dowager Countess of Lynfield at her residence in Scotland and—”

  “What?” Victoria jumped to her feet. “Scotland? You can’t be serious!”

  “Victoria, sit down,” her brother urged her back into her chair. “Listen to what other conditions there are.”

  Her lips pursed. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep silent.

  Clearing his throat, he glanced at her one last time as if he was worried she would attack him. “For the duration of the mourning period, you will help his sister in any way she needs to get through this difficult time. He hoped that with the presence of his wife, his sister would not feel as lonely.”

  “Is that everything?” her brother asked.

  “Yes. If Her Grace fulfills the requirements he has set forth, the fortune of thirty thousand pounds will be hers.”

  Her brother nodded. “When would she need to leave?”

  “Within the week. She is meant to spend as much time there as possible
.”

  Victoria shook her head adamantly. “Absolutely not! I can’t go live away in Scotland for a year. I might as well be in confinement.”

  “That is your choice, Your Grace. However, if you choose not to follow his wishes, the entire inheritance will be forfeit.”

  Interceding quickly, her brother gave her a look that would have held the Devil himself silent. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Beckett. We will be in touch with any other questions.” Her brother stood, giving his goodbyes.

  “Where in Scotland is the estate?” she whispered the question.

  “It is in the south, close to the border. The Dowager Countess is residing with her son, the Earl of Lynfield, at Lynfield Hall.” With that, the man nodded, showing himself out.

  Her brother closed the door and turned toward her, his muscular frame leaning against the molding. “I don’t believe for a moment that you will let a year in Scotland stop you from claiming that fortune. Only a fool would.”

  “I was only married to the man for a few hours. How could he expect me to travel all the way to Scotland and live with people I’ve never met? I didn’t even know him for heaven’s sake. How would I go about giving comfort to the woman?” She pushed up out of her chair, pacing in frustration.

  “You’ll find a way.”

  She rounded to face him. “How can you be so calm? Are you truly that happy to see me gone? Have I been so burdensome to you since Father’s death?” she asked, knowing it would provoke him. Eyes narrowing, his raven brows slashed menacingly over the startling blue. Good, at least she wasn’t the only one upset now.

  “Stop with the games, Victoria. You and I both know you are going. You might as well resign yourself to the year ahead of you. Think of it, in one year of comforting an old woman, you will have obtained security for the rest of your life.”

  “Yes, I know,” she snapped. “But Scotland? I don’t know a single person.”

  “I don’t think you will have any trouble wrapping the men there around your little finger.”

  The comment brought a slight curve to her lips. “I have no doubt.” She turned fully toward him, unconsciously making herself vulnerable. “I know it would be foolish to turn down such an opportunity…” she trailed off, lost in thought. “What if I go mad?”

  A rich, husky laugh escaped his lips. “It is only the country, Victoria. I doubt you will perish there.”

  She arched a brow. “I could die of boredom.”

  “I think not.”

  Heaving a sigh, she finally nodded. He was right. The money wasn’t something she would walk away from.

  “Will you accompany me?”

  He shook his head, the light catching on the inky shine in his hair, and she couldn’t help but think of how much they looked alike. With the same ebony hair, icy blue eyes, and patrician nose, they could be mistaken for twins if he wasn’t several years her senior. “Unfortunately, I can’t. You will have to travel with a servant.”

  “All right, then. I’ll plan to leave in three days. That should give me enough time to say my goodbyes. With my belongings already packed for the wedding, there shouldn’t be much else to do.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements.” Moving closer to her, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, speaking quietly. “I am sorry for all of this. I know it isn’t what you wished for.”

  Her heart lurched. He was the only one who understood her. The only one who knew what had driven her to marry a duke.

  And he knew how difficult it was for her to leave London.

  Chapter 2

  Her brother’s final words haunted her over the next few days and through the rest of her journey to Scotland. His sympathy toughened her resolve.

  She knew she hadn’t been the best of passengers, always demanding that the driver stop or slow down, snapping at him for driving the carriage too roughly.

  She was aware that her behavior was shrewish, but she couldn’t seem to stop. If she were being honest with herself, she would have to admit that her habit of expressing her opinions often did more harm than good. Yet her social circle, taken with her beauty, charm, and social status, had borne her sharpness with patience and grace; hence, Victoria had never really found it necessary to curb her tongue.

  Reclining on the upholstered bench, she closed her eyes, knowing they would reach their destination within a few hours.

  And it wasn’t a moment too soon.

  She continually cursed the old Duke for forcing this upon her, but no matter how uncomfortable she was, she wouldn’t consider relinquishing a fortune. The old woman couldn’t be that much trouble.

  She would have a suite of rooms, and the year would pass by quickly. They had to have some type of society. They couldn’t all still be running around barefoot, barely clad in those skirts they called kilts. Could they?

  The carriage made a slow turn and gravel crunched beneath the carriage wheels.

  “We’ve arrived at Lynfield Hall, Your Grace,” the driver called to her from his perch.

  “It’s about time,” she mumbled, knowing he couldn’t hear her. Despite her grumbling, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of anticipation. She wasn’t happy to be here, but she was happy that she had arrived, that she would be resting in comfort in a matter of minutes. And she could imagine lounging in bed the rest of the day, the plush bedding surrounding her in warmth and comfort, easing the aches of her travels.

  The view of the manor was obstructed by a thick cluster of trees, their foliage as dense as a flock of geese scrambling for scraps of bread. The brisk wind that rustled through the leaves, and the birds that had made their residences there, made their own music as cattle grazed in a distant pasture of wildflowers.

  The drive was long and straight, the road well maintained, and the surrounding land was a jewel. She had seen enough open spaces during her journey to back up her claim.

  She imagined the manor would look the same, idyllic against the lush vegetation. The vision of glittering white stones, gently weathered from time, and the many sparkling windows that reflected the sun’s kisses, had her willing the carriage forward.

  It would be an estate from a fairytale. She didn’t know how she knew, just that she did.

  Maybe it was the sweetened air. She took a deep breath, sighing in pleasure. It was so different from the air in London. Fresh, clean, with a hint of tang that you could only find outdoors. It smelled of meadows and warm days at the lake. Hinted of magic.

  It wasn’t especially hot today, but the sky was a bright, lightning blue. Not a cloud dared to mar its flawlessness.

  Her heart pumped faster as the carriage gradually rolled to a stop. Suppressing the ridiculous urge to leap out of the vehicle and grasp her first look at her new home, she chided herself on her lack of control. There were most likely servants, or the lady herself, outside on the steps, waiting to greet her. She wasn’t about to make a bad first impression.

  If there was anything she had learned in London ballrooms, it was that a first impression could never fully be erased.

  Her back straight, she waited in the carriage with a facade of poise and patience, although she didn’t feel either at the moment.

  With a click, the door swung open, sunlight beaming into the gloomy carriage, temporarily blinding her. Ignoring the bright spots in her vision, she descended the carriage steps like a queen, careful not to miss a step. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she had. There was no one outside to witness the disgrace.

  Not a single person had turned out to greet her.

  Flabbergasted, she could only stare at the entrance, completely astounded by their lack of manners. They should have been expecting her.

  But this was Scotland, she thought in distaste. Perhaps they were as uncivilized as others had claimed.

  What was she to do? Walk up to the door and knock? It was appalling.

  Gritting her teeth, her only thoughts were on entering the house, ordering a bath, and collapsing into bed.

  Her soft, kid-
slippered foot climbed the first step, completely white against the almost black stone.

  Black.

  The stark color decimated the glittering, fairytale white she had envisioned. But as she slowly looked up, absorbing the dark, weathered stone, and the small paned windows that looked like the slitting eyes of an oppressive beast, she shuddered.

  It was old, and it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that it was standing strong in its prime when William the Conqueror had arrived. But that was eight hundred years ago.

  And she was expected to live here? How barbaric.

  Snatching up her skirts, she marched to the door, knocking briskly. A twinge had her rubbing her gloved knuckles. The studded wood was sturdier than it looked.

  As the seconds passed, Victoria’s patience began to wane.

  Where were all the servants? Glancing over the vast estate, taking in the manicured gardens and clean walkways, she knew that many hands had labored to make it flourish. Yet not a single person was in sight.

  With a faint groan, the door opened.

  “Ah, Your Grace, I presume.” The older gentleman opened the door wider in invitation. “Please come in. You’ve been expected.”

  “I’ve been expected?” Her spine straightened. “If I was expected, why was no one outside to greet me?”

  The old man had the presumption to take a second look at her, his face scrunching up as if he smelled something foul. “My deepest regrets, Your Grace. The staff were otherwise occupied and could not be spared.”

  “Fine, then.” It was useless to state her complaints to a servant. She would have to wait to speak with the Dowager Countess or the Earl about their lack of hospitality.

  “Would you like to freshen up before you meet with the Dowager Countess?”

  To have the meeting over with, allowing her to relax the rest of the evening, sounded like heaven. But no matter how she had been received, she could not go to the woman worn and covered in dirt from her travels. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Follow me. I’ll lead you to your room.”

  Stepping into the marbled foyer, she was surprised to see that it had been recently renovated. The wood paneling gleamed with new polish, and the floors sparkled in a way that was only possible with newly cut stone. The palate was tasteful in an array of light, clean colors, so different from the outside of the manor that it was hard to believe that they were the same building.