<< Go Back

Revealing the Truth

By Lorri Dudley

Order Now!

Chapter One
Inside Steepleton Manor’s stable, Katherine Ainsley Jenkins, the Countess of Dysart, inched along the stall wall past her favorite mare, who nudged her newly born colt to a stand.
The head groom lifted his cap and wiped his forehead. “ ’Twas a long night, but mama and baby are doin’ fine.” He plopped his hat back on and dipped the corner. “Much obliged for your aid, Lady Dysart.”
Katherine mustered a weak smile and tightened her dressing robe sash. Distressed naying from her mare had roused her in the night, and the responsibilities of Steepleton Manor demanded she look into the disturbance. The delivery of the baby foal had been long and labored, and Katherine’s presence had been needed to calm the wearied mother.
Hay clung to Katherine’s hem as she exited the stall, and she must smell like the stable, but she’d done it. Steepleton Manor welcomed its first new addition to their pedigree family since her parents’ passing.
“Please let this be the beginning of Steepleton’s revival,” she whispered to the sunlight streaming in through the loft window. How many hours had she spent pouring over horse breeding books to keep her papa’s legacy of the famous Jenkins Lipizzaner horses going?
Denton, the butler, skidded past the open stable doors into view. His highly polished shoes slid on the loose gravel, and he flailed his arms before coming to a halt. The whoosh of air swirled the sweet scent of hay under her nose. He righted himself with haste and tugged at the bottom of his jacket, dislodging any wrinkles.
Several of her father’s Lipizzaner horses leaned their necks out of the stall openings to see who approached.
It was uncharacteristic of her dignified butler to hurry. Her stomach twisted. The only other time she’d witnessed Denton this flustered had been the day he sought her out with the news of the deadly carriage accident that had killed her parents.
Please let Claire be safe. She clutched a nearby post, for her knees threatened to crumple. The second worst day after burying her parents had been packing Claire off to finishing school. As much as Katherine desired to hold her sister and continue to mourn their parents together, Claire deserved a chance to marry and lead a normal socialite’s life.
“Mr. Bainbridge has arrived early, my lady.” Denton stood at attention. The only sign of his recent sprint to the barn was his chest’s quick rise and fall.
Her grip on the post tightened, and although she wanted to lean against it with relief, there was too much to do. “Already? His letter stated he’d arrive at week’s end.” Her mind whirled in a thousand directions. Why had he come? What could he possibly want after shirking his guardianship duties for three years? One question screamed louder than the rest. Would he still act as crazed as he had after Madeline’s funeral?
“Inform the staff of his presence.” Katherine mentally listed all the tasks to be done for their new guest. “And make certain they have finished preparing the larger guest room to accommodate him.”
“Yes, my lady, right away.”
“Did you seat him in the rose salon?”
Denton cleared his throat. “I escorted him there, but he insisted he would wait for you in your father’s study. I wanted your approval before forcibly escorting him out.”
The gleam in the butler’s eye revealed his protective nature. It seemed he would enjoy throwing her cousin out on his ear. “No, Denton. I will see to him right away.”
Katherine dreaded facing her troublesome cousin on her own, but since her parents’ deaths, there was much she’d had to face alone. As she crossed the expanse of yard, morning dew soaked her slippers and the hem of her dressing robe. The grass had grown longer than Steepleton’s sprawling lands were traditionally accustomed. A sheep had wandered through the broken rock wall where a large oak tree branch had fallen. The groundskeeper was supposed to have the branch cut into firewood and the wall repaired, but heavy rains had flooded the garden, and he was busy saving his plantings from drowning. All the items begging her attention cluttered her mind as she hastened through the portico entrance, up the back stairs, and down the hall to her room.
Her maid helped her change into a cream day gown of light cotton, but Katherine declined her maid’s attempt at fixing her hair, for there wasn’t enough time to restyle it. Katherine twisted it into a loose bun as she hurried down the hall and stairs toward the study.
Her mother’s voice echoed in her head, “Ladies never rush or run. They walk with grace, poise, and if necessary, a hint of purpose.” Mama would always add the last part with a wicked smile, which made Katherine bubble with unladylike giggles. Katherine’s gait was faster than what her mother would consider “a hint of purpose,” but her cousin shouldn’t be snooping around her father’s study unobserved.
She paused at the door and inhaled a deep breath to steady herself, taking a nostalgic whiff of her father’s cigars that still lingered long after his passing. Pasting a welcoming smile, she entered the room. “Good afternoon, dear cousin. How delightful of you to visit.”
Horace lounged in her papa’s favorite chair. “Yes, well”—he flashed a beguiling smile— “we are family. And family takes care of one another. Do they not?”
Katherine forced her tight smile to relax. He was her guest, after all. Horace was seven years her senior, and he’d aged since she’d last seen him. His previously jet-black hair was edged with gray from the temples down. He had been considered handsome in his youth, but the carefree man her older cousin had married ten years before had faded away. Despite his relaxed posture, permanent lines of sorrow now creased his brow and dulled his once twinkling gaze. He appeared to have matured a decade in the past three years.
He stood and opened his arms to her. “Come here and give your cousin a proper welcome.” His smile fractured his dour appearance.
She willed her legs to edge around the desk and stood still as he placed a kiss on each cheek. The musky scent of his cologne and a hint of gin invaded her senses. She closed her eyes and mentally counted the seconds before he stepped back.
“How I’ve missed you and Claire.” His hands slid over her shoulders.
Katherine’s jacket sleeves protected her from shuddering. “To what do I owe this visit?”
“I’ve come to the realization that I’ve been neglecting my duties as your nearest relative and guardian.” He released her and flopped into her papa’s chair once again, gesturing for her to sit on the adjacent stool.
How kind of him to offer her a seat in her own home. His audacity set her teeth on edge.
“I was still caught up in my grief over Madeline when your parents died, and I failed to recognize my familial obligation. I’ve come to rectify the situation.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Rectify?
“I’m unaware as to how you’ve been able to manage these past three years, but I’m here now, and I’m going to ease your burden.”
Katherine’s mouth dropped open, but ingrained manners snapped it back closed. For three years, she’d managed her parents’ estate. During that time, her cousin had never written a single note to inquire about how she and Claire were faring. Why the sudden interest? Did he now feel guilty? Was he truly offering her his support?
Katherine dug deep into her heart for a smidgen of grace. It would be nice to share the burden of this large estate. And he had been grief-stricken at the time of Mama and Papa’s deaths. Perhaps he was trying to make amends?
She lifted her chin. “I would appreciate any assistance you’d be willing to give. I think you’d be proud of what I’ve accomplished, keeping everything running and maintaining orderly bookkeep—”
“It’s settled then.” He slapped the mahogany desktop. “I will inform my valet to bring in my trunks and shall meet with you in the morning to review the ledgers. I’m fortunate to have such a level-headed cousin.” He stood, and his chair slid backward, tapping a small tower of periodicals Katherine had meant to file. They cascaded like a paper waterfall over the rug and across his path.
“What’s this?” He pushed at the papers with his booted toe.
“Papa’s medical journals.” She bent down to gather them. “He was fascinated by new medicines and advances in technology. He used to read to me from them.” She’d loved those times when she sat curled up on her father’s footstool and listened to his baritone voice reverberating with enthusiasm. He would read about this new elixir or that discovery and then stop and say, “Incredible, my child. Think of the potential.” The future had seemed budding with possibilities, but now her opportunities looked limited. Without a season, she feared she’d become a spinster, forgotten and alone in this vast house.
“Throw out that old rubbish.” He shoved the pile out of his way with the side of his foot.
Katherine gasped. They were her father’s journals and of great sentimental value to her. How dare he suggest they be discarded?
He grasped her arm, hefting her upright, and the papers she collected fell back to the floor. He ushered her to the door. “There is much for us to review, but let’s get settled first.”
She peered over her shoulder at the disarray littering the floor. She’d need to ring for a maid to tidy up.
He paused just outside the door and cupped her elbows. “You have been brave, but I’m here now.” Her cousin’s tone sounded pleasant, but his grip was too firm, tempting Katherine to rip her arm from his hold.
“I’m going to make everything all better. You can go back to doing embroidery and taking daily rides. You’ll no longer have all the burden of responsibility on your shoulders. Do you even remember what it was like to be carefree?”
What was he suggesting? Did he mean to offer his guidance? Steward the finances? Take on some of the hiring? As much as she desired to climb onto the life raft he offered, a warning in her head caused her to pause. Why would he suddenly want to help?
He raised her chin with his index finger to meet his gaze. “Of course you don’t remember, but that will change. I will take charge, my dear. Everything is going to be fine. You run along and rest up. We shall dine at eight.”
He pressed a light kiss on her forehead, and with a firm hand on her lower back, guided her a few steps down the hallway. Should she be angry at Horace’s forwardness or relieved to relinquish some of the burden? Managing a large estate had a steep learning curve, and at first, she’d made plenty of mistakes. She could have questioned her lawyers, but most issues had needed an immediate response. By the time she penned a letter, had it couriered to London, and received a reply, their answer would invariably be too late. Horace had managed his wife’s estate. His social connections and advice on tenant disputes would have helpful with the constant appeals of the aristocracy to purchase Papa’s prized Lipizzaner horses.
Horace stopped walking, but she continued to drift down the hall. What she wouldn’t give to pursue once again the things she’d enjoyed before her parents’ accident, like reading a novel, visiting with friends, or attending a ball.
But what caused her cousin’s change of heart, and why now? The last time he’d visited was ten years ago, when she was in leading strings. Would he have the best interests of Steepleton Manor in mind?
On the other hand, he was a relative and family could be trusted, right?
Four years ago, she would have said yes along with her parents, but he’d changed after Madeline’s death. His easygoing manner might resemble his old nature, but the jaded look in his eyes and the bitter edge in his voice stirred doubts.
“Katherine,” he called from behind her. “I forgot to mention that we can be married as early as Friday. I’ve obtained a special license. Then, you can have your coming-out season, and I can present you at court. Won’t that be nice?”
She froze— “Pardon?”— and spun on her heel in time to watch him saunter into the study as if he’d merely commented on the weather.
Katherine marched to the open doorway.
“You heard what I said.” He didn’t bother to look up from the ledgers.
“Married?”
“Indeed.” He leaned back in her papa’s chair and had the audacity to put his boots up on the desktop. He flashed her a brash, self-assured smile. “Now that you are of a marriageable age and I am widowed, we cannot reside in the same residence. Think of the scandal.” He tapped his fingertips together. “It’s the logical thing to do. This way, I can manage the estates from here, and not only can I continue to provide for you as your guardian, but I can also do so as your husband.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted the chair on its hind legs. “Besides, who else is going to have you since the Turner boy backed out?”
Katherine willed herself to let the pain roll off her, but it remained fresh even after three years.
He sighed as if disappointed. “It’s what your parents would have wanted. You and Claire will be provided for and given the protection of my name, which is in your best interest. Wouldn’t they have wanted what was most advantageous for you?”
A tremor shook her knees and ran up her spine. She curled her hands into fists to keep the quaking from becoming visible. “This is unbelievable.”
“No, it’s inevitable.” His tone remained flat.
Inevitable? What was he talking about? The warmth of the room suffocated her. The walls pressed in, crowding her whirling thoughts.
“I beg your pardon, but I’d rather not.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “I understand that you need some time to adjust to the idea, but you’ll come around. Go rest up and we can discuss the arrangement over the evening meal.”
What rights did she have? Could she refuse? Papa had named her cousin Madeline as her guardian in his will and had neglected to update it after Madeline died. Did that make Madeline’s husband Katherine’s official guardian? Did it give Cousin Horace the right to tell her who and when she would marry?
Blood roared in her ears, and blackness crept into her periphery. She feared she might faint. Turning to the door, she forced one foot in front of the other and stumbled from the room. In a daze, she staggered down the hall toward the terrace, desperate for fresh air.
“You have a few days to see reason,” Horace shouted before she could twist the door handle and escape to the veranda. “The vicar shall arrive on Friday.”

Order Now!

<< Go Back