Kiss of a Traitor (42 page)

George Bellingham lay on his back in the massive bed. He was only a shell of a man with a countenance as white as fresh milk and skin as thin as parchment. Willa fell to her knees beside him and took her father’s cold, stiff hand between her palms. She tried to warm it with her own heat to no avail. Gradually she accepted that her father was truly gone. Tears overfilled her eyes and spilled onto her face. She had expected his death, but the reality was no less hard to bear. He’d been a good father in his own way, and she loved him.

While Willa prayed for his soul, she looked about the room with no idea of what compelled her to search so diligently. A feeling beset her, a feeling she was unable to identify, but her skin crept with the wrongness of the situation.

Coming slowly to her feet, she released her father’s hand, and smoothed the sparse hair away from his forehead. Then she lifted the sheet and drew it gently over his face. Muted voices still rumbled from the outer room.

A bottle of medicine on the bedside table caught her attention. Pulling out the cork, she sniffed the mixture.
Laudanum.
But beneath the familiar, bitter odor, lay something else, something dark and deadly. Hairs stood up on her nape. Replacing the cork, she slipped the bottle into her dress pocket.

As she sat in a chair beside the bed to wait for the doctor, she cautioned herself. Her suspicions could be unwarranted. But again, she could not shake the feeling something was not as it should be.

After the doctor arrived and pronounced Colonel Bellingham dead from a massive heart seizure, Willa deposited the medicine bottle under the false bottom of a drawer in her curly-maple chest-on-chest. Her father had made the hiding place for her childhood treasures, and she’d never disclosed its presence to anyone, not even Jwana. Plans for the wake, funeral, and the reading of the will soon took precedence, and the bottle of laudanum faded from her mind.

Digby left for Georgetown over Marlene’s objections and returned the following day. Fury suffused his handsome face and altered its elegant lines into an ugly mask as he confronted Willa. “Damnation. I hold you accountable for this,” he screeched as he clutched her arm with bruising fingers. “What have you and that blasted Swamp Fox done with Brendan Ford? I shall have you hanged alongside him.”

She contained the bile churning in her belly, pried Digby’s hand off the material of her black mourning dress, and wiped her palm against her arm as though his touch had contaminated her. “I became aware of his escape,” she said calmly, “in the same manner as many others, through the servants’ grapevine. You know how rapidly gossip spreads among them.” Surely lying to Digby could not be a sin. “And had you been where you were supposed to be, in Georgetown instead of in my stepmother’s bed, perhaps you could have prevented the incident and caught the Swamp Fox in the bargain.”

He raised a hand to strike her.

She backed up a step and lifted her chin. “Were I you, Thomas Digby, I should not do that. One might see fit to ask your superiors why you absented yourself from duty the night your most important spy escaped.” The image of an earlier suspicion sprang to mind. She pursued it. “One also might question precisely how and why Colonel Bellingham died. Lord Cornwallis was an especial friend of Papa’s.”

Digby dropped his hand and backed away, a muscle fluttering in his tight jaw. “You dare to threaten me?” he hissed. “Watch your step, Wilhelmina. Throwing about accusations that have no basis in truth could prove dangerous to your health.”

His reaction confirmed what she only supposed until this moment. She smiled, a move that infuriated him further. “Each day I pray you will attempt to harm me as you harmed Papa,” she said. “In my dreams, I envision how my knife will feel slicing through your skin, how it will look embedded in your flesh.” Fisting her hands on her hips, she leaned toward him. “I dare you, Digby. Do your worst. I wait for you in impatient expectation.”

The frustration on his face while he fought his emotions was nearly comical. But this deadly skirmish was no laughing matter.

“Have respect for your departed father,” he said as he brought himself under control. “We shall address your traitorous actions at a more appropriate time.” Turning his back, he strode off.

“As
your
gesture of respect, at the very least, I would expect you to refrain from fucking my stepmother until after her husband is laid to rest,” she called out, and his step faltered.

The day of Colonel Bellingham’s funeral dawned bright and cold. Snow coated the ground in a thin white blanket. Savannah sparrows hopped across its crusty surface, leaving a web of spidery tracks. The birds’ thin, high-pitched trills floated over the low buzz of voices by the graveside.

Willa and Quinn stood beside the household servants and slaves on one side of the grave. Marlene leaned on Digby’s arm and occupied the other side, the two factions separated by more than a hole in the ground and a pinewood coffin. Willa wept softly. Marlene concealed her face and emotions behind a black veil. Planters, soldiers, and friends—British, Tory, and patriot—filled the spaces behind the principals and at the foot of the grave. The Anglican minister presided at the head of the coffin, saying the words meant to comfort the living when a loved one has passed.

The solicitors arrived the following morning. After calling the family and upper servants into the formal dining room, the two men expressed their condolences and commenced with the reading of Colonel Bellingham’s will.

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?”