Page 6 of An Offer for a Spinster
“This cannot be legal,” William said, pitching his voice above the chaos.
Mr Thompson adjusted his pince-nez. “I am afraid that it is. You may try and break the will, if you like, but I can assure you it will take years, and the entire Dunleigh estate will likely be eaten up before it is settled. Regrettably, this will is completely impervious to challenge. If you wish to receive your inheritance, you must marry. You’ll receive a small allowance each until that happens.”
He named the sum, and Henry groaned aloud, sinking back into his seat. Itwasa paltry amount.
“So, all of us must marry to receive our inheritance, or can one of us marry and receive their money?” Alexander asked. Shockingly, he was the level-headed one today. The Duchess was still weeping quietly.
Mr Thompson fiddled with his pince-nez again.
“That brings me to my next point. Each may receive his inheritance once he marries, with one exception. Lady Katherine must marry first, before anyone can receive any money.”
A heavy silence landed on the room. Katherine felt guilty over mocking those swooning heroines, as her knees buckled under her. Thankfully, a seat was there – Alexander to the rescue, she suspected – and she landed heavily in it, knocking the breath out of herself.
“So, if I don’t marry,” she heard herself say, voice wobbling, “nobody can get their inheritance?”
Silence. Everyone looked at Mr Thompson. The poor man – who really did not deserve this – drew in a breath.
“No,” he said quietly. “They cannot.”
Chaos again. William was arguing with Henry, Alexander was over at the desk trying to reason with Mr Thompson – as if that would do any good – and Katherine sat where she was, feeling as if she’d been turned to stone.
There’d be no money, then. No freedom for her. If she didn’t marry, her entire family would be doomed to poverty. Henry andAlexander would be penniless, and William saddled with a title and estate he could not afford to run.
It all depended on her.
She recalled that fateful morning in the horse paddock, the way the Duke’s gaze had slid over William’s shoulder and landed on her, full of contempt and disapproval.
How he must have hated me,Katherine thought, tears pricking at her eyes.Even dead, he wants to have the last laugh. He wants to control us.
And he’d succeeded, quite nicely.
She considered getting to her feet. The study was too hot and stuffy, somehow, and she wanted so badly to get some fresh air, although her legs felt like jelly.
“There’s more,” Mr Thompson said, his voice wavering. Five pairs of eyes turned on him. No, four pairs, as the Duchess had fainted again.
“Tell us,” William said heavily. “I’m not sure you can make it any worse.”
Mr Thompson gave a nervous chuckle. “You have one year from the date of the reading of this will to secure a spouse and your inheritance. Whoever is not married will lose their money forever, and it will go to a distant relative. If Lady Katherine is not married, the entirety of the inheritance will be lost.”
Katherine had worried about bursting into tears, but the reality was much worse. She started to laugh, high, hysterical giggles bubbling up out of her mouth no matter how hard she pressed her hand against it.
It’s over,she thought dizzily.It’s all over.
Chapter Two
The dedicated readers of L. Sterling might have been surprised to find their favourite author in such an unfashionable part of London, in anapartment, no less.
L. Sterling was, as the critics had speculated, a pseudonym. The author ofRosalie’s Trialsand various other books was a young man by the name of Timothy Rutherford, a mere second son, a simpleMr.
Timothy didn’t much care what Society thought of his home. His income consisted of his money from the writing, and a small allowance from his mother’s fortune. Not much, but enough to keep himself going. It allowed him to write, as he’d always wanted to, instead of clerking at some dreary law office or ingratiating himself with his father or older sibling. They’d make him jump through hoops for his money, and no mistake.
No, this method allowed him a little pride. He liked his apartment well enough and got on well with his landlady. Nobody knew he was L. Sterling, and even if someone put two and two together – Sterling was his mother’s maiden name, and lilies were his favourite flower – well, it was a common enough name.
His little study was crammed with books, with a space cleared by the window just large enough to admit a small desk and chair. Crumpled bits of paper scattered across the floor, and a cold, half-drunk cup of tea stood forgotten on the edge of the desk.
The second volume ofRosalie’s Trialswas very well received, but he found that the third volume was coming along slowly. How to end the story in a satisfying way?
He sat back, crumpling up yet another piece of paper and tossing it onto the floor.
