He stopped walking, understanding whom his friend was speaking of. “Not her.” A year and he still could not say her blasted name.
He had no feelings but hatred for the woman who had duped him and made him a fool in front of all of society.
Hendershot’s head whipped over to him, eyes filled with confusion. “Who the bloody hell are you talking about? Are you sure it’s yours? Because, according to my calculations, you haven’t been with anyone since Esther.”
Richard gnashed his teeth together, ignoring his friend as he continued to his seat on the sofa. “Lady Musgrave.”
“Winnie?” His voice was high, higher than Richard had ever heard it.
“Winnie is Lady Musgrave?”
“Are you telling me you never knew the name of your heir’s wife?” Hendershot laughed at Richard.
“You know very well how Musgrave and I felt about each other.” They were raised to be enemies, and they never disappointed their grandfather. “How long have you been acquainted withWinnie?” The name was said with venom. He had known Hendershot since they were at Cambridge, and not once had the man mentioned that he was acquainted with his cousin’s wife.
Richard watched as his friend shrugged his shoulder. “Before my family inherited the earldom, we lived in Nottingham.” Hendershot stood, pulling down his tailcoat. “Now, will you attend Kitty’s party with me? I have a feeling everything will change.”
Richard took a tentative sip of his remaining brandy. He needed to forget all about his cousin and the cruel games he played. Most importantly, Richard needed to forget about his cousin’s widow. Brown Manor would be his, and there was nothing Lady Winnie Musgrave could do to stop him.
“Yes.”
CHAPTER3
Winnie arrived at Brown Manor after a half-day’s ride from London. It was always a blessing and a curse to live so close to Town. It allowed her to travel whenever she wanted to, and it was so close that she did not need a residence in town.
The ride was not as long as it would have been if she lived at her father’s estate in Nottingham. No, her father was gone. The title and estate had gone to a distant relative.
The new Earl of Oakfield did not bother to support anyone but himself, giving Winnie’s mother and aunt, who had long lived with her sister, only a fortnight to vacate the estate in Nottingham. She supposed that the Duke of Richmore was kinder with allowing Winnie three months to vacate instead of a fortnight.
It seemed only women were to mourn and respect the dead.
She walked into the sitting room that her mother and aunt had long commandeered as their own. They had lived with Winnie the past five years. Coming to stay with her directly after her father’s death.
Though often the two older women could be vexing, they were her only companions besides the servants at Brown Manor.
“There you are! Tell us, what was the outcome? Are we to stay or to be paupers?” her aunt called out, worry marring her pretty but withered face.
A head full of white tresses was piled high on her head in an intricate style while she sat in an armchair with her legs tucked under her. Though Winnie’s aunt was older than Winnie’s mother, Uriana Thompson had a youthfulness to her that belied her sixty years.
“Now, now, Ana, at least allow her to hug her mother first.” Winnie’s mother laid on the cream-colored chaise lounge, with a duvet on her thin legs. The sight of her, drained of color and weak, pulled at Winnie’s heart.
Not able to stand the distance between them any longer, Winnie rushed over to her mother, wrapping her arms around the other woman’s fragile body. Losing one parent was nearly unbearable; she could not lose another.
Her mother’s very health depended on Winnie’s ability to keep their home. Her monthly allowance from Musgrave, along with her mother’s widow’s portion, and her aunt’s small inheritance from her late husband, was more than enough for them to live comfortably. Yet if they were forced to leave Brown Manor, the rent on a new home would surely deplete their funds greatly. Finding a new dwelling, affording servants and a suitable doctor like Dr. Newcastle, who was kind and competent with her mother, gave Winnie confidence that she had made the right decision.
Holding her mother close, as if their roles were reversed. Winnie the mother and her mother the child. She cradled the back of her head, inhaling her sweet scent. Rosewater, simple and elegant like her mother had always been. Fading long blonde hair, so much like Winnie’s, hung freely over thin shoulders, making her appear angelic and fragile.
Winnie reveled in the feel of her dear mama, trying to fight back the tears that suddenly wanted to fall.
What would she do if they lost their home?
Where would they go?
Releasing her, Winnie sat on the edge of the chaise, careful to keep her balance. “You look tired, Mama. Perhaps you should rest?” she breathed, knowing that her mother did not appreciate being treated like a child.
“I have rested enough. Now tell us what news from London before your aunt attacks you again.” She patted Winnie’s hand, closing the subject of her health.
Winnie hesitated slightly, not wanting to tell her mother of the monumental fable she had told the solicitor. There were only three people in the world she trusted explicitly: Kitty, her aunt, and her mother. Lying to them was like lying to herself, but Winnie knew she could not tell her aunt or her mother her plans.
