Page 94 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

Catmull’s mouth twitched in a smug smile. “Yes, but there is no second will.”

Not anymore, he might have said.

Charles supposed he’d burned it. Either he or his mother.

Whoever had disposed of it, it hardly mattered now. There was nothing left but the word of Lady Darly, and despite her pangs of conscience, she would never muster the necessary courage to come out publicly against her family. Even if she did, and even if—after nearly thirty years—Charles could manage to track down the solicitor who had drafted the second will and the villagers who had witnessed it, the only recourse against Catmull would be in the Chancery Courts.

It was no recourse at all.

Cases regarding disputed wills were known to drag on for decades in Chancery, often beggaring the parties in the process.

“No,” Charles said. “Pity. If there had been, Satterthwaite Court would have been my mother’s.”

“It can be hers again,” Catmull said. “If you leave here.”

Kate’s gaze fixed on Charles in breathless anticipation. Her body was tense as a tuning fork.

Did she really think an estate—any estate—could compete with what he felt for her?

Charles would have to disabuse her of that notion at the first opportunity. “Tempting,” he said to Catmull. “But no. If it comes to the house or the lady, I believe I must choose the lady. We are, after all, soon to be married.”

Kate’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

He held out his hand to her.

She came to him in a flurry of ribbon-festooned skirts, allowing him to draw her close, into the shelter of his arm.

“You’re a fool, Heywood,” Catmull said.

“And you’re in need of an heiress,” Charles replied. “It’s why you’re selling your assets. You’re gambling everything you have on this canal scheme, very probably throwing good money after bad. It’s made you careless.”

“And stupid,” Kate added feelingly. “Of all the heiresses you might try to trap, why in heaven would you ever believe you could trap me?”

“Oh, he is enamored of you, sweetheart, on that I have no doubt,” Charles said. “He may be a snake, but he isn’t a blind one.”

A commotion sounded at the doorway.

“I’ve found them!” a lady cried, as though speaking for an audience. “My son and Lady Katherine are here in the conservatory!” She entered triumphantly—a thin woman in a purple gown with the same hollow features and calculating eyes as Elias Catmull.

It was Edgar Townsend’s eldest daughter, Elizabeth. A lady who was now the widowed Mrs. Catmull.

The sight of Charles stopped her in her tracks. Recognition flashed over her. She plainly knew the look of him. It was the look of Captain Arthur Heywood, the very man who, along with Phyllida Satterthwaite, she considered to be the author of all her misfortunes.

“You,” she said, making the single word an accusation. “You’re their son.”

“I have that honor,” Charles said gravely.

“What’s the meaning of this? The two of you together…” Mrs. Catmull pivoted from Charles and Kate to her son. “Elias?”

“Lady Katherine is engaged to Lieutenant Heywood, Mother,” Catmull said.

“No!” Mrs. Catmull turned the shade of a bleached corpse. “I won’t believe it. To have our fortunes ruined by another Heywood—”

“Scarcely ruined, madam,” Kate said. “My money was never yours to begin with.”

“And now it’s his.” Catmull gave a humorless laugh. “The irony.”

Three other ladies appeared close behind Mrs. Catmull. It was Lady Chesham, Lady Mattingly, and Lady Mattingly’s daughter, Christine. They entered the room, each of them quickly taking in the scene and drawing their own conclusions from it.