Once upon a Town...
Belinda stared outside the window of her dormitory in Madam Pearson's. Mary and Cressida were walking arm in arm in the garden, laughter in their faces.
She despised it. Why would Cressida Belverst be friends with Mary Featherton, a nobody? Did her father not own the scandalous clubs in Wickhurst?
Mary was not such a challenge, always crying and cowering in one corner, which merely vexed Belinda. Girls should not cry. Girls should be like Cressida Belverst—strong and opinionated.
But some could be like Belinda, too; haughty and confident. It made her a little different. Perhaps, someday, it would also make her special.
*****
She was too silent as they walked out of the tavern. McKenzie could not tell what she was thinking, but every part of him knew she could be planning something else.
Clear her name?
How would she do it? Everyone caught her in a room with a dead lover. How else could she change that fact?
All of her efforts to escape and survive all these years could all go to waste with one wrong move if her father got to her first before they could even prove Emmet Carrington broke the law.
Beside him walked a woman scorned by the entire town and her family. He could tell by the way she carried herself now, despite the very ordinary dress she was wearing, that she thought too highly of herself. He could tell by the way she stuck out her chin, her eyes looking down her nose at the path before her, that she considered everyone to be beneath her.
She had built her own prison. She had become unreachable in so many ways before her banishment. If it was another woman, forgiveness would have been given, even understanding. But she was Belinda Carrington and her name itself evoked too many opinions. The moment she was caught in that scandal, it was over.
No one sympathized with her fate when she was banished, for no one received the same act of kindness from her. If the gossips were to be believed, Belinda was always the first to say something vile against anyone who graced the gossip columns of the Herald.
Emmet Carrington committed a crime banishing her aboveground and he shall pay for it once proven. It was possible to put her father in prison, but it would not erase the scandal that caused the banishment.
*****
He told her they would travel to Easton, his brother's estate. He thought it would be safe there while they make plans, he told her after boarding the hired carriage. She was, after all, still being hunted, he added.
She would go with him, but she could not stay long. She would find Nana, get an estate and new gowns. She would find Julia. And then perhaps she could spare the time to ruin everyone who had a role in her banishment.
She would force the truth from Emmet Carrington's mouth. And maybe, just maybe, everyone would believe her. Maybe she would be welcomed back into society.
Ah, she was dreaming again. There would be no future for her in Willowfair. Maybe in other parts of the Town, yes, but that would be plans for later, after everything was done; after she ruined her father's name and she showed her mother the monster they created. After Willowfair witnessed the real Belinda Kate Carrington.
"You will face more challenges than the last time you were here," McKenzie said, breaking his silence, his words obviously chosen carefully. "How do you plan to clear your name?"
She peeled her eyes from the view outside and squarely met his gaze. "A woman does not reveal her secrets, Mr Haverston."
His jaw twitched, but his eyes remained mild. Did he think she could not read the questions in his thoughts? He must have so much of them. The problem was, he was not voicing them. Was he wary she would take offense—that she would think he was judging her like the others?
Well, he would not be wrong.
"How will you clear your name?"
She scoffed, then shook her head. "With the money, of course. Gowns, a villa. And perhaps a carriage. People are most often willing to forget anything for money, would you not agree?" He frowned, the motion pinching the scar. "And I like nice things. I have been deprived of them for too long."
She saw a hint of contempt flash across his face before he looked away. Silence reigned the carriage once again and Belinda smiled, realizing she had missed this side of her.
Her haughtiness would prove to be an advantage.
*****
A day and a half later, the large estate of Easton slowly came into view. If Belinda was feeling any apprehension at all, it did not show. McKenzie was even quite certain she had grown more self-assured, her shoulders square and her back stiff.
He had the urge to tell her she might consider putting aside such air, that it would merely bring her more trouble, especially when she would soon face Cressida. But somehow, he could not tell her that because it seemed to him that she was merely preparing herself for a battle. And why did a part of him feel proud that she could manage such resolve?
Before he could ponder on that, they reached the estate.
"Master McKenzie," Felton, the old butler, greeted with a slight bow. His eyes went to Belinda with no sign of surprise. Felton, who knew everything about the Haverstons, had been with them long enough to not question anyone who came in and out of Easton. "My lady, would you like me to take your bag?"
"No," Belinda said, tone bordering haughty and cold. She adjusted her rucksack over her shoulder and lifted her chin.
The butler nodded and turned to McKenzie. "His lordship is in the parlor, sir."
McKenzie turned to Belinda. "My brother and his wife will graciously offer their residence. I hope you can take it in the same manner."
Her face tightened. "I do not wish to stay here long. I hope you will not buy more time and arrange for our safe return to Willowfair as soon as you can."
"Please inform my brother of our arrival, Felton," McKenzie ordered. And as soon as the butler disappeared, he turned to Belinda, blocking her view of the great hall, saying under his breath, "I will not buy more time if I can help it, Belinda. I am as eager as you to get back to Willowfair so I can start working with the information you will give us."
"Uncle Mac!" a shrill from behind Belinda stopped her ready response. The little girl with black, wavy hair and bedraggled blue dress came bounding toward him from the direction of the gardens. Before he could prepare for the onslaught, his niece had thrown her short arms around his leg.
A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he ruffled the little girl's hair. "Where have you been playing this time? Your dress is a mess, little one."
Peyton giggled, looking up at him, the glimmer in her eyes very much like her mother's. "I was playing with Mama. Hush, she does not know I'm here and—"
"Now I do," said a voice from the top of the stairs. "It is not fair, Peyton. I told you no hiding outside the manor!" A woman with brown hair bounded down the grand staircase, holding the skirts of her light green dress.
McKenzie noticed Belinda stiffen, her shoulders squaring even more proudly and her chin lifting higher. But her face and hair still looked so plain, her dress quite lacking. And she still held on to her rucksack.
He moved to stand beside her, Peyton still wrapped around his leg, but Belinda stepped away, as if she meant to face this alone.
"Mama! Uncle Mac is here!"
Cressida's face had gone tight when her eyes landed on Belinda. She hurried toward her daughter and grabbed the girl from around McKenzie's leg.
"And he brought a visitor!" Peyton added as her mother pulled her closer.
"You ought to be in your schoolroom. Your tutor is waiting. But first, ask nanny to change your dress."
"But we have a visitor!"
"Peyton," Cressida sternly warned her daughter. Peyton pouted and turned toward the staircase, but not after throwing McKenzie and Belinda a look of longing. They all watched the little girl climb the stairs.
To McKenzie, it seemed that Cressida wanted her daughter away from Belinda. Stealing Belinda a look, he awkwardly cleared his throat. Cressida turned to Belinda, her face hard as stone. "Belinda. McKenzie sent word of your arrival. What a pleasant surprise."
To his amazement, Belinda broke into a smile, one that completely changed her face. For a split moment, he glimpsed the woman Willowfair once considered the fairest and most enchanting.
"I should say the same, Cressida," Belinda said, looking at Cressida as though she was not the mistress of the estate. "You have a lovely daughter."
Through a tight smile, Cressida said, "Sometimes, she claims she is a boy. And most of the time, I agree. Tea?"
To prevent any untoward incident, McKenzie broke his silence and said, "We shall take up residence as we had planned, and if you would be so kind, Cressida, Belinda might need your gracious accommodation." He had to emphasize the word.
"Of course," Cressida said, stretching her lips too wide for anyone to believe she was smiling.
"I would not be staying long," Belinda firmly added.
"I'm afraid that is not up to you, Belinda," Cressida retorted through her stiff smile. "As I understand, you have people who wish to kill you."
"Cressida," McKenzie said with warning.
"I believe so, yes."
"I know how it feels," Cressida replied, brown eyes on Belinda. "Mac, for one, is thinking of killing me as we speak." Then her eyes wandered down Belinda's dress. "Where did you get that horrible dress?"
"It was the best Mr Haverston could provide."
Cressida's face twitched with distaste. "Never in my life had I imagined you to be dressed down like this. But I assume you do not want any of my old dresses?"
Belinda scoffed. "I would not dream of it."
McKenzie was uncertain why he was still there at all, witnessing this oddly dangerous exchange between two women who could not hide their dislike toward each other. How could they be so poised? One would think they should be rolling down the hall now, pulling at each other's hair.
Was this a sample of what Cressida called the Ballroom War no man would ever understand?
"Do not think you are bothering us," Cressida said.
"I am not."
Cressida chuckled, obviously a forced one. "So...tea?"
"Hot?"
"Simmering."
"With cream, please."
Cressida stiffly nodded, eyes on Belinda's hand.
McKenzie finally allowed himself to breathe when Felton reappeared and told him that Calan was ready for him.
"Very good," he said with a jump. Then he added, "Felton, please guide Lady Belinda to the drawing room for simmering hot tea with cream," he said, looking at Belinda and Cressida with warning.
As Belinda stiffly followed Felton to the drawing room, McKenzie turned to his sister-in-law. "Please, I would truly appreciate if you can be graceful for a few days. This is important to us. Her cooperation is paramount to this case."
But Cressida was not listening. She was following Belinda and Felton down the hall with her eyes, her brow furrowed. "Mac, what happened to her?"
"We are yet to find out."
To his surprise, Cressida's face softened when she turned to him. "Did you see her hands?"
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Her wrists, Mac."
His jaw tightened. And then he nodded.
"Good Lord," Cressida said, shaking her head. "She has been chained! For how long had she been—"
"Cressida, calm down," he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Please. Whatever or however she acts, please be gracious."
Cressida scoffed. "I am always gracious."
"Then try harder," he said with a sigh, walking away. "And I mean it!"
*****
"Money." Calan repeated the word for the third time.
"And protection," McKenzie added, gauging his brother's reaction.
As their eldest, Calan was the most composed. It was rare to see him wear anything other than his stoic mien or his cold air. His black hair was always fashioned neatly over his forehead, his clothes pressed and without fault. It was his great discipline over his emotions that made him an exemplary member of the League of Founders—spies, as what Cressida preferred to call them.
Anyone knew that Calan was hard to fool. In fact, it was his ability to set aside his own emotions that sent their mother to prison many years ago. He reported her when he discovered that she was a member of the rebels who were planning to destroy the Town. None of them knew what Calan was planning to do. One moment they had a mother, none the next.
Even now, as he stared at him from across the parlor, McKenzie could not read what his brother was thinking.
"We cannot give her money, Mac. The League of Founders does not offer monetary payment."
"And a captain of the Town Guards cannot do the same. Not everyone is even aware I'm working this case."
"The best the League could offer is our protection, one she would not enjoy."
McKenzie understood what he meant. The League of Founders had freedom to act on matters without direct approval from parliament. It was their job to protect the Town's interests by working in the background, their works most often unappreciated because most members were unknown. Their secrecy had a lot of advantages, one of which was the freedom to take whoever they deemed necessary, friend or foe. If Belinda would prove to be difficult, the League could take her in until she gave them what they wanted.
"She has already been held captive for years, Calan. She would not appreciate what you have in mind."
"And you believe her? What she said thus far?"
He shrugged. "I do not see why she would lie."
"For money, of course."
"Yes, I know. But she has given me details that convinced me to at least consider her words."
"You can never be sure with someone like her, Mac. You know what she did to Mary."
Belinda had spilled Mary's secret to the Town Herald for everyone to devour. Adrien and Cressida constantly reminded everyone of that.
"But it seems you trust her enough," his brother added. "I will talk with the League. For the meantime, I need you to keep an eye on her."
"I am willing to offer my protection, Calan, but we have a problem. She wants money and we cannot give her that."
"Did you promise her money?"
He shifted in his seat, looked away and cleared his throat. "I might have hinted on it."
Calan sighed. "We will give her what she wants."
He grimaced. "But not money?"
His brother's stern gaze was final. "Anything but money."
McKenzie groaned. "This is too bloody complicated."
"I know."
"Are you certain the League has nothing to do with this operation? None at all?"
Calan rolled his eyes. "I told you many times, Mac. We have long closed our operation. This is different. Women and children are still missing."
He did not know many things the League knew, but he trusted his brother. Years ago, Calan worked on a case similar to this, but that turned out to be a secret operation the League was involved with. It was a controlled one, and most definitely a monitored one. And as his brother said, the League has closed it more than five years ago.