Katherine
I settled down next to mother who was visibly vibrating as the solicitor searched his bag for father's will.
The air in the study was stiff as if father stood nearby with an eye on every member of the family. Shirley walked in and took the chair on the other side of where mother sat and finally Mr Briggs produced a large brown envelope containing the deeds to fathers lands and houses and his will.
"Shall we begin?"
I swallowed a smart arse response and nodded alongside mother and Shirley as Mr Briggs opened up the will.
He cleared his throat and looked at the paper reading it internally to himself, his facial expressions changing as he went on. I didn't need to look at mother to tell she was growing weary and instead slammed my hands down the table to get his attention.
"Mr Briggs, have you not enough sense to know that you're only dragging out the misery of every family member in this room? Read the will quickly or I shall be forced to do so myself."
Red veins popped out of his forehead as he regarded me with outrage. He sucked in a deep breath and assumed a dignified position, thrusted chin and hitched shoulder.
"It is an unhappy occasion that brings us together this day. The untimely demise of John WestCliff Hammond the sixth Earl of Stratford, has touched us all—his family, his friends, those in his employ, and above all, his country . . ."
The door of the study briefly opened and closed but I paid it no heed. Now was not the time to get distracted. For all I knew, it could be a maid coming for remind mother to have dinner and not starve herself like she'd been doing after father's death.
"… to the faithful cook, Lydia Truman. The sum of …"
The will went on for almost half an hour naming every servant in father employ before he paused and look up at Shirley giving her a tight smile.
"To my daughter Shirley Anne , born of my first wife, I bequeath the sum of ten thousand dollars for her sole and private use."
I half squealed in excitement of Shirley's behalf. Father had still made plans for her despite his aloofness.
"No more than that amount. You were born of the wrong woman, but you remained loyal. May it buy you freedom."
The room fell silent.
Suddenly Mr Briggs went quite and took to chewing his lips. Anticipation buzzed under my skin like a brew in a pot threatening to spill over.
"Sir."
"There are binding and absolute conditions which I have attached to my final wish, They have been careful weighed to ensure that my fortune are to be bequeathed to the one I trust the most…"
Confusion momentarily gripped me at those words.
".. My entire entire worldly fortune of which it's primary assets are lands, manors, rents, livestock, all titles, and properties under the WestCliff banner henceforth belong to my heir and nephew, Cillian Hawthorne."
My world slowed to a halt.
"What the devil?"
"Katherine," mother admonished sharply. Placing a hand over my thighs as if to calm down the rage stemming inside of me.
"Katherine, calm down and listen, the reading isn't over yet."
"However," Briggs continued, "this inheritance is conditional."
"It is my will that Cillian Hawthorne, must wed his second cousin, Katherine WestCliff within two weeks of my death. Failure to do so shall result in immediate forfeiture of all claims, monetary and familial to the WestCliff estate. He shall receive nothing but the earldom. Forfeiting it all to Katherine on her twenty-first birthday. All holdings shall revert to her, unconditionally."
I held my breath.
"Likewise, should Katherine WestCliff refuse to enter this marriage within the stipulated time, Cillian Hawthorne, Shall inherit it all and she shall receive nothing. It has always been my fondest wish that my daughter, through her body, would continue the proud heritage of the WestCliff line."
Mr. Briggs folded the will carefully. "The late Lord WestCliff saw this union as preservation. Of name. Of legacy. Of control."
I stood, numb.
"But- but who is this Nephew? He doesn't even exist, father had never… Surely he doesn't exist and you are lying, you."
"Lady Katherine," an unfamiliar voice called out behind me and I whipped around to see the stranger from the gravesides.
"I am Cillian Hawthorne, Earl of Stratford." He stood with his right hand below the army pin on his breastpocket looking every bit of a scoundrel.
"No no no," I turned my attention back to Briggs making a jump to snatch the will. Surely he had just been jesting.
"Katherine," mothers voice rang out with authority making me feel very shallow.
Cillian walked forward his boot thudding across the ground with an angry march and he yanked me back into my seat.
"Your behavior is keen to that of a spoilt child. Such lack of control shall not be tolerated from you henceforth."
Grief clenched my heart with a tight fist.
I look up into his disapproving glare and felt a thousand demons running about in my mind.
"Unhand me this instant,"
"Lady Katherine, your father had left a letter for you besides the will," Briggs said stretching a letter which I snatched rudely still brimming over the fact that the scoundrel my father had put as heir still had his hands on me.
"Your father often spoke highly of you and your manners but it is as clear as day to me that he only made it seem so, for the prospect of marrying you to be appealing." Cillian said finally letting go of me.
I rose to my feet again with the letter in hand and brushed past the new Earl.
"We have only two weeks Katherine, do well to make up your mind quickly."
"You shall not call me by my name. You have not been permitted to."
"Very well miss WestCliff," those were the last words I heard before I slammed the door to my fathers study shut and allowed the tears in my eyes to flow.
Oh father, how could you? Marry me off to a strange relative and ask that I continue the WestCliff line or be sent out into the streets without a place to lay my head?
I looked down at the cream paper in my hand which bore my fathers signatory seal which now belong to the new Earl and squeezed it.
Perhaps this letter would answer some if not all of my questions and made for my room, kicking the door shut behind me.
I sunk to the plush carpet underneath my legs and carefully pulled at the seal of the letter, not wanting to ruin the only thing my father had left me.
My dreams from this morning had quickly become unattainable and far from reach at the awareness of my new situation. Even if Everett still wanted me, he had only two weeks before by virtue of my father's stipulations, I get kicked out.
The letter read,
'My Dearest Katherine,
If you're reading this, then I am gone, and I've likely upended your world.
You must believe me when I say this choice was not born of cruelty, but of necessity. I have watched you grow into a woman of fierce will and softness I dared not name. I know this decision will feel like a betrayal—but I ask you to look beyond your hurt.
This family, this name, is centuries deep. It has weathered wars, famine, and scandal. But what it cannot survive is division. You are the last of my blood I trust to carry it with dignity.
Cillian was not raised in love, but in expectation. I shaped him for this—perhaps too harshly—but he is the only one with the steel to protect what I've built. You are my heart, Kate. He is the shield. Together, you could make something stronger than I ever managed.
I know you loved someone once. Maybe you still do. But love alone does not anchor a legacy. I ask—beg—you to give this union a chance. Not for me, but for the generations you've never met. For the WestCliff name. For yourself.
Forgive me, if you can. Hate me, if you must. But understand—I did this because I believed in you.
With all that remains of me,
Father
Lord John WestCliff.
The paper trembled in my hands, though I refused to let myself cry again.
I read the letter again, slower this time, as if the weight of his words would somehow shift. As if "forgive me" might turn into "I trust you to choose." But it didn't. It was just another order disguised as affection.
He said he did it out of love. Love. But love isn't a chain. It doesn't come with contracts or names I've never said aloud in that way—Cillian. My second cousin. My stranger of a husband-to-be.
My chest ached, not just from grief, but from fury. For a man who claimed I was his heart, he had an odd way of showing it—auctioning off my future like a prize to be claimed. Two weeks. That's all I had. Two weeks to become someone's wife or be cast out of everything I've ever known.
Still, in the tight curve of his handwriting, I saw something else—fear. My father had ruled like a king, but in the end, he died a man terrified of being forgotten.
That… I could understand.
I folded the letter slowly, tucked it back into its envelope, and straightened my spine. I didn't know yet if I'd obey him. But I would decide on my own terms.
And if Cillian Horton thought I would be easy to manage…
He was in for a rude awakening.