An Outlawed Heiress and Her Duke Read online

  She turned toward Dr. Tait. “I am terribly sorry, but would you please excuse me? You can leave your contact information with Ginny and I shall arrange for your payment shortly.”

  Dr. Tait seemed more than understanding of the whole situation. “Of course. I shall be staying in New York for several weeks to give lectures. Do not concern yourself with me. Again, I am so terribly sorry.” He gave a courtesy bow before passing Ginny and Morris on his way out, nodding a polite goodbye to both of them.

  Esther studied Morris' face. Now that Jones was here, was he worried? But much to her surprise, she did not find the anticipated anxiety in it. Far from it. For a man who was about to get cut off, he seemed oddly calm. Did he possess the slightest bit of dignity after all? Accept that he would have to work for money now? Esther was about to compliment him on his surprising ability to show class in times like these when the door opened wide, revealing a tall, skinny man she had never seen before. Like Morris, he was in his late fifties and dressed in that typical, black day suit of a lawyer.

  “Ah, Morris my dear friend.” He walked over to a now smirking Morris to shake his hand enthusiastically before turning to face Esther. “Miss Silverton, what a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said in a suspiciously overfriendly tone, grinning so wide his round glasses almost fell off, which he caught just in time before stretching out a hand toward her.

  Something was not right. To this day Esther struggled with reading folks of society. Her upbringing on a ranch in Texas had left deep roots, but it had also taught her to trust her gut. And this guy made it twitch and turn just as much as Morris did. She crossed her arms, refusing to return the gesture of a handshake, which caused the man to throw Morris a quick, concerned look.

  “And you are…?” she asked in a clear, unwelcoming tone. Ginny, reading the growing, uncomfortable atmosphere, rushed out to get tea.

  “This is Mr. Gorsh,” Morris said, signaling the lawyer to take a seat on one of the two silk couches. He complied and placed his leather handbag on his lap.

  Esther took a step closer. “And who is Mr. Gorsh if I may ask, and what is he doing in my house?” Her annoyance grew thicker by the second. Father Pilgram would return soon to collect the body of her father for keeping. She still hoped to say her final goodbyes, properly and undisturbed, which Morris had already ruined once this morning.

  Morris was about to speak when Mr. Gorsh held up a hand to signal him that he would take care of the talking. Surprisingly, Morris, who was known for his temper and arrogance, did not seem to mind this gesture. Quite the opposite. He stared at Esther in excited anticipation, as if he couldn’t wait for what Mr. Gorsh had to say. “My dear Child, I am the lawyer your father hired in case something should happen to him.”

  Esther chuckled, waving her hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. Jones has been our lawyer for years. My father would never have replaced him behind my back.”

  Mr. Gorsh nodded, seemingly well prepared for this type of argument.

  “Yes indeed. Douglas Jones is in fact still your family’s lawyer.”

  Esther narrowed her eyes as to why the hell this guy was still sitting on her couch then.

  “However,” he continued, opening his black leather bag and pulling out a piece of parchment, “as you know, Mr. Jones has been away for weeks to deal with this silly Apache business.” He shook his head in disapproval. “What he hopes to accomplish by dealing with these worthless savages I am not certain, but to each his own I guess.”

  Worthless Savages?! His words burned through her skin, crawling into her chest. Esther didn’t know much about the legal situation Jones had been asked to attend as the government was very secretive about it. However, if one would bluntly speak the truth, then all the land they were so proud to stand on did in fact belong to the natives. And to call them savages, to her face… Did this idiot not know, or was he simply speaking blindly? Esther clenched a fist.

  “Jones will have more success dealing with the savages out there than you will ever have dealing with the savage on whose couch your despicable persona is sitting on!” Esther condemned Gorsh as calmly as she possibly could, so that her father’s soul might leave this house in peace, not hearing yells and screams. But on the inside, she was boiling, trembling with rage.

  The shock of the information she had just shared hit Mr. Gorsh so hard, his mouth fell wide open as the document in his fingers slipped from his grip and ruffled onto the floor. He jerked his gaze over to a frowning Morris who cleared his throat to control the damage.

  “The late Mrs. Silverton…was…Cherokee,” he educated Mr. Gorsh, rubbing his neck.

  “I—I had no idea!” Mr. Gorsh mumbled, flabbergasted. “But—but wasn’t Mrs. Silverton—” Mr. Gorsh began to stutter, which was unbecoming of a lawyer. Morris interrupted him, an attempt to ease the situation before things got out of hand.

  “The late Mrs. Silverton was an honorable Christian adopted and raised by Godfearing Americans.”

  A dismissive laugh escaped Esther as she walked over to the document to pick it up. “It would be more accurate to say that my mother was a slave on some white folks’ ranch after her parents were murdered for the very land she had to farm until my father rescued her, honored her, and loved her until her dying breath. You see, not all white men are inhuman thieves like—"

  “Esther that is enough,” Morris scolded her before she could finish that sentence.

  “For once I agree with you, Morris. It is quite enough. My father is barely cold, and you dare to bring this worm into my home, not only with the audacity to present this fake will but also to insult my deceased mother?”

  Mr. Gorsh lifted his hands as if someone had just pointed a gun. “I am truly sorry for this misunderstanding…”

  Esther didn’t respond but held the paper that was supposedly her father’s last wish close to her face to take a closer look at what these snakes were fighting over. It stood out right away that the signature on this document did indeed look like her father’s. They certainly did not spare any efforts to make this fake document look real. She shook her head in disgust.

  “So, let me guess. The whole Silverton fortune goes to Morris?” she said unfazed, as if she had absolutely no worry that this document would be exposed for the forgery it was. Nothing more than a pathetic attempt by a despicable man to seize another’s fortune. But both men grinned as if what she said was incredibly silly.

  “Of course not.” Morris sniggered at her. “Don’t be absurd.”

  A mix of growing impatience, mistrust and confusion slowly swallowed her mind. She focused her gaze on the parchment again, scanning through every word while ignoring those insufferable men in front of her. The will indeed did say that all assets, the estate, and the entire company would be transferred to Esther and her alone. She stopped reading, hesitantly turning toward Mr. Gorsh to catch a glimpse of his face, and then to Morris. Why was Morris so happy then? Surely, he wouldn’t just do the right thing and step aside, removing himself from this home and its fortune forever?

  “So, what’s the catch? I am not foolish enough to assume that this whole charade of going behind my lawyer’s back was all for nothing?”

  Both men pretended to be hurt by her accusations.

  “My dear Child, there is no catch. The fortune and the company of course shall be yours, just as your father had wanted it.” Esther crossed her arms, signaling that she did not trust either of these men farther than she could spit—which wasn’t very far.

  “However…”

  “Here we go.” She rolled her eyes and sighed, almost in relief that he finally got to the point.

  “Your dear father…” Morris announced with a pathetic attempt to look sad, making Esther nauseous, “…God rest his soul. He was worried about you getting taken advantage of.” He placed his hand on his heart. “And rightfully so…”

  “Rightfully so,” Mr. Gorsh parroted while Morris nodded his head.

  “So,” Morris walked over to the little
tray next to the fireplace that had a bottle of whiskey on it and poured himself a glass. “So, he thought it best to name me your guardian until you are of age.”

  Esther almost dropped the parchment as she felt an icy shiver run down her spine, a burning sensation that almost caused her to burst out in scorching outrage. Did she really just hear him say guardian?

  “I’m twenty!” she heard herself shout with a strange voice that didn’t sound like her own. “Guardianship is out of the question!” she added, clenching her fists in fury, unaware that the parchment had wrinkled under her tight grasp.

  Morris slugged down the whiskey before walking over to her. He pried the will out of her fist and showed her the section she’d failed to read.

  “Here,” he said, tapping his finger on it before handing it back to her. Esther glued her eyes on the piece of parchment that might doom her for years to come.

  Furthermore, I hereby appoint my entrusted friend and partner, Ben Morris, to be my daughter’s legal guardian until her 25th birthday or she is to marry, whichever is to come first.

  “Twenty-fifth birthday?!” Esther cried out loud, reading it again to make sure she wasn’t totally going insane. But the words remained the same.

  Something wasn’t right here. Her father would have never done such a thing behind her back. There is a drastic difference between paying a troubled friend’s gambling debts and giving him his only child.

  “Absurd…” she mumbled to herself as she read the part once more as if it would wake her up from this momentary nightmare. Mr. Gorsh stood up and waddled toward Morris who was busy pouring himself another shot from her father’s best kept whiskey.

  “I have to say, Child,” he declared in an arrogant tone, signaling to Morris that he would like a glass as well, “you could show a little more appreciation for Mr. Morris to take on such a heavy burden.” He took a long whiff before tasting the whiskey that brought a shimmer into his eyes. He smiled in fascinated approval. “Exquisite,” escaped his lips before he could realize how inappropriate he was.

  “The best in the nation,” Morris responded in pride as if it were his, before also realizing how inappropriate he was as well. This was it. For her dead father’s sake, Esther had tried to stay calm to honor the day of his passing, but this was too much. Closing her eyes, she felt the burning sensation creeping from her lungs and up to her throat until she could no longer hold down the flames that scorched her, begging to be freed in an angry roar.

  “Get out!” she shouted into the room, pointing toward the door. Morris and Mr. Gorsh looked at each other in a mixture of fear and shock. “I—said—GET—OOOOOOUT!” she yelled once more, throwing the crumpled parchment that Morris insisted was her father’s wish onto the floor as if it was cursed. Ginny stormed in to see if everything was all right. Esther tried to calm herself, her whole body still shaking.

  “Ginny, please escort Morris and his snake out. They are not welcome here,” Esther growled in a more controlled voice that was still witness to her anger. Mr. Gorsh hastily put his glass down to grab his bag from the couch, almost tripping over the rug. Morris on the other hand just stood there, not moving an inch. His eyes were locked on Esther, taking a calm sip of his whiskey. She felt that cold shiver again as she found his gaze. His eyes were filled with nothing but hatred. No, this man was not done yet. He would do everything to claim the Silverton fortune, and his eyes were telling her that, right here in this room. And it was in this very moment that Esther realized that they had gravely underestimated the man she always thought she knew. Morris was not only the pathetic, gambling drunk she thought him to be. No. Those were the eyes of a man who was willing to do whatever was needed to get what he wanted. No rules, no limits, no regrets.

  How long Esther had stared into those dark eyes she could not tell, but voices from the hallway tore her back into the present.

  “Be careful with the dear Mr. Silverton,” she heard father Pilgram's voice from the hallway before catching a glimpse of a coffin passing by the opened door.

  “Papa!” Without wasting another second, she ran out to find Father Pilgram and three young men escorting a coffin out the front door.

  “Wait!” she cried after them, feeling the scorching sun on her head as her feet carried her over the dust riddled path, wailing and begging desperately to be heard. They all stopped and turned.

  Father Pilgram mumbled something to the men before walking up to her, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “My dear Child, I thought you were resting. Did you not say your goodbyes yet?”

  Esther’s legs almost gave in seeing the shiny, black coffin that carried the remains of what was most precious to her, enclosed in a dark casket never to see the light again.

  But what was she supposed to do now—ask them to carry him back upstairs? To take him back out and lay him onto his bed again so she could spend a few more moments with him alone? Father Pilgram caught her just in time as her legs buckled, almost dragging the good Father along with her. Her knees harshly hit the ground before he managed to lift her back up and hold her in place. Suddenly she saw Morris and Mr. Gorsh walking around her father’s coffin, not even looking at it once, as though it was just an inconvenience in their paths and nothing more. Her heart that had barely known anger before was now filled with hate. This emotion was as new to her as the loneliness she would feel from here on out, but by God, and if it would be the last thing she would do, she would not let her father’s legacy and fortune be destroyed by this monster that dared to call himself his friend—and supposedly her guardian.

  “Esther?” she heard Father Pilgram’s gentle voice tear her back from the parts of her mind she had disappeared into for the promise she’d just made.

  “It’s all right, Father. Please continue,” were her last trembling words before they carried Cliff Silverton out of her sight. She didn’t know it then, but life had it that this would be her last moment with the man she loved so pure and dearly—the last Silverton besides herself.

  Chapter 2

  M r. Bend lit his cigar then shook the match until the fire wisped away. He was a short, older man with a huge double chin that made his face look completely round, reminding Esther of a frog. His clothes, however, were those of a well-to-do gentleman, which was to be expected for one of the best lawyers in the nation. He was the fifth lawyer Esther was consulting and was rumored to be ‘the man who gets results.’ He’d better, Esther thought to herself, placing her father’s will along with a substantial amount of bank notes on the enormous solid wood desk he was sitting behind. He raised an eyebrow as if to ask why the paper looked like it had been torn out of a tiger’s mouth. Esther innocently shrugged, paired with a hopeful smile.

  It was of no question that she was of fine origin. She wore one of her finest gowns, a dark blue Parisian silk dress with a heavily decorated trail in the back. Her hat was the latest in fashion too, a large Gainsborough with one side turned up, beautifully decorated with a large bow made of the finest silk.

  “My condolences, Miss Silverton.” He picked up the document, making his head disappear behind.

  “Thank you,” she replied, moving her body to the side to catch a glimpse of his face. He wrinkled his forehead; was that a bad sign?

  “So, you suspect this document to be a forgery?” he said, still holding it close to his face.

  “I have reason to believe so.”

  He placed the will back onto his desk and took a deep puff of his cigar. Its slowly creeping stench clouded the room into a fog. She leaned back, twitching her nose and waving the smoke away from her face in an attempt to escape—to no avail.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised, considering Douglas Morris is involved in this.” He shook his head in disapproval. “I played cards with him at the club once. He tried to cheat, but someone exposed him.” That truly sounded like Morris. “But of course, nothing came of it and we all went on as if nothing had happened.”

  “Why is that?” Esther wondered.

  H
is eyebrows lowered and pinched together. “Because you don’t cross Cliff Silverton.” Esther wanted to frown, confused by what he was trying to imply, but kept her mouth shut. “Morris was the partner, and more importantly friend, of one of the most influential men in town. You don’t mess with the guys above.”

  This bit of information was surprising to her indeed. After Esther had become of age, her father had moved to New York to provide her with a life of fine dresses, parties in elegant parlors, and a rank in the country’s finest society—far away from the dust of the West. But soon after they'd moved, it turned out that none of these things mattered to his daughter and Esther ended up spending all her time at University lectures and charity events. Away from the gossip of New York’s finest, she had no idea that her father was this influential.

  But now, with her father gone, shouldn’t that mean that Morris was stripped of her father’s shield like a peacock of its shiny feathers?

  “Does my father’s passing mean we have a chance of exposing Morris and overturning this will? People seem to be aware of his low moral character.” She couldn’t tell if she sounded hopeful or desperate. Mr. Bend put his cigar in a silver ashtray and leaned forward. His lips frowned downward as if he was sorry for what was to come.

  “No. I’m sorry. I really am, but cheating at cards is not the sort of evidence we would need to challenge this document in court. It would be a waste of your time and money. Which—” he paused for a second, picking up his cigar, “which you won’t have access to any longer until your 25th birthday.”

  Esther tipped her head to look heavenwards. The desperation squeezed her already fragile chest as she choked on the memory of her father's final days. Mr. Bend was watching her in sympathy.

  “I was wondering,” he sounded hopeful, “does the signature seem authentic? Would it match if we compare it to other documents?”