Author’s Note

Hello, dearest readers!

You are about to read the edited version of The Lady Who Sinned, the last book of the Haverston Family Series. A little warning before you move on: this is going to be a different story. And I know that some (or maybe most) of you will not appreciate the changes I made. Also, please take note of the trigger warnings I placed in the story description!

I struggled hard during the editing of this story because I knew many people love this story. But as the writer who wrote this many years ago, I found it hard to connect with the characters and the story itself. With that, and after putting into consideration the following stories (Everard Family Series) that are connected to the Haverston arcs, I decided to let go of many darlings in this story.

The entire Haverston Family Series is now available in paperback here in the Philippines. For international readers, I can only wish to have it available for you. But if you wish to make inquiries on how you can have these books, you may email anvilsales@anvilpublishing.com .

Know that I’m quite nervous to learn the reaction of those who have read the original story. I can only hope you would appreciate this version. Or if not, dive into the book thinking you’ll be reading a completely different story. Or you can just rant your frustrations (with as much grace as you can) and I would still appreciate that. After all, my writing and editing journey will forever be a learning journey as well. 

Anxiously hoping this story will meet your expectations,

J.D. Ruiz

I. The Visitor

**

Once upon a Town…

Belinda Kate Carrington had known naught but praises for her beauty. She had flaming red hair and the bluest eyes amongst little girls her age. She shall marry the wealthiest lord while the others would cry in despair and utter defeat at her feet.

She would have it all, she was told.

‘We don’t mingle with anyone of lower status,’ her mother said.

It was acceptable to be vile, but only to those who weren’t gentry. It was paramount to be nice, but only to those who could be nice in return. With the right friends, she would never have to be alone.

‘And you don’t want to be alone, do you, darling?’

---

The lady did not take her hood down even after she stepped inside the Sperling estate. Andrew, the butler, did not find it uncommon. His master had received visitors who assumed far worse attempts at secrecy.

The woman would not have been permitted entrance if she had not been coming by every day for a fortnight now, asking for the master of the house. In fact, it was the only reason his master grudgingly agreed to see her.

Andrew led the visitor to the study. Her footsteps were faint, as if afraid to rouse anyone from sleep, as if she was not meant to be here. She stopped behind him when they reached the door, waited until he opened it and announced her presence.

Once Andrew left, McKenzie Haverston stood from his chair and said, “Please do not find it rude if I insist upon haste.” He checked the clock, thinking of an important meeting. “I only permitted my butler to take you before me as I can no longer take reports of the same person coming by every day asking for my time.”

“I understand you are quite busy, Mr Haverston, but the matter I wish to discuss may interest you.” By the way she spoke, her tone controlled and soft with a hint of pride; and by how she stood in front of his desk, face shadowed, shoulders held back, clad in a dark cloak, he knew she was a lady of status. But why was the cloak so filthy? And her smell told him she had not seen a bath for some time.

“Interest me?” he asked. If this was a fallen woman desperate for a man to take her in and use her in bed for food and a roof over her head, McKenzie was afraid he would have to make a pass.

“You are a Town Guard .”

“That is not a secret, yes.”

“I need your help.” The words rolled out of her tongue as though she had to force herself to say them.

His brow cocked with interest as he settled back in his seat. “What help?”

Although curious, he was not hoping to get a serious case tonight. With this woman’s efforts to see him, it could be a petty case of scandal, which was getting too rampant nowadays.

It was Wickhurst Season, and everyone was in their best elements. This was the season for hunting. This lady, like many others, may be employing a different trick to win a game.

He had enough of useless cases being presented to him by crying unmarried ladies and their mamas in their poor attempt to get his attention. Town Guard or not, he was, after all, still a Haverston.

Instead of answering his question, she said, “This is in regards to the banishments that have been going on in the Town . There is more to them. I can give you information if you can extend me your help.”

McKenzie shifted. Perhaps this woman was not playing a trick. Perhaps she had information.

“Banishments are not illegal in the Town ,” he said, reserving the right to be doubtful. “I’m afraid we do not handle banishment cases. In our law, it is not a punishable crime if committed by a legal caregiver.”

“I know of the law. And I know when it has been crossed.”

Something in her voice told McKenzie this woman had rehearsed her words before coming here.

“Why don’t you make me understand?” he asked, gesturing to the empty seat across his desk.

She stayed motionless where she stood. “Some of these women who were banished… They are taken elsewhere.”

“Where?” he asked, although he knew the answer to that.

“Up there,” she said with a sharp motion of her head. And as she moved, the yellow hue of the lamp touched the lower part of her face. Her full lips were pursed as if she had more to say.

“Up there where?”

“Aboveground. Out of the Town. “

McKenzie stared at her, careful with his expression.

The Town had its fair share of rumors about the world aboveground, beyond their world carved through caves and hard earth. But they were mostly perceived as fantasies . Most townspeople knew close to nothing beyond the giant holes above their heads, the only known opening to the world beyond—or above .

But for some, like McKenzie, the world above existed. There were guarded passages out of the Town. There was a way out or up , and few were privy to that information.

But this woman knew. How? Rumors? Or something more?

“These banished individuals are being used aboveground. I—” She stopped and shook her head. “I know you know what I mean, Mr Haverston. You are investigating the disappearances of these people. I can help you if you help me.”

“What help do you expect from me?” he asked, eyes narrowed at her shadowed face.

“Protection.”

“From who?”

“Emmet Carrington.”

“The drunkard and the gambler?”

There was a hesitant pause. “Yes.”

“And why would you want to get protection from him?”

“Because I escaped him. I escaped the place he took me to.” McKenzie held his breath as she lifted her hands and pulled down the hood of her cloak. “He banished me five years ago.”

Any hope McKenzie may have had vanished, along with the mystery that had shadowed the woman’s identity.

Belinda Carrington .

McKenzie had an insignificant memory of it, but he could clearly remember why Emmet Carrington whisked his daughter out of Willowfair.

She looked far from the beautiful red-haired lady in McKenzie’s memory. Her hair had lost its vibrant glow; her face, although clean, could no longer come to par with this year’s debutantes. Her nose was still as pristine and flawless to a fault, but it was the way everything else came together that made McKenzie question if he was indeed facing the same person.

Standing before him now was a woman who had lost so much save for her pride. And oh, she had so much pride in her blue eyes. He recognized it in the way she measured him from the head down, as if she was aware of how he judged her. She lifted her chin like she would if she was in a glittering dress in the middle of a ballroom, looking down at him like he was one of the many men she refused to dance with.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, my lady,” McKenzie started mildly, eager to dismiss her. “But I will be crossing the law if I keep you away from your father.”

She did not say a word. For a moment, she just looked at him. Good Lord, where had she been taken to? Did her father know she was here in Willowfair?

“Is it because of who I am that you refuse to help me?” she asked, voice shaking with…anger? Before he could answer, she continued, “I have information about the slavery case. In exchange for your protection, I will willingly share them.”

He forced out a smile, a little conflicted. And very much uncomfortable.

She scoffed, looking around the dimly lit study, which looked far more expensive than she was. Even his maids could do a better job of blending in with the posh interior. His curtains, for certain, smelled better than her cloak, which diffused the smell of horse manure, hay, and cigar smoke.

By law, Emmet Carrington owned his daughter. If she escaped from wherever she was banished to, the man had every right to get her back by whatever means necessary. “My lady, I may not agree with the law, but it clearly states that an unmarried daughter is still under her father’s care. Should I keep you away from your father, I will be committing a crime.”

She took a step back and nodded stiffly, but the anger in her blue eyes was still there. “I understand. I still belong to him.”

McKenzie did not like to admit it, but it was the truth.

Belinda Carrington understood the silent message and took another step back. “I should have not come here. It is quite obvious you cannot help.”

“Lady Belinda—”

“I understand why you cannot take my words seriously. Perhaps your investigation does not need valuable assistance.”

Standing, McKenzie had to ask. “How did you come to know about the banishments aboveground?”

There was a long, hesitant pause. She opened her mouth, then stopped as her eyes met his. She shook her head, probably realizing her answer was stupid. And it was. “Gossips.”

“You have been coming here every day for a fortnight to tell me gossips?”

Her brow twitched as she looked away. “Yes.”

“And where did you get these gossips ?”

“Someone,” she said, her brow twitching once more.

He just nodded. McKenzie’s eyes traveled from her face down to the muddy shoes poking out of her cloak. “Where have you been to all this time?”

“Dartridge.”

He blinked in surprise. “That is too far away.”

“I’ve been to farther places.”

He stepped back, hands in the pockets of his trousers. “What I understand is that you heard a gossip about people being banished aboveground.”

She bit her lips, as if fighting off a laugh. McKenzie smiled because he knew she was trying to make him feel he was making a big mistake by mocking her. “It is foolish of me to have come here.”

“I’m afraid I cannot give you the help you think you need, my lady.”

“Of course,” she coldly said. “You’re obviously wise enough not to harbor a runaway.” He was about to correct her, tell her his work involved something more important—actual lives of women and children. McKenzie needed her to understand why her information, which was mainly gossips if he were to believe her, could not be paramount in an investigation. But before he could say a word, Belinda Carrington hastily said, “I’m sorry to have bothered you for an entire fortnight. Good night, Mr Haverston.”

---

Belinda wrapped her arms around herself, head bent as she hurried away from Sperling estate. A carriage rolled by, and she instinctively pulled her hood lower.

Why did she come here? What was she thinking? That he would help her? Believe her? She barely got to the truth before he made up his mind.

No one believed her five years ago. Why would they do so now?

“Stupid, Belinda,” she said through gritted teeth, echoing the words her mother used to say. The cobbled path was empty and dark, most lamps nearby put out for the night. Soon, they would be lit again. The sun would shine down through the giant holes over the parks. The shops would open. Everyone would go on with their lives after a night’s pause.

The ladies would come out for walks and calls. They would discuss trivial things, plan their gowns for the end of the Wickhurst Season . They would gossip about people they hardly knew.

A sense of nostalgia overwhelmed her, but the empty and cold street she walked, and the terrible state of her clothing, reminded her of who she was and what she had to go through to be here again.

Five long years later.

While the posh streets surrounding Sperling were pristine and empty, the streets of Wymark were waking up in smoke and grime. The smell of fresh bread filled the air as two carts were being loaded with goods that would be delivered to the town center.

Sleepy conversations echoed with her steps. She had never been to this part of Willowfair before, but now she knew its alleyways like the back of her hand. Water dripped from the ceiling of earth above their heads, wetting the cobblestones below, pooling filth in every corner, and flowing down the gutters to mix with blood from the butcher’s place.

Belinda would not have come here if she had a choice. The paltry amount she came with could only afford her a small room and a cot she had to share with Anne, a fellow traveler she met on the road from Dartridge.

“Good mornin’ lassie,” someone greeted as she walked past. She ignored him and rounded a dark corner into a narrow path. Too narrow, in fact, that Belinda had to walk sideways, pressing her chin on her shoulder to save her skin from the soot-covered brick wall.

When she stumbled into the small house, careful to hold the door so it did not fall from its hinges, Belinda noticed that her room was open, and someone was inside.

She rushed and found the owner digging into her rucksack.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, wide-eyed.

The woman looked up, eyes furious. “Your friend left without paying.”

“She’s not my friend,” Belinda snapped, reaching for her bag, but the woman pulled it out of her reach.

“I don’t care, darling. You have to pay for her stay.”

“But I don’t have more money—”

“I know,” the woman said, turning her rucksack upside down, emptying the contents on the cot.

Belinda was about to step forward and demand for her things, but a slight tug on her coat gave her pause. She looked down and found the little girl looking up at her, sucking her thumb.

“I’ll take these,” the woman said, finding a small gold mirror in the pile.

“You have no right to steal from me. Step away from my things, madam, or I will call for the Town Guards .”

The lady scoffed, then laughed. “Then go on, call them.”

“I will. I just came from one.”

The woman’s laughter died down as she held Belinda’s gaze.

“I will only pay for my stay. I came here alone.”

“Then pay me now,” the woman demanded, throwing the mirror on the cot. She brushed past Belinda and picked up her child. Outside the door, she waited.

Belinda reached for her rucksack, turned her back to the woman, and searched the secret pocket she sewed inside.

Her heart stopped.

“It’s gone,” she whispered, growing frantic as she searched. “Did you take anything?” she asked over her shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you take anything!” she cried out, pulling out every pocket, inspecting the pile on the cot.

“Are you accusing me?” When Belinda did not reply, the woman walked into the room. “Pay me now, woman, before I call my brother. Do you think me stupid? I’ve seen this trick before. One of you leaves, the other follows without paying a single townsend.”

“It was here,” Belinda whispered, searching the secret pocket one more time.

“’Twas stupid of you to leave your things here.”

“She never touched my things.”

“You can’t trust strangers. Even friends.”

“She was not my friend.”

“Then you’re stupid.”

Belinda’s jaw tightened. Yes, she was.

“How are you goin’ to pay?” the owner asked. “Should I call my brother?”

Belinda threw her rucksack on the cot and reached inside her cloak, gathered her skirts, and tugged at the strap around her thigh. She unbound the rest of her money and counted.

“This will do,” the woman said, snatching everything. “Now, leave. You have five minutes.” She turned away, her little girl smiling over her shoulder.

Belinda dropped on the cot, gathered the pair of trousers, the dress shirt, and the small gold mirror. Throwing them into the sack, she shook her head.

She was indeed stupid. Anne saw that as well. The woman waited a fortnight to steal from her and leave. Two bloody weeks of doing nothing but spy outside her old home, hoping for a chance to find a familiar friendly face. A fortnight of knocking outside McKenzie Haverston’s estate to have a word. And, of course, he kindly rejected her. Why not? He must have heard the stories.

The world is only good to those who do well but rarely to those who are hated.

She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the grease smear her skin.

Her plan failed. Where should she go now? She could not return to Dartridge. They would find her there.

Julia .

II. The Banished

‘I hate him!’ the little girl cried. ‘I’ll never marry that boy, Mama! He pushed me into the pond!’

Little Belinda stared at the little girl with awe. She could shout and her mother merely shook her head. Not only was she drenched and dripping pond water all over the elegant carpet, Cressida Belverst was also causing a scene.

‘Never associate yourself with such girls,’ her mother whispered disapprovingly beside her.

She looked at her mother, bewildered.

‘The Belversts may be rich, but they cannot put a leash on their daughter. Just look at her.’ Her mother shook her head, lips screwed in distaste. ‘You can have as many friends, but none like the Belverst girl.’

But Cressida had been quite nice and fun until she was pushed into the pond.

Her mother gently turned her away. ‘Go back to the playroom with Poppy and Posy.’

---

For five years, he had been chasing after ghosts. But even before that, the women and children had been disappearing under their watchful eyes. Worse, hundreds of leads led them nowhere.

He did the right thing.

Belinda Carrington was not the first to come to him with a promise of information. There were others like her who always wanted something in exchange for valuable information.

Every day, people were being plucked from the streets, most of them homeless and not missed. They were not like the gentries banished by their family to a small village like Belinda Carrington. McKenzie could not afford to waste his time entertaining gossips.

The lady should know that her war was with her family, not the Town Guards or the League of Founders, who had actual problems on their hands. She should return to where her father took her and try to live a modest life like other banished gentries. And mayhap, in the future, she may be allowed to return.

He did the right thing.

Did you?

He silently cursed. Somehow, last night continued to bother him. Dartridge was too far away. It would take nearly a week to travel to Willowfair. He did not think that someone like Belinda Carrington would endure such long travel and knock on his door every day for a fortnight just to tell him gossips.

He entered the Mary House, one of the gentleman’s clubs his sister-in-law owned. He ran up the stairs to the

family room. There, he found his four-year-old nephew climbing a shelf. Not alone, of course, because the child’s equally childish father was there to support his quest by holding the shelf steady. Both dark-haired Haverstons turned to stare at McKenzie.

“Uncle Mac!” Ernest cried with glee before jumping from the shelf like it was the most natural thing. He landed perfectly on the carpeted floor, his proud father beaming next to him. The boy ran up to McKenzie and tried to climb up, clinging to his coat, then staying there, dangling as McKenzie refused to hoist him up.

“Where’s Mary?” he asked Adrien.

His brother tore his son from McKenzie. “Love! Mac is here!”

The door connected to Mary’s office opened and his sister-in-law poked her head out. “Mac.” And to her husband, she said, “Darling, Ernest needs to eat.”

“I’m not hungry!” Ernest protested.

“You need to eat,” Adrien said, putting the boy down. “What do you wish to devour, son? The monster or the witch?” McKenzie frowned, but Adrien just winked as he led his son out of the room.

Inside the office, McKenzie settled in front of Mary’s desk. For years, even before she married his brother, McKenzie had been working with Mary on the slavery case. It had been five years since she inherited her father’s clubs, including his title of Uncle , the leader of a criminal group called the Society . Before that, she was the Blower , the rat of the same group who provided information to the Town Guards on many occasions. It was how they got acquainted and formed a secret partnership of sort. The slavery case was by far their longest venture together.

Mary’s marriage with Adrien offered many advantages. For one, she did not have to meet McKenzie in secret anymore because they were now family. She was still the leader of the Society , and she was clearly still involved in some questionable activities, but her cooperation with the Town Guards and the League of Founders was far more advantageous.

Mary had ears everywhere. She was the first to discover about the mysterious disappearances of the women and children, and, eventually, how they were being traded as slaves all over the Town , and—as they all believed— aboveground .

“We hear some people are looking for someone—a runaway,” Mary said. “A village down south has an extra influx of men there. They believe that’s where she has been hiding since her arrival six months ago.”

He straightened, suddenly alert. “By runaway, Mary, do you mean someone from up there?”

She nodded, a lock of black hair escaping from behind her ear. She looked excited. Hopeful. “I believe so, yes.”

“Is this a reliable source?”

Her light brown eyes regarded him with impatience, as if he should know the obvious. “Of course not. We got it from the Meriweather bandits, and you know how ambiguous they can be.”

A brief silence followed Mary behind her desk.

“Someone came back.” It was not a question, but rather a statement to make himself believe it was true.

“If the bandit gossips are to be believed, yes. We have to get to her before they can. She could be the link we need to solve this.”

“Have you made progress? Followed a track?”

“No. The bandits refuse to be involved. I sent men, but they cannot actively search. I do not want to trigger any suspicions. Perhaps you can do something.”

He blinked, perplexed. “Do we even know whom we are looking for?”

“No,” she replied, moistening her lips. “We only know they are looking for a woman with red hair. They had been knocking on doors with the description.”

McKenzie stiffened. “Which village are you referring to, Mary?”

“Dartridge.”

A chill rushed up his spine, his own voice echoing in his head…

“That is too far away.”

And then came Belinda Carrington’s words…

“I’ve been to farther places.”

McKenzie’s eyes closed, and he groaned. “Bloody tarnation.” He brushed his fingers through his hair.

“What is it?”

“I just received a visit from her last night.” Jumping to his feet, he rushed to the door. “I will explain everything later.”

In the corridor, he met Adrien and Ernest, each holding bread wrapped in paper with the word sandwitch written on it, making McKenzie wonder for a second what the monster food might be.

“Where are you going?” his brother asked through his food.

He did not reply. He ruffled Ernest’s hair as he passed. Bounding down the stairs, he cursed himself.

Bloody hell! She could be anywhere by now!

---

Two days since she left Willowfair, Belinda was jostled awake. When she realized where she was, she jumped away from the hands that shook her, sliding to the other end of the hackney.

“Relax, lassie,” said the man, chuckling loudly.

Her eyes darted to her fellow passenger, an old woman who looked more impatient than she was hours ago. Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, she stared at the open door of the hackney. Outside stood the driver, his pipe hanging at one corner of his mouth.

“I can’t take you further, lass,” he said, motioning over his shoulder. “New passengers.” Three restive men stood behind him.

“But I paid.”

“Yer pay only takes ye ’tis far, lassie,” the driver dismissively said, pipe swinging up and down. He grabbed her rucksack. “Come on, get down.”

“Get on with it, woman,” one of the new passengers added, voice crisp. “We’ve been waitin’ a ride fer ages.”

Belinda reluctantly jumped out of the hackney. Soon, her rucksack was pushed into her arms and the driver happily rode away with three more passengers after telling her that the next village was not far along.

Three hours later, feet sore and stomach empty, the village of Marsden came to sight, its roofs glowing yellow from the surrounding lamps, and smoke floating sleepily upward.

Another hour later, a barmaid was staring her up and down with a combination of pity and uncertainty. She did not know what the woman saw, but she could tell what she could not see: the beautiful lady in a pretty gown and glittering jewels. The one who never had to receive the same look the barmaid was giving her now. A proud woman.

Here, she was just someone begging for a bed. “I can mop floors,” she said. “I can clean the rooms for you.”

“I don’t know, darlin’,” the barmaid said, shaking her head. She looked over at the owner standing behind the bar with a cloth over one shoulder. “There’s nothin’ much fer ye to do here.” Belinda refused to back out, still waiting for something—anything. Finally, the woman leaned closer and whispered, “But ye can stay in the stable. The stable boy ran away three days ago. You’ll be alone there.” The woman’s helpless smile told Belinda that’s all she could offer.

She blinked a few times and nodded. “Thank you.”

Not long after, Belinda was in the stable, hiding in a stall with a pitchfork standing against the wooden stall wall that separated her from the nearest gelding. There were only two horses inside, and both neighed now and then, sensing her presence. They eventually relaxed, perhaps realizing she was harmless, that she was not crawling out of her hiding place. Why would she? She was safe here, on a bed of hay, away from the foxed men in the tavern. The barmaid promised to bring her food, but Belinda was not hoping to see another soul tonight. People often forget their promises.

Light streamed through the bar windows above the walls across from her, landing yellow on the hay-covered floor of her stall. She wrapped her cloak over herself from the chin down and leaned back against the hay, the questions in her mind as pesky as the dried blades of grass stabbing through her clothes.

What would Julia do? Would she take her in?

Wait for me. I will find you. I promise.

Belinda was starting to forget her sister’s voice, her face, or even how she said them, but she would never forget the words. She held on to those words for so long.

She absently searched inside her rucksack. No food. No money. Her thoughts went to Anne, the blond woman she traveled with for days, the one who taught her how to survive the roads as a woman through her stories. Silently, she berated herself for trusting someone too fast and too soon. She could not blame Anne. True to her teachings, Anne was just trying to survive. It was her, Belinda, who was naïve and stupid.

She pulled out the small gold mirror with a bitter smile and held it before her. She moved her head to inspect every inch of her face, her mind circling back to her sister. They never looked alike. People had always thought her older sister was plain. She, Belinda, was the fairest. Not true anymore, she thought, pointing the mirror away from her to catch the light, watching it reflect on the ceiling.

A small giggle bubbled in her lips, then grew into a fit of chuckles. The two horses huffed and whipped their tails, their peace disrupted. But Belinda did not care. It was at that time of day, when she was alone and the world was sleeping, that she could laugh at her fate.

Her friends should have seen the things she did. They would be horrified, really. Poppy and Posy most of all. They might even faint. Her chuckles died down as the faces of her family flashed in her mind. Would they be awed she survived at all? She knew Nana would, wherever she was.

She pointed the mirror at her face again and tried to smile, tucking the greasy red tresses behind one ear, feeling ridiculous. She hated what she saw. In fact, she did not know what she was seeing.

Then she scoffed. She threw the mirror back into her sack and slouched into the hay. Her mother’s disapproving face flashed again. She could imagine what Lady Amber Carrington would say. “That’s not very ladylike, Belinda.” She would say it without a twitch on her face, the black ringlets on the sides of her face stiff as her own shoulders. Even that night five years ago, her mother’s face remained rigid and blank. They did not even change when Belinda cried out for her when the men took her.

She closed her eyes, hoping sleep would not come too strongly. There was no time to rest. Not tonight. Not until she was safe.

Hours later, or perhaps just five minutes, Belinda flinched. The horses were making noises again, stomping and huffing. She stiffened, the hairs at the back of her neck erect.

Someone else was in the stable. She silently reached for her rucksack, but then realized it had nothing inside for her to protect. She grabbed the pitchfork instead and slowly rose to take a peek, diving back down when she saw a man guiding a horse into an empty stall. Her hand tightened around her weapon when more footsteps came through the stable door—another man with a horse.

“She could be in Wickhurst by now,” a deep, throaty voice said. “Let’s trade the horses and move along. The others are on their way. We can’t be caught pottering about.”

Belinda’s heart leaped to her throat. She did not even dare swallow, afraid to make a sound. The other man grumbled under his breath. “Talk to the owner and ask around. The chit may have asked for a bed. If we’re lucky, she’d be here. If not, let’s hope she’s on foot to Wickhurst.”

To Belinda’s horror, the horse right next to her stall huffed and stomped its foot. Her heart thudded against her ribcage as she sank deeper into the hay. The dull footsteps neared, just paces away from her. They were checking out the horse. “See if this one can be traded,” said the surly voice, sending the other man out.

Belinda stayed motionless as the remaining man guided his companion’s horse into another stall. “Where’s the bloody stable boy?”

She heard him pace around, looking for the servant that was not there. She looked at the pitchfork and considered her options. Letting go of the only weapon that could save her life, she climbed back into the hay, pulled her cloak over her, and turned around. Pretending to sleep was perhaps the most ridiculous idea, but so was forking a man ten times her strength.

Her heart pulsed in her throat, her ears ringing with the rush of blood. She did not have to hear the man walking toward her stall. She only had to sense it.

“Oi, boy! Wake up. You have horses to feed.” The voice was above her. Then she felt a kick, right on her leg. She flinched and slowly moved. Hands fisted around the rough material of her cloak, and she sat up, careful to keep her head covered. “You lazy bastard. Get up and—”

The stable door flung open again and the man’s companion said, “There are Guards outside.” He sounded urgent. Alarmed. “We must leave.”

“Find out what they’re up to. I’ll get the owner.” Giving Belinda another kick, he added, “Take care of the horses.” And then he turned and walked out of the stable with his friend.

There was no time for relief. Belinda grabbed her rucksack and poked her head over the stall wall. Fear was not a stranger to her, but it was still as potent. They had caught up with her. They knew where she was going. And then a more immediate panic set in. The barmaid knew she was here.

Her frantic eyes landed on her neighbor—the black gelding. It huffed; deep, almost like a growl.

She swallowed and let out a shaky sigh. Well, she had been held captive for years, been chased for months, been stolen from. She deserved at least a horse for those.

III. The Thief

Once upon a Town…

Poppy and Posy Prewitt looked at those beneath them as people they could use.

Belinda found it ridiculous to hear them plan their foolish empire inside Madam Pearson’s School for Young Ladies. ‘We would be queens,’ they said. Belinda included, of course, for they needed a pretty face.

The Prewitt name had been around for ages. Their family was among the ancient ones in the Town, and they had been from a fine line of impressive titles and wealth. But somewhere along that line, something must have gone wrong, Belinda believed, for the sisters were by far too shallow for such high regard.

‘The Prewitts are important,’ her mother said. Thus, Amber Carrington made all necessary measures to push pretty little Belinda into their lives.

---

McKenzie waited outside the tavern beside his horse. Two other Guards were inside, asking questions.

He looked down the road that led straight to Wickhurst. Maybe she was already there. Or was she even going there?

But she had nowhere to go. They knew she never went to anyone in Willowfair, most definitely her father. But there was one person she may go to for safety—her sister. Julia Carrington had married years ago and now lived in Wickhurst.

His thoughts brought him back to that night Belinda Carrington visited him. Why did she not tell him everything?

Would you have believed her if she said she was banished aboveground?

There was only one obvious answer. He would not have believed her. But he might have given her the benefit of the doubt.

His horse nudged his shoulder with its head, and he absently ran his hand over its mane. Perhaps they should rest. They had been traveling for two days in search of Belinda Carrington.

He led his horse across the street, intending to take it inside the stable at the back of the tavern. The horses of the two other Guards were tethered outside the entrance. He would take care of them, too, and then he would tell his companions they might as well stay the night in Marsden.

He stopped to let a man and his horse pass. They were coming from the direction of the stable, a pair of shadows stepping into the light from the lamp overhead. The horse was black; the man was wrapped in a dark cloak from head to foot.

McKenzie waited impatiently. Now that he had decided to stay the night, he was eager to crawl into bed. He guided his horse to step back to make room for the man and his horse. His eyes landed on the ground, then on the pair of muddy shoes that walked past him.

He frowned, trying to remember why they looked familiar. And then he blinked as the smell reached him. It may have been two days, but this was merely the second time he came upon that smell.

His head snapped up, recognizing the cloaked figure who had by now mounted the black horse. Before he could call out, Belinda Carrington was riding away and someone standing outside the tavern door shouted, “Oi! That’s my horse!”

And hell broke loose: Men shouted for torches and horses, screaming about a horse thief.

“Bloody tarnation!” McKenzie cursed under his breath, mounting his horse to join the chase.

---

Belinda knew she could not go to Wickhurst. With people so close to her tail, she could not risk going to her sister now.

The man said there were others coming soon. How many men had they sent after her?

Riding out of Marsden, she realized her stolen horse would eventually get tired. She had no means to feed it. She would have to sell or trade it in the next village. She planned on riding further north, but then she encountered a crossing. If she went straight, it would take days to reach another village. The left would lead her to Wickhurst. The road to the right, if her recollection was correct, would get her to Oakley.

How ironic, she thought, that she would be traveling to the village so close to Theobald, the place that changed her life five years ago. And she did just that. She guided the horse to the right, down the narrow path between two high walls of earth.

There were no lampposts. And it was only when utter darkness shrouded her that she realized she may have very well placed herself in danger. To make matters worse, she could hear hooves behind her. Distant at first, then nearer, mimicking her racing heartbeats.

“Thief!” the voice called out behind her.

Belinda urged the gelding faster, but it slowed down and stopped.

“Please, please,” she said, looking behind her. But the horse refused to move, hesitant to venture further into the darkness. Belinda jumped down, falling to the ground in haste. Her rucksack fell somewhere too, and she blindly searched for it, hands trembling, her senses too aware of the danger that would surely come to her.

Was this the end? Was it over now?

Yes, the dark, weary voice in her head answered as the two men arrived, their torches high in the air.

Belinda struggled with her cloak to cover her head, as if it could protect her. She should have stayed in the stable. She should not have stolen the horse.

“You bloody bastard!” the man shouted as soon as he jumped off his horse. He stormed toward Belinda and kicked, hitting her shoulder, sending her stumbling back on the ground. “You bloody thief!”

She refused to look up and see who her attacker was. It could be the owner of the tavern. Or worse, it could be one of the men searching for her. A hand reached down and grabbed the collar of her cloak, pulling her to her feet.

She shrunk, muscles tight against the strength holding her upright. She prepared for the blow. They always came next, she thought. But not this time.

The force gripping her loosened, and she staggered back on the side of the road and against the wall of earth.

“Stop,” a voice ordered. A whimper escaped her lips, and she bit them hard. Anne told her it was paramount that no one finds out she was a woman—helpless and weak against a man. But then Belinda realized the voice was not talking to her. Her attacker was holding a torch in one hand, and it gave Belinda a clear view of McKenzie Haverston. He was holding her attacker by the arm.

The man did not fight back, so did his companion. They both saw the red Town Guard coat around McKenzie Haverston. “He stole my horse!” the man screamed, pointing his torch at Belinda. She turned away, hiding her face.

“Then get your horse back and leave,” McKenzie said.

“But—”

“I’ll deal with this thief.”

There was a moment of pause. Finally, the man nodded and stepped away from McKenzie as soon as the latter let him go. He gestured to his companion and the two of them left, carrying the black gelding and their torches with them.

Belinda dropped to the ground, searching for her rucksack. She found it, stood, and faced McKenzie Haverston. “Are you going to take me in?” she asked.

“No.”

“Thank you.” Without a word, she slung her rucksack over her shoulder, then flinched when it hurt. The bloody bastard kicked her too hard.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” she lied, brow twitching. She transferred her sack over her good shoulder. It was dark again, but she knew where she had to go. “Why are you here? Were you following me?”

“I’m here to take you somewhere safe.”

She halted, blinking in the dark. “I refuse your kind offer,” she said. “I don’t need your help.”

“Of course, you do. You asked for it not two days ago.”

She scoffed, shaking her head.

“You lied to me.”

“What did I lie to you about?”

“You did not tell me where they took you.”

Her hand tightened around her rucksack. “That was not a lie.”

“Hiding information can be one.”

“Not in my book, Mr Haverston.” Belinda adjusted her rucksack over her shoulder and walked on. He followed, and this time, he was on his horse. She could hear the hooves beside her.

“This is not the way to Wickhurst, my lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. She should not be angry with him, really, but she could not help it. He dismissed her two days ago. “And I’m not headed to Wickhurst.”

“Good. Because that’s not where your sister is at the moment.”

She stopped, and so did his horse. “Then where is she?”

“Somewhere,” he said. Then, he asked, “Why did you steal the horse?”

“I needed a pet,” she wryly bit out. “Tell me where my sister is.”

“I will tell you once I get you to safety. And that’s what you want, yes?”

She could see nothing save for his silhouette above her. In the darkness, she felt confident. He could not see her—the poor state of her clothing, the filthy hair. He only had to trust her voice. “This is the safest I have been for days, Mr Haverston. Tell me where Julia is.”

“In her husband’s family estate.”

So it was true. Julia was married. “Who is she married to?”

His horse stomped, causing her to jump away. He took a moment to soothe his horse, bending low to caress its neck, then he straightened. “Noah Trilby.”

She went cold and took a step back.

“They married not long after you…left.”

She shook her head. She had imagined someone else—someone at least decent. With Belinda’s scandal five years ago, she did not think Julia would ever land herself a titled man. But she did. And she landed the worst of the lot.

The anger had been a companion for years, but it surprised her to know that it was still too strong. To find that Julia was married to Noah Trilby fueled the fury.

But it should not be a surprise. Noah Trilby was rich, and his family was powerful. Just like what Emmet Carrington wanted.

And it explained everything. Everything.

“Will you let me take you somewhere now?” McKenzie asked.

Her lips shook. Was she about to cry? No, that could not be. The tears had long abandoned her. She rubbed her dusty hand over her face, over her forehead, pushing the hood of her cloak back.

“Belinda?” McKenzie Haverston spoke again.

“You’ll help me?” she asked.

“If you tell me everything.”

She blindly looked down the road, thinking hard. Julia married to a Trilby. It was unexpected. Like walking on a dark road, thinking you would land on ground, only at the last step, there was none.

Everything has changed, Belinda. What are you going to do now?

She had to remain calm. She was still useful to McKenzie Haverston and his case. If she played her cards right, she might just get what she deserved. She moistened her lips before she continued, “In return for the information I give you, you will give me everything I ask for.”

“I prefer if we make negotiations in a much more conducive venue. I assume you are exhausted. So am I.”

In the darkness, Belinda made up her mind. She nodded even though he may not see it.

“I would like to get on your horse now, Mr Haverston,” she said.

IV. The Scarred Haverston

Once upon a Town…

Tommy was her first love. They were both seven when they met. He would not show himself in the main rooms, but he was always around with his mother, a servant in the manor, always following her everywhere until his father arrived to take him home.

Belinda would play with him if her mother was not around. They would go to the library, where they would read books.

He asked her if they were friends.

‘Of course, Tommy, we are.’

He had dreams. He wanted to be a doctor. Or a farmer. Or an inventor. He wanted to be many things.

And she dreamed, too. And later, as they got older, her dream was to be with him.

---

She sat before him atop his horse. He wanted to thank her when she pulled up her hood, muting the smell, but McKenzie was not ready to spite the woman. He already made a big mistake when he carelessly disregarded her claims during their first meeting.

As they traveled down the road, his horse hesitant in the darkness, he wondered what happened to her. There were too many questions.

Where did they take her? How did she get back? Who took her?

Did she deserve this?

He did not know the woman, never even talked to her. McKenzie was not spared from the stories about Belinda Carrington. His sister-in-law, Cressida, had the strongest opinion. Belinda had stolen secrets from Mary in the past and threatened her with them, even exposing one for the Town Herald to publish in its gossip columns. She tried to extort money from Mary when she could not have enough, but that bit was still an ongoing debate within their little family. Mary did not believe Belinda did it willingly, but Adrien and Cressida were fast to say that Mary was simply too good to think the worst of anyone.

McKenzie never bothered with the tedious and vile things women in the Town did, but he was inclined to judge when his family had been wronged. Cressida and Mary were family, and he would not wish for them to be bothered by rumors spread by one such as Belinda Carrington.

“Will my father go to prison if it’s proven he has made an illegal transaction to banish me aboveground?”

She had been silent since they started their journey that her question surprised him. “Yes,” he replied.

She did not speak again until the lampposts lit up, signaling another day. Up ahead, the village of Oakley was yellow, rousing from sleep.

“They’re heading to Wickhurst,” she spoke again. “The men following me.”

“Who are they?” he asked.

“I don’t know. They can be anyone. But I don’t want them to go to Julia,” she said.

“I will send my men and make certain your sister is made aware.”

“Thank you.” And then she added, “I need a new dress.”

“And food?”

“That’s a given, sir.”

And he provided just what she wanted. The moment they reached the tavern in Oakley, Belinda disappeared into her room, where her food and bath were waiting. McKenzie paid a servant to assist his friend with any type of clothing she needed, and also to send a messenger to Marsden for the two Guards he left behind. And then he, too, rested.

---

Belinda knew her father was not foolish. He may be careless and impetuous in a game of cards, but his reputation, his status, was too great for him to ruin. If her suspicions were right, he might never get caught because he would do anything to preserve his place in society.

She closed her eyes and rested her head on the rim of the bath, letting the warm water soothe her tender shoulder. She felt clean after weeks of scant water in that small room in Willowfair. How long had it been since she had a decent bath like this?

The dress delivered to her room did not compare to the ones she had before her banishment but was far better than the one she discarded. She fixed her hair in front of the mirror, careful not to scrutinize. Her hair did not smell like anything in particular, but it was clean. Her shoes fit perfectly, but they were too soft. She decided to wash her leather boots and let them dry for the journey tomorrow.

McKenzie Haverston told her he would take her somewhere safe. She would willingly go, but he would have to give her what she wanted. Not just his protection.

She jumped at the knock on her door. “It’s me,” McKenzie’s muffled voice said from the other side.

Belinda checked herself in the mirror one last time and made certain her hair was tied neatly at her nape. The bruises on her shoulder poked out of the wide neckline of the blue dress, so she gathered the tail of her hair over it. Satisfied, she opened the door and let him in.

He gave her a swift look and just as quickly looked away. Her brow furrowed. Did he not like what he saw? Or did he simply not care? He turned and walked to the table, eyes landing on her empty plate. “You are full and clean,” he said, taking a seat. “Well?”

McKenzie Haverston arched his right scarred eyebrow. It was small but deep, as if someone smacked glass on his face and a fragment lodged into the skin. For a very tiny second, she wondered where he got it. A brawl? An accident?

He looked so big sitting in that chair, she thought. She had forgotten how big he was. In the past, he rarely attended balls; he and his brothers never liked such parties. She had merely seen him from a distance and, most especially now with the bright light, she was in awe at how intimidating the second Haverston brother could be. His presence made her want to cower so he would not spare her a glance. It could be his size, the scar, or the way his eyes seemed to penetrate. It could be the tousled dark hair and dark bristles. Or it could be that he was a Haverston. A Town Guard . A man who knew her and her story. The same man who had seen her when she was in her prime, and then witnessed her in her worst and most vulnerable state.

“Well?” he asked again. “Should we start our talk?” His voice was formal, yet there was a touch of something promising, like fun and adventure, like laughter and wit rolled into one. She shook the thought away and turned to lock the door.

“Do you mean our negotiation ?” she asked, taking the chair opposite his.

“Before we make negotiations, I need proof that you have been aboveground.”

“I brought nothing with me from aboveground.” Her brow twitched at the lie.

“Surely you know things only someone from aboveground should know.”

She met his powerful gaze unflinchingly. “What do you want to know?”

“Where were you taken?”

“A manor near the ocean.”

His scarred brow arched. “And how many others were there?”

She shrugged. “I cannot count. We could only go out one at a time. But there were six when I arrived.”

“When you arrived?”

“They held us in a basement first.” She hesitated for a moment, reminded of the place. “There were five women and a child in a cell next to mine.”

His handsome face hardened. “And how long were you kept there?”

The corner of her mouth twitched because all she could afford now was a silent, mocking laugh. She could not cry. “A year. You do not have to look so horrified, Mr Haverston. Some would think I deserved it.”

“Banishment is bad enough as it is.”

Her lips stretched further as she regarded him with a curious look. “Have I satisfied your curiosity?”

“Not quite,” he said. “Tell me about the sea.”

Belinda shook her head. “If I tell you, will you truly believe me? I might have just taken the information from The World Above .”

“Then have you read the book?”

“No,” she said. “I’m not one of the lucky few who found a copy,” she said, referring to the famous book long banned from the Town. It told stories of the world above, of things the Townspeople would call magical . Belinda sighed, rolling her eyes. “The sea is enormous. It will scare you at first, most particularly on a windy day. The waves were high, slapping against the rocks underneath.”

“Underneath?”

“The manor was on a cliff,” she said with a dismissive nod. “The sun sets behind the sea, painting the sky orange and violet, pink and blue. It is quite magnificent, with the clouds forming strips or clumps. The air is salty to the taste, yet it’s also refreshing and soothing. The wind is typically as strong as the crash of water against the rocks. You could shout and never be heard because it’s as angry as the screams. Like a woman scorned.”

“You are saying you are scorned.”

She shrugged. “They ruined my life.”

You caused it upon yourself. Was he about to say that?

Her smile froze on her lips. Finally, there it was. The judgment in his eyes. He did not have to say it. It was loud enough. “I believe we have veered off topic,” she said tightly. “Do you believe me now? I can tell you more about how their carriages work up there. They all have cars. And like the carriages here, the cars can tell you how much money someone has.”

“And you have met someone with these cars ?”

“No, but the clients come with them.”

“Clients?”

She smiled at him. “Clients,” she repeated, aware he knew what she meant.

His blue eyes cleared with understanding. “Men?”

“Sometimes women as well.” She chuckled with derision. “Are you judging, Mr Haverston?”

His eyes flickered with annoyance. “I refuse to judge what you had to do to survive.”

“If you say so.” Belinda did not care, really. She had been judged far worse for lesser acts.

“I am curious about one thing,” he said. “You may choose to believe this to be merely gossipmongering, but I need to know who I will be working with.”

“You need to know more about me.”

He smiled. “I hope you do not take offense, but I need to ask…” Belinda did not move and simply waited. “Why did you do it? Why did you risk ruining your reputation with Nigel Godfrey, a man who was twice your age?”

Her heart raced and her chest tightened. No one had asked her that question before. They simply skipped that part and judged. But she did not want to answer. It seemed irrelevant now.

She was tired of trying to tell everyone the truth. Even so, she felt she needed to say it because she was too proud to even lie about it. “He was not my lover.”

His brows cocked high. “Because he died before something happened.” He was trying to make her remember everything about that night, what happened before and after. That’s all she could remember, really. The before, then after. But never the exact moment.

“Are you always this blunt?” she asked.

“Only when I need to know the truth.”

“Then you are asking the wrong questions, Mr Haverston. You want to know if I killed him or not because it would make it easier for you to discern if what I’m telling you now can be trusted. Did I kill Nigel Godfrey?” The corner of her mouth lifted. “I believe the burden of proof is on you, not I.”

This man was judging her simply because she was the Belinda Carrington; the vile, shallow chit who used her beauty to trick and enchant men, who gave the ladies a thorough lashing with her talented, sharp tongue. They all judged her for what she did, not why she did them.

“Now, if you think you can bear to work with someone with questionable innocence, I wish to negotiate now. Otherwise, I would have to thank you for the food and the clothes.”

“I feel used.”

She held his gaze. “It will get better.”

He frowned at her, as if he was trying to see through her words and demeanor. Well, Belinda hoped he could not hear the giant thuds in her chest. And she genuinely wished he was as ignorant as the people who shunned her. It would be terrible if he could sense how much she needed his help.

To her relief, he nodded. “Negotiation,” he said. “What can you offer me?”

“Names.” If he was surprised or pleased, he did not show it. He merely cocked a scarred brow. “But you shall not get them until I get what I want.”

“I sense you will demand more than protection.”

“Your protection will only last until you get what you want. I need something more.”

“And what is that?”

“The most powerful of all, of course—money.”

And there it was again—the clear understanding in his eyes. He must have expected it. To be fair, McKenzie Haverston was proving to be wiser than she thought. “You are planning to return to society.”

Belinda managed a smile despite the hammering in her chest. “Yes.”

“Why go back to the same society that shunned you?”

Is revenge not enough? That answer would bring her trouble, so she said, “I want to clear my name.”

V. A Lady Scorned

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 on 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 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 a 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 your 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 it 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 the 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 whomever 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 . In 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.

VI. The Runaway

Once upon a Town…

Tommy said she changed ever since she came to Madam Pearson’s.

‘Of course, I did not.’

‘You make friends with those twins. They’re insufferable.’

‘No, Tommy. They’re just ignorant.’

That night, she wondered if Tommy was right. Had she changed?

---

One could have heard a feather land on the carpet of the drawing room. Even the servants who served them were careful not to make a sound as Cressida and Belinda stared at each other.

This was the first she had to face someone she truly knew since her return. Dealing with McKenzie Haverston, Belinda could say, was far better than facing Cressida. The woman knew her too well. She had seen Belinda in her best gowns, in her radiance when they debuted. Cressida was there when Belinda was first presented to the ton and witnessed how she enthralled every man in the room.

The things she had said to Cressida rang back to her in soft, mocking tunes. Oh, how it had been fun then, to find someone who was a match to her wit.

Cressida was the first to break her silence. Sipping her tea, she gracefully smiled across from Belinda. There was no mockery in the way she stared, but as always, Cressida was filled with pride, a thing they shared in common. “You never changed, Belinda.”

She cocked a brow. “Do not lie, Cressida. We both know I look hideous.”

“Well, of course, you do. What I meant is your… haughty air.” Cressida put down her tea. “I must admit, I quite missed it. The ballrooms have been quite a bore without you.”

Belinda smiled. Cressida had always evoked such a unique mixture of vile and amusement in her. The lady had always been too carefree, acting freely without truly gaining the ire of society. She was not even punished for dripping pond water on this very estate when they were young.

Cressida had been in the Herald too many times before, but no one truly hated her as much as they were amused by her. She had been a walking scandal, yet she survived the disapproval of the Town.

And her strong will to fight back, to protect Mary Featherton, the outcast of polite society, had always confused Belinda. What was there in Mary Featherton that Cressida could not find in the other ladies?

Belinda had to admit that the spark of anger in Cressida’s eyes whenever they battled in ballrooms or the corridors of Madam Pearson’s had always been an amusement. It always felt like a reward whenever the woman would fight back, when she would spare Belinda her precious time.

But things were different now. The years had changed them, she thought. There was nothing left but a bitter feeling of envy. And Belinda hated it. She hated feeling it, because it meant she was lacking. She had nothing, while Cressida had… Cressida had this . A husband and a child.

A home.

She shook the thoughts that ate at her and sustained the little pride she had left, reminding herself that some were born lucky to be hated and loved all the same, while others were merely hated.

“Is that why you’re here?” she asked, gesturing toward the window. “Here in Easton because the ballrooms are a bore?”

“Oh, no, of course not. I’m here because Peyton shall not grow up surrounded by the damaging opinions of polite society. She shall have to face many of them in the future, of course.” Cressida waved her hand dismissively. “And Peyton loves the pond.”

“I remember the pond,” Belinda said. “I was here when we were children.”

Cressida nodded. “Calan’s birthday party.”

“You caused quite a scene.”

Cressida shrugged. “Well, as children often do.”

“You distracted the guests.”

The woman scoffed. “I gave them entertainment. My mother was so embarrassed, she tells me, but now we only laugh about it.” Cressida scoffed. “I soaked the carpet. Perhaps this is the same one,” she said, examining the carpet. Then she stared at Belinda with a smile. “No matter, you can go to the pond if you wish. It is better than the gardens.”

“I do not swim.”

“Good. I may not have the time to save you if you drown. I would have to weigh the advantages, you see.” Belinda scoffed, shaking her head. She sipped, feeling the steam of the hot tea touch her face. “But should you risk it, do not strip to the skin. The guards may be watching.”

She swallowed. “Guards?”

“Passage guards.” Cressida waved her hand. “We have a known passage beyond the pond. But you did not hear that from me, of course. That was a slip. Forget I said it.”

Belinda stiffened, suddenly feeling cold despite the hot drink in her hand.

---

Belinda found McKenzie in the stables later that afternoon, grooming his own horse. “Don’t you have someone to do that for you?” she asked. He did not seem startled. In fact, he continued brushing his black gelding without sparing her a look.

“I prefer to do it on my own,” he replied, voice mild.

He was not wearing his Guard coat. His fawn dress shirt was pulled up to his elbows, unbuttoned all the way down the middle of his chest. He looked especially rugged with his dark hair, slightly longer than that of his brother.

They made one stop at Cromwell yesterday evening, but it seemed he did not bother to care for himself at the tavern. His stubbles shadowed his jaw.

“I want to leave,” she said.

“This is the safest you can be at the moment.”

No, this is the worst place for me. There are passage guards here. “No. Let us stay elsewhere.”

He stepped away from his horse and backed out of the stall. She restlessly waited while he picked up a bucket, carried it to a corner, then returned to her.

“I do not want your brother to know why I’m here. I cannot let them know—”

“My brother will not say a word, nor will his wife.”

“I know Cressida. She will gossip about me the very moment she can.”

“She will not.”

“You do not know her—”

“She will not talk about you because I told her not to.”

Belinda frowned at him. Cressida just blurted out about the passage guards, information that should have been a secret. “And that is supposed to make me feel better?”

He sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “Why are you desperate to leave?”

“Because I do not feel safe here.”

“Why? Because you are not with friends?”

“I have no friends, Mr Haverston,” she snapped. Lifting her chin, she added, “Very well, if you cannot escort me back to Willowfair, I wish to have my money. Let us go to a room now and I will give you the names I promised.”

He studied her for a while, his blue eyes almost dark in the scant light of the stables. “I cannot give you money.” And before Belinda could erupt, he quickly added, “But I will give you want you want.”

“You made me think you can give me money,” she said through her teeth. She fisted her hands against her trembling flesh. The panic was becoming too real, the fear creeping back in as she realized he lied to her.

“Surely, you are going to use that money for something ,” he said. He stepped closer, she stepped back.

“As you said, you want dresses. A villa,” he said. “I will give them.”

“I’d rather have money.”

“The Guards cannot hand you townsends, but we will provide you with things that you want,” he continued.

I want many things you cannot afford.

Belinda shook her head. Then she paused. She nodded, looking at him as she stuck her chin out. “Very well. I will make a list of everything that I need.”

He looked satisfied. He must think she was too easy. “While doing so, you might also start penning those names.”

Belinda nodded and stiffly left the stables.

All these people did was lie to her. What would he tell her next? That they needed the names first before they could give her anything? And then after—what then? Would he tell her they were working on her requests ? And she would have to wait? For how long?

They would never give her anything.

She should not have come here. Belinda could not let the passage guards across the pond know she was here. She could not risk it. It was bad enough that she would not get a townsend from McKenzie Haverston.

But what about protection? She scoffed. His protection could go to hell.

With purposeful steps, she stormed back inside the estate and into the bedchamber assigned to her. In the center of the bed were her trousers and dress shirt, all freshly washed. Her rucksack was on the floor, leaning against the bedpost. Even the maid was afraid it would stain all furniture in the room save for the floor.

Fine. If she could not get her money and if no one would let her leave, then she would have to steal a horse. Again.

---

McKenzie was in the library with his brother, a glass of brandy in one hand.

“By clearing her name, do you mean helping us catch her father, whom she says is responsible for her banishment?” Calan asked McKenzie. “Her scandal is fresher in everyone’s mind than my wife’s last one.”

McKenzie sighed. “I believe she plans something more.”

“Such as?”

“She feels she has been wronged, Calan.”

Calan shook his head. “Her banishment should have made her at least repentant. To some, it does not change their past, but it most certainly changes their future.”

“That is precisely my point, brother. I do not think she believes she did something wrong.”

“She was the one who placed herself in that bedchamber.”

McKenzie sighed. “Women could be so vile when scorned. She had been pampered with the shallow things her whole life and suddenly they were snatched away.”

“You sound like you are defending the woman.”

The image of Belinda leaving the stables earlier crossed his mind. Pride. She had too much pride.

“You think she is out for revenge?” Calan asked.

“All I’m saying is that I understand why she is feeling this way. It does not mean I agree.” When Calan slowly shook his head, McKenzie added, “They kept her chained and captive for years, Calan. I do not know about you, but I think that even a pampered, selfish lass like Belinda Carrington does not deserve the experience. We are doing this for all victims of the slavery trade. Are we starting to judge whom we should consider a victim now?”

Calan was silent for a moment, and McKenzie’s thoughts fleeted back to dinner earlier. Belinda had joined them in the same hideous dress he bought in Oakley. She sat eating in the same graceful manner inculcated by her childhood, but he could tell she wanted to be elsewhere.

Peyton had always been permitted to join everyone during meals, and the child practiced freedom around the table as the adults did, conversing with them as if she was in her playroom with her make-believe friends. Most families of the ton did not permit their children around the table until they could maintain proper manners, but that was not how Calan and his wife were raising their child.

McKenzie saw Belinda regard the child with curiosity and noted the judging glance she threw Cressida. But it was not her place to remind the masters of the manor how they ought to practice decorum in the dining room.

Peyton had climbed off her chair and squirmed her way onto her father’s lap while he ate. The act was too natural even for McKenzie, who had witnessed it not only with Peyton but also with Adrien’s son. He saw the scandalized look in Belinda’s eyes earlier. The look turned into something similar to longing, softening her face, giving him a glimpse of the beauty that was once there. And, as if by some magic, it disappeared as Cressida said something along the lines of, “I did not poison your food, Belinda. You should eat.” The haughtiness returned in a flash, and it remained there until she finally excused herself to retire to her room.

Blinking away the scene of her rigid retreat from the dining room earlier, McKenzie tauntingly smiled at his brother. “Are you glad you landed a wife who would rather wear your trousers than buy new gowns?”

“My wife is different.”

“Cressida is rare, brother,” he agreed. “Or mayhap only Belinda is different. Not all women would be foolish to get caught with a dead lover.”

“You think she killed old Godfrey?”

“She expressed he was never her lover.”

Doubt clouded Calan’s feature. McKenzie could not blame him, for he, too, had trouble believing Belinda.

“She was in the room with him—with barely anything on,” Calan said.

He nodded. “She may be his lover, but I do not think she killed him.”

Calan scoffed. “Of course not. Fool or not, no killer would shout and announce her crime for everyone to witness.”

Nigel Godfrey’s death was of natural cause, a weak heart, the doctor had said, but not everyone believed that. “But then, it could still be true that she caused his death,” Calan added.

“The bastard’s heart must have stopped when he saw her naked, for the lady is undeniably stunning.” The words came out of his stupid mouth before he could stop them. “Was,” he corrected almost instantly.

Calan looked at him with renewed curiosity. But before his brother could comment on his statement, the door of the study flung open, and a footman barged in breathlessly.

“My lord…s-she stole the horse and drove off!”

Before the servant could finish his statement, McKenzie was already at the door, shouting for his horse.

“But she stole your horse, Master Mac!” he heard the footman shout behind him.

“Bloody tarnation! I’m going to kill that wench!” Felton met him in the hall, and he growled, “Get me a horse at once!”

VII. What a Woman Wants

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VIII. She is Like the Sea

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IX. A New Home

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X. Lady Julia Trilby

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XI. To The Ball We Shall Be

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XII. Brandy and Sherry

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XIII. Sisters

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XIV. Mistress of the House

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XV. Nana

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XVI. She Is Well

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XVII. Gowns and Villas

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XVIII. Liars, Liars

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XIX. The Painter

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XX. Opera Night

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XXI. Professionals

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XXII. Good Things

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XXIII. A Dark Place

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XXIV. False Memories

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XXV. The Lover

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XXVI. The Mistress

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XXVII. Friends at Theobald

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XXVIII. Scars

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XXIX. Dreams

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XXX. Amber

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XXXI. The Manor

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XXXII. Anne

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XXXIII. Vile Love

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XXXIV. The Little Black Book

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XXXV. Promises

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XXXVI. The Fool

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XXXVII. Wicked Wickhurst

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XXXVIII. The Chase

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XXXIX. Fairy Tales

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Special Chapter

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Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

See you all soon

It has been years since I’ve written the Haverston Stories. To be able to go back to them in 2021 for the editing was truly an experience. As I read through the original stories, I realized a lot of things. I realized how my taste changed, and how I grew as a writer. It was a big leap for me to rewrite these, especially for The Lady Who Stayed and The Lady Who Sinned. I just hope everyone enjoyed the new versions as much as I did rewriting them.

Now that the Haverston stories are in the state that I think I like (at the moment), it’s time for the Everards. The first two stories, To Bewitch a Beast and One Wicked Season are now Paid stories and are edited. You can still read the other stories for free, of course. They are standalones, and will also be edited by me next year as I’m taking 2022 off of editing for other projects.

Thank you so much for loving the Haverstons and I hope to see you in any (if not all) stories of our  wicked  Everards!

Yours,

J.D. Ruiz

Also by J.D. Ruiz

  ![](https://img.wattpad.com/35afc0a68e20ed4ed5973b15b014da981eed3d81/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f6f4a4b6855706e516e48755175513d3d2d3234313938313338362e313664663039356162633163343664623535313836353630383733332e706e67)

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The first story for the Abberton Series is out now!

  ![](https://img.wattpad.com/9c2f475777c470284685bd69a4757ba52b585bad/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f53364542784569383532514d72513d3d2d3234313938313338362e313664663039386661333266336437313539303431383538363236372e706e67)

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If fantasy is your cup of tea, The Orbs of Tala may just be for you!

  ![](https://img.wattpad.com/5fb5c641a489715bcf2135b5970b58cd77c9a7f5/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f6d6a487039632d496a784b5173513d3d2d3234313938313338362e313664663039616233623135623937633832313530323033333535302e706e67)