1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

1887

R ain .

Wilhelmina Fairweather loved the rain.

She loved the thunder and the lightning, the way the sky melted from its usual colorful hues to a miserable gray, and how it washed away the stench of her father’s mill, forcing everyone indoors to live life as she did.

For as long as she could remember, rain always arrived whenever the clock struck three. Morning or night. In the summer, in the spring, or even now, during the autumnal march of the fall season, one could set a watch to the prompt torrential downpours that fell upon Haven House in the three o’clock hours.

And even though she might love the rain, it did not love her in return. The damp, sticky air never sat well in her lungs, and while beautiful to witness on days like today, it was yet another thing that kept her trapped inside.

Ignoring the book in her lap, Willa gazed up at the splatter of water beating down on the glass panes of the conservatory’s ceiling. The fall harvest would begin in a few days, and her afternoons of enjoying the roar of Mother Nature’s daily temper tantrums would end once winter approached .

Which was fine, in Willa’s opinion. Cooler weather meant more time outdoors and, most importantly, more freedom away from her family.

Thunder rumbled close enough to rattle the oil lamp on the table next to her lounger, and she reached over to twist the knob for a brighter flame. With the darkening clouds overhead, she didn’t want to waste another second of this perfectly cozy afternoon. The entire day was shaping up quite nicely between the dreary atmosphere and the deliciously gothic story in her book. If things continued as they were, she could read until nightfall, snuggled under a blanket, with no one else around to bother her.

“Your mother is looking for you.”

Or perhaps not.

Setting the book aside, Willa shifted to address her mother’s companion standing in the doorway on the conservatory’s upper level. The staff at Haven House understood to keep their distance, allowing her to have this slice of heaven to herself.

“Tell her I’m coming, Bonnie.”

Bonnie was the only exception to the unspoken no-entry rule, and as she crossed the room’s threshold, the woman's pert nose wrinkled at the chaos the space held. Riddled with stacks of books and various papers holding stories jotted down when the mood struck, the conservatory would appear out of sorts to most people. Yet for Willa, the books and foolish scribbles of her mind equated to a land of daydreams and lives lived far beyond Haven House.

Her imagination ran free in the conservatory, making this long, boring life bearable.

“It’s raining,” Bonnie observed. “You know I don’t like it when you sit down there during a storm. The dampness clings to the air on the lower level.”

“I’m fine, Bonnie.”

Sickly since childhood, Willa suffered bouts of lung spasms, which hindered her ability to breathe properly. She could never keep the company of crowds for too long or enjoy the outdoors throughout the year like her siblings did. The conservatory functioned as a personal sanctuary, built exclusively for her use during one of the worst bouts of illness ever to strike. Those arduously painful months just so happened to coincide with a massive renovation under her mother’s direction, and, wanting to give her daughter some semblance of normalcy, Margaret Fairweather convinced her husband to build Willa a place that would allow her to experience the world without actually living in it.

“Always so stubborn,” Bonnie grumbled, snapping her fingers. At the popping sound, felines of every shape and color emerged from their hiding places, ready to follow their pied piper. “It’s the Fairweather in you.”

Her message delivered, Bonnie left with a parade of cats behind her, slipping off into the main hall where Haven’s staff rushed about in preparation for her brother’s arrival home. Wanting to have nothing to do with it, Willa’s shoulders slumped, and she groaned over being summoned. Cal had been away earning a college education this past year, which was a total waste of time, in her opinion. A college degree didn’t matter. Not when you were the sole male heir of the Fairweather family. The mill was Cal’s future, and there was no way to change that.

Swinging her feet to the ground, Willa stood with an annoyed huff. She took one last look at the watery view, extinguished the lamp, and placed her book on the nearest bookshelf. Undoubtedly, she wouldn’t be able to return to finish the novel today. If her mother wanted an audience, it wasn’t without good reason. As of late, Margaret Fairweather didn’t care to spend time with her offspring, finding them as dull as she did Haven House.

Taking the small set of steps to the upper level, she entered the hall and weaved through the bustling traffic of people. While searching for her mother, Willa waved a hand in front of her face, feeling a bit like an idiot as she did. On her last visit to Mr. Abernathy, he claimed that the flapping of one’s hand in front of the face was an effective method in warding off potential illnesses, and her mother had insisted she follow his instructions .

Personally, Willa thought the idea was a load of horse shit.

More than likely, her mother did as well, only forcing the ridiculous behavior on Willa to satisfy her never-ending desire for control. Alone in this vast wasteland of pine, without any hint of gentry or society for miles, no one was exempt from being used as entertainment for Margaret Fairweather.

Knowing she would probably find her mother in the newly expanded ballroom, Willa headed there first. With the upcoming fall harvest came the annual Fairweather Gathering, a hosted event for a handful of affluent Hollingsdale families—all two of them—and other fellow lumber barons within a close radius of the Fairweather Mill. Partners at the best of times, enemies at the worst, her father’s associates were a mixed lot of like-minded men who were as pleasant to be around as an agitated beehive.

As predicted, she found her mother in the ballroom, fussing at the staff while they decorated. Willa smartly waited in the doorway until noticed and catching sight of her, Margaret heaved out a sigh. “Wilhelmina, will you please straighten your spine. That posture of yours is atrocious.”

Out of reflex, Willa did as she was told. Her mother ruled with an iron fist, and disobedience was something that only occurred in other households.

“Did you need me?”

“Lucinda’s dress.” Margaret swept a hand in the direction of her youngest child standing in the ballroom’s corner. “Do you have an opinion on it?”

Willa wanted to say she had a great number of opinions on a great number of things, but dresses were not one of them. “I like it,” she replied. “What do you think, Lucy?”

Poor Lucy looked miserable, staring out the windows with her shoulders slouched. “It’s acceptable,” she mumbled, obviously displeased by the choice. “If I cannot wear my lovely blue dress, I suppose this brown one will do. ”

“Yes,” their mother agreed. “It will do.”

Smoothing a hand down the skirt, Lucy’s lips twisted in disgust. “It matches my eyes, at least.”

“It matches your hair, too,” Willa offered. “Almost perfectly, I would say.”

Tears welled in her sister’s eyes, and Willa winced. At seventeen, Lucy never missed an opportunity to be dramatic. “I do not have brown hair!” she screeched, patting the bun on her head, which was made up of the brownest hair ever to exist. “My hair is auburn. Why do you have to be so terrible to me, Willa?”

The corners of their mother’s mouth curved upward, the growing smile a signal of her displeasure. Lucy was well past the age of having childish fits, and this outburst would only fuel Margaret’s spite.

“Lucinda, if you cannot behave, you will not attend The Gathering.” Margaret clasped her hands in front of her, circling the room at a measured pace. “I hear Violet Templeton will be in attendance. Perhaps she can entertain Paul Anderson since you won’t be able to join us.”

Paul Anderson was one of the county's most eligible bachelors and the only son of Ulrich Anderson, owner of a massive sawmill just down the bayou from Haven House. There were whispers that he and a couple of his cousins were arriving today with Cal, the four of them traveling down from the north together.

Poor Lucy had loved Paul from the moment she laid eyes on him, and last year, they heard from Cal that their father had made an agreement with Ulrich Anderson regarding the pair.

“I was only joking.” The tears in Lucy’s eyes quickly evaporated. Their mother could not abide crying in any form, and even if Lucy were prepared to weather her wrath, she would never give up the chance to spend time with Paul. “I know my hair is mousy brown.”

Margaret halted in the center of the room. “I wouldn’t go that far, but it is most assuredly not a beautiful chestnut like Willa’s. ”

Their mother excelled at pitting them against one another. It was a new phase—one none of them cared for—but thankfully, Willa and her siblings caught on before any damage could be truly done.

Lucy’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “No one has hair as beautiful as Willa’s.”

If they had been alone, Willa would have snorted at her sister’s poor acting. Lucy was the beauty between the two of them. At three and twenty, Willa was well past her prime and readily preparing for an inevitable life of spinsterhood.

Or, in other words, heaven .

Because what woman wouldn’t want a life consisting not of marital duties but of napping and books?

“Thank you, Lucy,” Willa replied, knowing she had to lay it on thick so their mother would believe the charade. She and Lucy would laugh about this later, as they usually did. “One day, you might achieve a shade as lovely as mine, but for now, I’m afraid you’ll just have to deal with that horse’s mane of yours.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed in outrage. “Horse’s mane?”

Perhaps the insult went too far, but there was no going back. “Well, what color would you relate it to?” Willa examined her nails as if bored. “I thought we all just agreed that you’re not exactly mousey. Naturally, a step up would be a horse.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Lucy fisted her hands at her side. “Mother, do you need me for anything else?”

Their mother’s smile widened. “No, you are dismissed.”

Careful not to stomp out of the room, Lucy held her head high as she exited.

“I expect you to behave during The Gathering, Wilhelmina,” her mother warned once Lucy was gone. “I’ve invited John Richards, and he has sent word that he will be joining us.”

Oh, no.

Her days of spinsterhood flashed before her eyes, destined to be lost forever thanks to the circulating rumor that Willa was headed towards a life of marital bliss . Ten years her senior and on a wifely hunt, John Richards was on the lookout for someone to care not only for himself but also for his six offspring. The gossip on their last visit to Hollingsdale said that Mr. Richards had narrowed his choices to three women, with Willa being one of them.

Her father had been thrilled with the idea. Mr. Richards possessed a large farm on the outskirts of town. Good land, according to her father. The kind of land he could use to increase Fairweather’s pine production.

“You’ll want to make an impression,” her mother continued. “Wear Lucy’s blue dress.”

Wear the dress your sister wanted to wear is what she meant. Lucy would understand, but it didn’t make the betrayal hurt any less for Willa. “Yes, mother.”

The sound of hurried footsteps and a murmur of excitement carried about in the hall, and Margaret’s stern expression melted immediately into rapt anticipation. “That would be your brother,” she said, rushing from the room to greet her favorite child. “He mentioned something about traveling with friends in his letter. Do not antagonize them like you did the last ones who visited.”

All of Calvin’s friends were arrogant rotters. They were often the eldest sons of wealthy families, doing nothing with their lives, and how her brother convinced them to come home with him was beyond Willa’s understanding. Of course, thanks to her mother’s wildly expensive expansion, their home sat in grand splendor compared to the other estates in the area.

However, to Willa, Haven House would always be just a boring little corner of the world where nothing exciting happened, and only the Fairweathers ever stayed for very long.

“You know it’s just the Andersons,” Willa said to her mother’s departing figure. “No one important.”

And while it might be only Paul and his cousins stopping in on their way to the Anderson estate, Willa decided to join in on the homecoming. Cal would one day control her future if she were lucky enough to remain a spinster, and she needed to keep in his good graces.

Not that she didn’t like her brother. Cal was smart and would do well in control of the Fairweather lumber business. He had their father’s brains. The two men were almost identical in the way they reasoned over things with the main difference being that Cal didn’t hold the same heavy-handed strictness as their father. Cold and calculating, Stephen Fairweather thankfully never bothered with his children, saving his ferocious temper for his workers and his wife. During the times their mother fell victim to his violent outbursts, even the high-handed Margaret would smartly go silent.

Coming out of the ballroom, Willa made her way to the front of the house and found her mother holding Cal in a tight embrace as if she were afraid he would leave again.

“My beautiful boy,” Margaret cooed, cradling the back of his head. “As handsome as ever.”

A handsome face was something else Cal had that their father didn’t. With his light hair and smooth complexion, Cal took after their mother’s side of the family.

Willa wasn’t so lucky. One of the worst insults of her life had been when Great Aunt Regalia had come for a visit and announced—quite loudly—upon meeting Willa that she carried the look of the Fairweathers through and through.

She hadn’t wanted to admit the old bat was right, but Willa couldn’t deny her dark, deep-set eyes, much too high cheekbones, and upturned nose. Every inch of her face was a testament to her Fairweather lineage, and as unfortunate as that was, she truly didn’t mean to look so very vexed all the time.

It just came naturally.

“Hey!” Catching her on approach, Cal hugged her with one arm, grinning like the prodigal son that he was. “How are you, Willa?”

Her mother hated the nickname but never spoke against her brother using it. “Don’t crowd her, Cal.” Margaret pushed at Willa’s shoulders, trying to worm her way back into the embrace. “We don’t need her going into one of her fits.”

With an eye roll, Willa stepped aside and collided with a man waiting for the reunion between mother and son to lose steam. He had a friendly smile, and she didn’t bother to wait for her brother to make formal introductions.

“You must be one of Paul’s cousins?” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Wilhelmina Fairweather. Welcome to Haven House.”

He grinned at her forwardness. “Beau Anderson.”

They shook hands, and Willa noted how much the man looked like Paul. “Are you really here to help with the Anderson’s mill during the fall and winter seasons?”

“That I am, but not just for the fall and winter.” His smile widened. “When Paul takes over Anderson Lumber, I’ll come on to function as his secondary.”

“And where is Paul?” Willa asked, peeking around the man to see if Lucy’s true love was anywhere around. “Is he here?”

“Paul went ahead to the house. He was anxious to see his mother.”

Beau seemed so much nicer than the other Andersons. They were a close family but held a sharp edge to them at times. “I hear Paul is graduating in the spring. Will you be doing the same?”

“No, I’ve graduated already, and will stay on to learn what I can while Paul finishes school,” Beau replied. “However, Noah can only tend to the workers until the new year before heading north. He has job prospects waiting, unless my aunt can persuade him to stay on, too.”

“Noah?”

“My older brother.” Beau inclined his head to the doorway behind her. “He spotted your library, and I’m afraid we’ve lost him to it. Noah can’t pass up a good book.”

Second to the conservatory, the library was Willa’s favorite room at Haven House. “What do you mean, he’ll be tending to the workers?”

“Noah is a doctor,” Beau explained, pride evident in his voice. “Studied under Osler and everything. ”

She had no idea what that meant, but it sounded important. “Well, you are both welcome at Haven House.”

“I thought Noah could take a look at you, Willa,” Cal said, finally breaking free from their mother. “He’s a right genius and maybe can help you.”

Anything had to be better than Mr. Abernathy. Other than telling her to flap a hand or to try praying her affliction away, the man wasn’t much help. She was only required to see him because he was cheap.

But now, in the presence of a proper doctor, a twinge of giddiness struck Willa, and she excitedly hurried across the foyer to the library.

“Where are you going?” Margaret hissed, appalled over her abrupt departure while a guest was present. “Cease your running this instant.”

“I’m sorry.” Willa waved a hand over her shoulder. “But if this Noah Anderson is to be my doctor, I suppose I should introduce myself.”