Chapter 9: Visitors

Ty was sitting in the library enjoying a drink.

He was reading one of Willow’s many books. She had a whole section on Nordland and Ty was brushing up on their history, as they were the dignitaries that were coming for the Winter Season.

The fields were bare, and they had already had a light smattering of snow. As soon as the product was packed into the crates, they would head to Bavindor. One of the big barns was heated, and the bags of leaves were packed flat in set weights, on the racks to finish drying.

Ty thought of Bethany. He was sure she had grown at least two centimetres since they had been there. Grace had to sew new hems on her skirt-pants. She had used different coloured materials in a light frill that looked very cute.

Bethany hadn’t complained about the new girlish look, as long as she didn’t have to wear a real skirt. Ty had noticed the tantrums had all but disappeared. Bethany was flourishing, and she loved being with Willow. He couldn’t blame her, as he too loved being with Willow.

The damn woman only had to look at him a certain way, and he was racing her off. Grace had laughed and told him it was the same look, which had her father chasing after her mother. He had also noticed the romance flourishing between Hugh and Grace and his old friend was a very content man these days. Ty realised he too had never been happier. The last three weeks had been a balm to his soul.

Willow came in and bent to kiss him. She was soon on his lap and had a hand in her blouse for her troubles. She pulled back laughing, “Insatiable man,” she scolded him but didn’t try to remove his hand. Ty was still massaging her breast lovingly.

Willow wiggled and felt him pressing up into her butt. Ty pulled her back to his mouth. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. The three days of her menstrual cycle earlier in the second week had been torture. Otherwise, he had bedded her every day and often twice or thrice. They didn’t stick to just the bedroom either.

He had learnt to keep a skin or two in his pocket. Willow had even let him fuck her without one for the first couple of days after her cycle. He definitely preferred without. Nonetheless, he couldn’t risk getting her pregnant. So he had to remember to wear one the rest of the time.

She was a willing and energetic partner, and he loved nothing more than sticking his cock into her. It was just as well they were leaving soon as his stock of skins was getting very low. They tended to wear them out.

Ty swapped hands and soon had one up under her skirt and pushing between her legs. Willow moaned into his mouth as his fingers penetrated her. He moved his mouth to the breast he had exposed and sucked hard on her nipple. He happily pushed his fingers in and out of her wet clamping cunnie.

Willow hung onto him as his fingers and tongue did their magic. Damn, the man only had to touch her, and she was putty in his hands. Willow soon shuddered in release. Ty slowed the action of his hand after she came, enjoying the feel of her. His cock was pulsing in his pants wanting very much to take over where the fingers left off. “Let’s go to bed,” he said.

Willow giggled, “I’m afraid our guests may not appreciate us leaving them in the parlour, while we dally more.”

“Shit, okay I’ll be there in a minute, I will need to wash up first,” he replied after licking his fingers first. Willow thumped him. Reluctantly he let Willow off his lap. She availed herself of the washroom first before going back to her guests.

Her mother had the storeroom between the Library and parlour converted into a privy with a sink and mirror. Her father had initially grumbled about the loss of his storeroom. However, it didn’t take him long to appreciate the privy rooms location. It also made quick trips by guests easier to accommodate for. The dining room was on the other side of the hallway.

Ty finally joined the visitors and took an instant dislike of the overdressed man and his wife. He was dressed as if he was a court dignity, rather than wearing the more relaxed dress of the Country Gentry. His wife was just as bad. She wore far too much jewellery and face-paint for a morning visit.

Willow introduced them as her mother’s cousins, Baron Terence Othello and his wife, Lady Beatrice. Ty bowed and joined Willow on the love seat and took her hand.

Baron Terence scowled at his familiarity with Willow. Ty didn’t care. He had felt Willow relax a little when he did, but she still wasn’t comfortable with the pair. He could feel her distaste roll off her. He knew of Baron Terence but wasn’t aware they were related to Willow.

Something in Ty’s mind worried around this new bit of information. The Barons ruled the Lower House of the Council. They decided on the most pressing issues to send to the Upper Council for the Dukes, Earls and the King to make decisions about.

Ty had noticed that Willow hadn’t offered them refreshments either. The decanter and full glass beside Baron Terence indicated that he had helped himself. Ty also noticed the level in the decanter had dropped appreciably and while it was cold outside, it was only mid-morning. ‘Interesting,’ he thought.

Willow was a very conscientious hostess. He had already picked up her cousins were not her favourite people. Her straight back reinforced her disquiet of these people being in her home. The Baron came straight to the point. “Duke Arrondale it has come to my attention that you have claimed Lady Terrell as your ward,” Baron Terence started pompously.

“I must, however, insist you pass her guardianship over to us, as we are her closest relatives. I believe as her relatives, we have an obligation to claim such a duty. My wife and I are more than willing to do so. I have already seen a lawyer and sent a petition to the King to this effect. It would expedite matters if you simply agreed and go on your way.”

He handed a document to Ty, confident that Ty could see his claim was valid and bugger off. Ty read the document and then looked at the pompous Lord. He knew of them, even if they didn’t seem to know much about him.

He hadn’t liked what he had heard about the man. Willow’s reactions only increased his distaste as well. Ty handed the document back and reclaimed Willow’s hand. He smiled at Willow gently and then returned a cold expression towards the Baron.

“Yes, as a distant relative you could claim the wardship of Willow if, her father hadn’t already made arrangements,” he told them. “However, as her betrothed, and with consultation with her lawyer that honour, is mine,” he emphasised the ‘is mine’, indicating he didn’t intend to relinquish Willow to their care.

He looked between the unhappy pair, “Mr Wickham, who had been made her legal guardian in the will, and within the provisions of her father’s will, agrees this arrangement is legal. I have already spoken with the King, and he has given the agreement the seal of his approval.”

Baron Terence scowled at this answer. He had not been happy when he found out via court gossip that, his little band of men has been routed by the Inquisitor and his cousin. At the time, they were either dead or on the way to the Capital.

The other idiot Rat has also failed him. He still had to find a way to silence the man called Paul. It was difficult to buy-off the King’s guards or to get a man into those cells. At least his men had managed to fire some of Willow’s fields. He wasn’t happy that Willow had survived the murder of her parents. It would have been better if she had been the one who died.

It had taken his manager a week after the debt was paid, to pass on the information that they hadn’t foreclosed. He had inquired as to why not, suspecting Wickham have intervened. He hadn’t been happy when told an unknown investor had purchased the debt in full. Baron Terence was even less happy when he found out Willow was now engaged to Duke Arrondale, and she was in charge of the estate.

He guessed that Ty was the unknown investor. He was back to square one. Two years of work down a very expensive drain. The monies he had recovered barely covered his other debts, and he needed cash. Several of his other investments hadn’t gone well in recent years.

“Willow, I must protest,” Beatrice exclaimed. She was not a lady who gave up easily. “You don’t know this man or his unsavoury reputation. I’m sure if you request it, we can remove you from his clutches. He only wants you for the estate dear. He is not known to treat his wives well.”

“He doesn’t care for you like we do or he would have already married you. I’m sure we can find you a more suitable husband. Dear Carl is still available and willing,” she finished as if marriage to her son would have to win Willow over.

Willow suppressed a shudder. Ty wasn’t sure if he knew their son Carl, but her tight expression and the stiffening of her back suggested Willow did and wished she didn’t.

Willow had a close encounter two years ago with dear Carl. He had tried to rape her in the playroom. He had been twice her age. He had tried kissing and fondling her when he had found her alone. She had told him to, ‘Fuck off.’

He had slapped her hard across the face. He had then grabbed her hair, dragged her onto the floor and ripped her blouse open. She screamed and fought like a wild thing, but he was much stronger than she was. The deep scratches she had laid across his cheek had enraged him further.

Fortunately, her father had come running when she had started screaming and stopped him in time. He had ripped Carl off of her and removing his belt, he had thrashed him. Carl had whimpered and curled into a ball like a naughty child. Her father had not spared the belt either.

Beatrice hearing her son’s screams had intervened and defended Carl saying Willow must have enticed him. Her father had sarcastically made a comment, “If a thirty-year-old man couldn’t control himself around an innocent girl who was barely fifteen years-of-age, he wasn’t much of a man.”

Beatrice and Terence had changed tact and had insisted that the two should marry for decency. Her father was nearly apoplectic at the suggestion. Her mother had informed them that decency had nothing to do with rape. At only fifteen Willow couldn’t legally get married anyway.

If Beatrice wished to push the issue, they had no qualms reporting it as such. The King abhorred rape and forced marriage of women, particularly young girls. They had harangued and tried to insist on the marriage. Willow’s father had lost his temper. He ordered the Baron, his wife and their deplorable son, to leave and never darken his doorstep again.

Now they were trying to get her back. They had barged into her house and ordered her and her servants around, before taking over the parlour as if they owned it. She had told Morris not to serve tea or to unload their carriage as they had ordered him. They wouldn’t be staying long. She immediately went in search of Ty.

Willow coldly said, “Aunt Beatrice, I would rather be a Sister of Death than marry Carl. I only let you in, to hear what you had to say. As you have not even had the decency of offering condolences for the loss of my parents, I stand by my father’s wishes. Please don’t come back. Your family is not welcome in my home, ever.”

Baron Terence blustered and tried to say she couldn’t speak to him like that when Ty stood abruptly. He glared at the obnoxious couple. “I believe my intended has asked you both to leave. If you turn up here again, I’ll evict you personally,” he said in a quiet, menacing voice.

Baron Terence knew Ty had the ear of the King and was well with his rights as they stood to not receive them. He, however, wasn’t without influence in court. He would simply have to change tact. He stood and swallowed down the full cup of Brandy.

“I can see that you have befuddled the poor girl. You have not heard the last of this or us,” he threatened. “It seems we are not welcome in our only niece’s house. Beatrice, come,” he said and stalked out the door, not bothering to help his fat wife up.

Beatrice tried tears and cajoling, she never did learn when to give up. “Willow, please reconsider. We only want what is best for you dear. You know I love you as if you were my own dear daughter. I don’t like to see you being used so by this man,” she implored letting the fake tears roll down her fat cheeks.