The Bequest of Betrayal Chapter 1

Every time my fiancé, Julian Blackwood, was reassigned to a new post, he demanded I travel ahead to prepare everything.

Not for our future, but for the comfort of his mentor's daughter, Lillian Vale.

This time, Julian was demoted to a remote outpost in the Dakota Territories.

He urgently ordered me to pack up my small bakery and take a riverboat west.

Perhaps he rushed me too much, or perhaps my fever from a lingering cold clouded my mind.

Halfway through the journey, I realized I was on the wrong boat.

"Miss, this boat is headed for New Orleans, not the Dakotas," the captain said gently.

The captain, a kind man, offered to drop me at the next port so I could catch the right vessel.

I stared at the misty river for a long time before finally speaking.

"No need. New Orleans will do just fine."

* * *

When the captain told me I was on the wrong boat, I was still reading the letter Julian had shoved into my hands before he left.

Just like always, it was three full pages of instructions.

But not for me. For Lillian Vale, the daughter of his disgraced mentor.

Autumn is approaching. I hear the Dakotas are damp and prone to snakes. Purchase snake repellent. Lillian is frail; ensure the house faces south to catch the sun.

Lillian fears the cold. Place extra coal braziers in her room and buy only the finest anthracite.

The local food is too spicy for her delicate stomach. Find a cook who specializes in mild, refined cuisine.

Lillian loves poetry and flowers. Plant a garden for her, but avoid gaudy peonies. She prefers chrysanthemums, plum blossoms, and orchids.

Lillian dislikes uneducated servants. Find maids who can read and write.

Lillian has been melancholy lately. See if there is a local opera troupe to entertain her.

Lillian’s skin is sensitive. Buy several yards of the softest silk for her new dresses.

...

Lillian, Lillian, everything was about Lillian. I flipped to the end, hoping to find my name even once.

I didn't.

My head throbbed from the fever, and the dense handwriting made my eyes ache.

I should have been used to this. It wasn't the first time.

Lillian Vale was the daughter of Julian’s mentor, a once-powerful Senator who had been the Vice President's closest advisor. But two years ago, a scandal involving embezzlement and treason rocked Washington. The Vice President was forced to resign, and the Senator, pleading his case too strongly, was stripped of his titles and influence. The once-glamorous Vale estate became a place to avoid.

The Senator died of a broken heart shortly after, leaving Lillian alone.

Julian, ever the loyal student, defied the political winds and took Lillian in, caring for her with a devotion that bordered on obsession.

He told me he could never repay his mentor's kindness. He had to care for Lillian until she found a suitable husband.

So our wedding was postponed. Again and again.

From Washington D.C. to Ohio, then to Missouri, and now to the Dakotas. Each demotion was because of her, yet he never worried about his career or me, his fiancée. He only worried if Lillian was comfortable.

He always made me travel ahead to prepare the way.

He said Lillian was a delicate flower, raised in luxury, so she had to travel slowly in a cushioned carriage.

The first time I traveled by boat to prepare a home for them, I was violently seasick for weeks. I nearly died.

When Julian found out, he offered a few words of comfort before immediately asking if Lillian’s room was ready.

That time, I dragged my sick body around for a month to create a perfect sanctuary. When Lillian finally arrived, she glanced at my handiwork and sniffed, "Thank you, Sarah. It’s... livable, I suppose."

Just that one sentence made Julian’s face fall.

He didn't scold me, but from then on, his instructions regarding Lillian became more detailed, more demanding.