Charmed: Gowns & Crowns, Book 6

by Jennifer Chance

  Simon cut a glance to Caroline, who was also staring at the proceedings with something like shock in her face. What was going on here? Jack Graham looked like he’d seen a ghost, and there wasn’t much that could startle the retired general. Even the accident he’d had that had cut short his final tour of duty almost seemed part of the mystique he carried with him. Though he’d only joined his grandparents group about ten years earlier, they’d remembered him from long before Simon had been born.

  Not to be daunted by the silence that followed Prudence’s announcement, Belle bustled on. “What in the world brings you to the hospital? Please tell me you don’t have anyone ill.”

  “I don’t,” Prudence said graciously. “You do.” She gestured to Caroline. “This is my second cousin. She’s staying with me at Heron’s Point.”

  “Heron’s…” Belle’s eyes widened. “You live on Sea Haven?”

  “Not permanently, no,” Prudence said, shaking her head. “The house belongs to Caroline’s family, I’m merely a distant relation.”

  “More than that.” Caroline recovered her voice and hurried forward, standing in solidarity with Prudence. “We’ve been grateful for her caretaking of Sea Haven since my mother passed several years back.”

  Simon nodded, the pieces of Caroline’s family falling more into place. These were the kind of conversations he’d planned on having with Caroline before they’d gotten ah…distracted.

  Had that really only been earlier this evening? Was that possible?

  Jack finally moved forward, but for the first time ever, he seemed to need the weight of his cane. “I’d always wondered what happened to you,” he’d said, seemingly heedless of the breathless watchers all around him. “That day we shared on the island got me through more than you could possibly imagine.”

  To Simon’s surprise, Prudence merely shook her head, as if dismissing Jack’s words. “I always knew you’d make it back,” she said, her smile almost defiant. “I refused to look though. I thought—” she sighed. “I remembered what you said.”

  A sudden paroxysm of emotion passed over Jack’s face, and he nodded to her, the movement almost more of a bow. It seemed like he would say more, but the doctor chose that moment to step into the waiting room.

  “Mr. Wetherington is awake,” the doctor announced, and the smile on his face told more than the cool crispness of his words. “He’d like to see all of you, but I must ask that we do it in brief, orderly visits. He’s very weak.” He gestured to Belle, who stood momentarily frozen in the middle of the room. Simon moved to her side, and took her arm, and the two of them followed the doctor through the door.

  Within minutes they were standing beside Bobo’s bed, and despite all her earlier bravery, upon seeing the old man’s soft smile and half-lidded eyes, Belle did finally break down. Simon held her as she wept, his own heart twisting. She’d told him he could leave—should leave—but seeing her now, like this, he wondered how that would be possible. He couldn’t imagine leaving either one of them when they were ill, but even that distinction suddenly didn’t feel right. What was it Caroline had said, that it was the little acts that held a family together year after year, season on season? That felt right to him, standing here now. That felt true.

  Suddenly, he had the urge to speak with Caroline right away. He hugged his grandmother and murmured he’d be back shortly, then turned back toward the door as his cell phone pinged. Fishing it out of his pocket, he glanced down as he re-entered the corridor.

  Frowning, he slowed as he read the display. It was a text from media rep of the College of Charleston, a clear continuation of a stream that had started earlier that evening, eagerly outlining plans for promoting the Royal Superstitions book and subsequent lecture series. Apparently, the man had been doing some research on his own, and was elevating his pitch for where Simon should focus his travels—including to Garronia, the little kingdom that was exciting more interest of late with the engagement of its royal princes to two Americans.

  Did that engagement have something to do with the curse Simon had alluded to in his talk? The rep was asking now. If so, the opportunity for additional media was exponential!

  Simon slowed further, trying to process the information, and what it meant. The text itself was disconcerting enough, implying that Simon had already agreed to this direction of his research and was on board with the media spin, but instantly he realized he had a far bigger problem than that.

  Caroline had read these texts.

  He knew it as surely as he knew he needed to draw his next breath, regardless of how difficult it was for him to force oxygen into his lungs.

  He picked up his pace and within another few minutes, he entered the waiting room. In a glance he could see Prudence and Jack conversing in one corner of the room, while Caroline stood off to the side with Cindy Marks, the bodyguard

  Caroline gave him a brittle smile as he neared, and he knew without asking that she’d correctly assessed his reason for hastening toward her. Before he could speak, she held up a hand. “Cindy, I’m going to step into the hall with Simon. Keep an eye on Prudence, would you?”

  “Of course,” Cindy nodded, her quick smile not quite reaching her dark mahogany eyes. She nodded at Simon, but he could feel her gaze on him as he and Caroline emerged out into the quieter corridor once again.

  “Caroline—” Simon began, but she again silenced him, this time with a hand on his arm.

  “No, Simon, let me talk first,” she said. Her tone already convinced him he wouldn’t like what she was going to say. “I’ve had a little longer to process those texts—texts it was absolutely not my business to read, and I do apologize for that.”

  “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “It’s exactly what it looks like,” she said, shaking her head. “I was there, Simon. I saw the interest in that crowd, and you barely had breathed a word about the actual subject matter before I left. Superstitions are an interesting topic and throw in the royal angle, and well—even I showed up to listen. And I would again to hear about other countries’ traditions, though perhaps with a less jaundiced ear than your typical attendee. But I can’t be a part of that process with you. I can’t have conversations with you, wondering if they’re simply fodder for your book or your lecture series or some upcoming slide show that will show up on YouTube. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  Simon could only nod. The way she posed the question gave him no opening for explanation. The fact was, he did intend to move forward with his research, and that research did include royal superstitions. Whether he planned to use Garronia or not as part of his study sample, Caroline’s concerns remained valid. She was only one fascinating anecdote away from become a research subject.

  Nevertheless, standing there in the hospital, he couldn’t imagine anything more important than seeing her again. His world shrank down not to years or months or even weeks, but merely days. “You’ll come, though?” he asked earnestly, holding her gaze, not letting her look away. “If Bobo—” he cleared his throat, “If the party goes off, will you come? I know they’d want you there.”

  She peered at him curiously. “I can’t imagine why they’d care,” she said stiffly, and he realized she still didn’t know—didn’t actually know the full story of the fairytale countess, for all that she was adding to her own legend with her latest donation.

  “Please, just come,” he said, and his voice cracked with intensity. “It would mean…more than you know.”

  “Of course,” she said at last. “And I’ll do whatever I can to help you prepare for it, given your grandfather’s injury.” Then she forced a smile to her face, a distant, almost forlorn expression haunting her eyes. “After that, though, we’ll say our goodbyes—and return to our own lives. Agreed?”

  There was no way that Simon could agree to that, but he finally managed a nod, his words almost strangled in his throat. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The day of the par
ty dawned bright with the promise of a beautiful South Carolina late summer day, the heat shimmering on the dew-laden trees seeming to sparkle more earnestly as Caroline took her coffee on the back porch with Marguerite and Prudence. Edeena had called the night before, exhorting her to finally—please—recover the Saleri jewelry from the museum once and for all, and Caroline had assured her that she would. She’d already re-confirmed with Mrs. Wetherington on the matter, and the old woman had actually offered to courier the jewels over. In the end, however, Caroline hadn’t wanted to make it more of a production than it needed to be. The jewels would be in place for today’s grand party, then she’d quietly take them away.

  By all accounts, the party was going to draw a representative from the historical office too. Mrs. Wetherington had let that salient fact drop when Caroline and she had last spoken, that Mr. Swain himself had called them, urging them to put on their best face for the visit.

  As if they’d do anything but. Caroline smiled ruefully, stirring another spoonful of cream into the strong brew, imagining the flurry of excitement already taking place on the island. She could picture every room, every corner of Pinnacle House, from the top of the observation tower to the hidden corners of the forest clearing to the beautiful, serene stretch of beach that flowed away toward new horizons. It all seemed so perfect the way it was, she couldn’t imagine how splendid it would look with the prospect of new travelers filling its halls.

  “Well!” Prudence swept onto the back screened-in porch with her own mug of coffee, taking in the dozing Marguerite with a wry glance before shifting her gaze to Caroline. “Did someone not get their beauty sleep?”

  “Someone worked last night to fill in for yet another no-show,” Marguerite grumbled, not bothering to open her eyes. “So please tell me you’re not pulling the early shift at this Pinnacle House thing. I won’t be able to manage it.”

  “I offered to help, and was turned down flat,” Caroline assured her. “Apparently, our role today is more as guests than management.”

  “Right,” Marguerite mumbled, sinking more deeply into the cushions. “I thought you were supposedly the professor’s fiancée or whatever. How’re they going to explain that away if you’re not there?”

  “She’s not married into the family yet.” To Caroline’s surprise, Prudence spoke almost indignantly. “No southern woman worth her salt would carry on like an employee before she actually had a ring on her finger—a wedding band at that, not merely an engagement ring.” She sniffed. “The representative from the State Historical Preservation Office won’t think twice about Caroline’s delayed arrival—though he or she may expect you to be friendly toward Simon. Will that be hard for you?”

  Caroline grimaced. Simon had texted her several times, and he’d sent flowers three times, each bouquet more colorful than the last, always with the same request—Please, talk to me. But she couldn’t, not yet. She couldn’t understand how she herself was feeling, and until she did, she couldn’t broach the subject with him. She’d just get even more confused, and that wouldn’t help anyone.

  Instead, she’d thanked him as warmly as she could via text, hating herself for not being more forthright, and promising that they’d talk soon. She and Prudence had separated out the bouquets into smaller sprays and sent them with Marguerite to give to guests at the Cypress, but two large vases filled with the roses remained in the front parlor, their scent wafting through the whole of the house.

  “It won’t be difficult,” she said now. “Simon’s not a bad man. He’s simply focused on his career as he should be. I should be focused on my career.”

  “You don’t have a career,” Marguerite observed dryly.

  Caroline threw a pillow at her. “Spoken by someone who pulled a double-shift as a bartender despite the fact that she’s working an unpaid internship, I wouldn’t be so quick to judge.”

  Marguerite giggled, then dragged the pillow over her eyes, blocking out more of the morning sun. Caroline transferred her attention to Prudence. “What about you? Will you be attending today?”

  The question was as gentle as she could put it, but Prudence blushed to her roots anyway. “I was thinking I’d stop by for a while, if that’s acceptable to you,” she said with her elegant intonation, rich as heavy cream. “Mr. Graham managed to procure this address from Dr. Blake, it would appear, and sent me a formal invitation.”

  “Simon.” Caroline frowned. “Really?”

  “Oh, Dr. Blake rang me up first to ensure I would be open to any such attentions.” She spread her hands on her lap, staring down at them for a moment. “Truth to tell, it’s been so long since my William died, I’d quite given up on the idea of another man in my life. I’ve become rather set in my ways.” She gave a soft, delicate laugh. “But while he’s the soul of propriety, Mr. Graham has proven…persistent.”

  Caroline smiled, and even Marguerite had roused herself during Prudence’s declaration.

  “Mr. Graham?” Marguerite asked, sounding genuinely intrigued. “He’s the soldier Caroline told me about, the one you danced with when you were engaged?”

  Prudence regarded her with mild surprise. “He was going off to war, Marguerite. A dance didn’t seem all that indiscreet.”

  “Yeah, but—he remembered you. All those years and he remembered you.” She placed the cushion behind her head and flopped back against it with an enormous sigh. “That’s quite possibly the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “And they kept the dress she left behind too,” Caroline put in, enjoying the renewed blush that flared across Prudence’s face. “Mrs. Wetherington explained that, too. Apparently, you’d left a note asking her to donate it, but she and Mr. Wetherington had recently begun hosting weddings at Pinnacle House, and everything they saw was a reminder of romance. She kept the dress and a picture from that day, and waited. After enough years went by, the picture went into the front parlor and the dress went in a guest emergency clothing closet.” She beamed at Prudence. “The photo is still there—I saw it, I’m almost sure of it, but didn’t make the connection at all.”

  “Apparently, there aren’t that many clothing emergencies in a place like Pearl Island,” Marguerite observed. She fixed her gaze on Prudence. “So, are you guys going to date?”

  “I’m not sure dating is the appropriate word for people our age,” Prudence said, a little too quickly.

  “Don’t get me started on some good alternative words,” Marguerite grinned. “Because believe me, I’ve got about a dozen I could hit you with right now.”

  They spent the rest of the morning in laughing camaraderie, and even convinced both Cindy and Rob Marx to travel with them on the ferry and count themselves as two additional guests. Caroline didn’t have any real idea how many of the Wetherington’s friends and family would be able to make the jaunt over to Pearl Island, and she wanted so much for the visit from the state office to go well. As melancholy as she was feeling, it mollified her to imagine Pinnacle House once more drawing guests to its gracious rooms and relaxed, beautiful grounds.

  By the time they arrived on Pearl Island, however, Caroline realized she shouldn’t have worried. They disembarked with a crowd of noisy, chattering tourists—or people who looked like tourists, anyway—and as the two dozen or so of them spilled into the main street of the island, she sighed with happiness. Pearl Island seemed as busy and prosperous as any of the small seaside towns she’d seen advertised in the tourist brochures before coming to Sea Haven, and as many people as were making their way to Pinnacle House, twice their number seemed content to tool through the stores and galleries and open air kiosks, the entire space taking on the air of an island arts fair.

  “This place is lovely!” Marguerite said, her eyes lighting up at all the storefronts. “How did I not know this was here?”

  “Because it didn’t look like this until about a week ago,” Caroline said wryly. But she couldn’t stop the grin that now seemed permanently affixed to her face. The entire island had really outdone
itself, and somehow word had gotten out in enough force that the State Historic Preservation Office people would be nuts not to give Pinnacle House a chance.

  She smiled, glancing back up to the large house at the end of the road, rising above the dunes. She’d been so certain that she wouldn’t have any more good memories to treasure from her brief visits to Pearl Island, but she’d been wrong. She supposed she should give Pinnacle House a chance to create another few happy moments for her.

  Simon mounded another tray with muffins, then slung the kitchen towel he’d used as an oven mitt over his shoulder, and walked out to the porch. Bobo sat enthroned in a sturdy chair they’d purchased from a medical supply company. His lower leg, cast in day-glo yellow, was planted firmly on the deck, his toes covered with a crocheted hat…one of easily fifteen hats the women at the retirement center had created for him, each more outlandish than the last.

  “Simon! Exactly who we need. Can you get that Frisbee?” Bobo pointed to the disk that had gone skittering under the table, then gestured to the back lawn. “I’d closed my eyes for only a moment and woke up to see it there. I think the kids must have tossed it by mistake and didn’t want to wake me.”

  Simon grinned and obligingly bent down under the picnic table to retrieve the disk. He shouted down to the collection of kids—kids he didn’t recognize, actually—and they gratefully reclaimed the Frisbee. “Where’d they come in from?”

  “No idea!” Bobo chuckled. “We put up signs at the local day cares, and got the ferry company to offer to shuttle children for free today only, so that may have helped.”

  Simon snorted, watching a set of children race down toward the beach over the mat-covered path. “Yeah, I think it may have,” he said wryly.

  “It’s good to have them here,” Bobo said, leaning forward and putting his weight on his surgical cane. He’d recovered quickly from the head trauma, as Belle had expected he would, but he was taking things surprisingly easy now that he was out on the island. He’d not tried to interfere with anything Simon or Belle had directed for the party preparations, happy to simply watch it all unfolding around him.