by Cheryl Bolen
“How horridly clever of him,” Edwina said. It served him right, she thought; it must have been painful to ruin the design of his pride and joy, but better than hanging for murder.
“I would never have made the connection myself, Edwina. Thank God the ghost spoke to you.” Richard hugged her hard. “Let’s go outdoors.”
*
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in their warmest clothes, they tramped over the frosty ground to the knot garden, each carrying a lantern in the pitch darkness. Edwina also carried a shovel, while Richard toted a pick, a hatchet, and two spades. The dog Felix padded behind them, eagerly snuffling, pleased with the unexpected jaunt.
They set the tools and lanterns down. First Richard tried to tip the heavy bench over backward, but it was firmly embedded in the earth.
He gave Edwina a spade, and she worked at one end of the bench while he took the other. It was slow work, the ground hard and full of stones and roots. The dog became bored and wandered away. Before long, Edwina’s fingers were numb in spite of her gloves, and soon she would have a crop of blisters.
Richard must have noticed, for he said, “You don’t have to dig anymore, Edwina.”
“Yes, I do.” She glanced up at the house and thought she saw a pale face shimmer at one of the windows… It vanished. Was the ghost watching them?
Grimly, she carried on, and after a while Richard changed ends of the bench with her. After what seemed like hours, he said, “Out of the way, sweetheart, while I tip it over.”
The bench fell to the ground with a thud.
“Hold!” came a voice. “What’s going on there?”
Felix bounded into sight, followed by Sam Teas and Joseph from the inn. Freddy the erstwhile gardener lurked uneasily behind them. “Oh, it’s you, Sir Richard,” Mr. Teas said. “Your dog wandered into the inn yard, and I came up to see if aught was amiss.”
“Afraid more of them treasure seekers had sneaked past us,” Joseph said.
“Mrs. White and I are the treasure seekers this time.” Richard stood his shovel in the ground and leaned on it.
“You think it’s under there?” Teas scratched his head.
“I fervently hope so,” Richard said.
“You oughtn’t to be doing that sort of work, Mrs. White,” Freddy said, still hovering behind the others.
“Tell me, Freddy,” said Richard. “Where were you digging when the ghost chased you away?”
“Why…right here, Sir Richard, planting bulbs to make the bench prettier-like.”
Richard and Edwina shared a grin. “The last treasure hunters were standing here when the ghost ran them off,” Richard said.
“That’s right,” Mr. Teas said. “Remember, Joseph?”
“Aye,” Joseph said, “our ghost was fine leaving things to Sir Richard until one of them hit the bench with his spade.”
“Well, I’ll be,” the innkeeper said. “Don’t just stand there, fellas. Give the lady and gentleman a hand.”
Joseph took the spare spade immediately. Freddy glanced fearfully up at the house.
“I don’t think you need worry,” Edwina said, handing him her spade. “As long as Sir Richard is here to find the necklace, she won’t drive the rest of us away.”
With three men digging—four when the landlord took a hand after fetching warm ale from the inn—the work went much faster, but the suspense was appalling until at last, amongst a tangle of roots in the rocky soil, they found the first bones.
“The lover,” Richard said.
Edwina glanced up at the house again: yes, the ghost was watching them. “Handle his remains with care,” she said. “We don’t want to upset the ghost. This must be difficult for her to watch.”
But the necklace mattered more than the bones, and now the suspense became intolerable. Richard stepped down into the hole they had dug, worked carefully with the hatchet and trowel, and removed bones one by one. “Fetch something from the stables,” he said. “An old gate, perhaps—something to carry him to the graveyard. We’ll have the vicar give him a proper burial in consecrated ground. That should comfort Lady Ballister’s ghost.”
Bits of rotted fabric still clung here and there to the lover’s ribs. One by one, Sam Teas laid the bones on an old door. Remnants of a boot surfaced, followed by the jeweled clasp of a cloak. At last, Richard handed out the skull. It still possessed wisps of dark hair.
No necklace? Edwina’s heart beat painfully. It must be there.
Richard grunted. “Pass me a lantern, will you? I can’t see with all your heads blocking the light.”
One of the men obliged. Richard set the lantern on the ground and squatted, digging now with his gloved hands. He passed up several smaller bones. “If there are any more, we’ll get the rest in daylight.”
Edwina’s heart plummeted…and Richard rocked back on his heels, a small metal box in his hand. “I need a knife.”
One was duly handed to him. He pried the box open and tipped something into his hand. He let out a long, low whistle and tossed up the empty box. “Give me a hand,” he said, and the others helped him out.
Edwina couldn’t contain herself anymore. “Did you find it?”
“I believe so.” Something dangled from Richard’s fingers. No glisten, no shine; it was tarnished and dull and smelled of the earth, but it was definitely a necklace. “I surely hope so.” He spat on one of the jewels, rubbed it clean, and held it close to the light. Was that a dull red? One by one, he cleaned the jewels. It would take more than spit to polish the tarnished silver setting.
Richard turned toward the house, gazing up at the windows where the ghost had been. She wasn’t there anymore. He held the necklace aloft. “Here it is, Louisa Ballister. It’s time to set my son free.”
There was utter silence. Edwina stared at the window, certain the ghost wasn’t appeased. That’s not enough, she wanted to say. This won’t be over until you give it to your wife. She shivered suddenly, wondering if those words were hers or the ghost’s.
“Edwina,” Richard said softly. “Look at me.”
She turned, and he placed the necklace gently over her head. The men whooped and clapped. “To the new Lady Ballister!” they cried, lifting their tankards in salute.
Trembling, Edwina could find nothing to say. This wasn’t right. Richard didn’t want to marry her. He barely tolerated her. He felt nothing for her but lust.
Richard turned to the others. “If you men would kindly bring the remains to the vicar?” Freddy and Joseph lifted the old door whilst Sam Teas collected his tankards. “And Freddy, I hope you’ll begin work again directly after Christmas.”
“You may be sure I will, Sir Richard,” Freddy said. “Starting right here.”
“Which shall we have first, the wedding or the burial?” Richard called as the men moved slowly away.
“The wedding!” called Sam Teas, and the others agreed.
*
Richard faced Edwina again, his heart thudding painfully. In the dim light cast by the lantern, she didn’t look pleased or even content. On the contrary, she was trembling.
“I’m sorry, Edwina,” he said, “but there is no other way.” He put his arms around her and pulled her close.
She stood limply in his embrace. “There must be another way.”
“There isn’t, and you know it. I realize that marriage with me isn’t what you want, but to save John, we have no choice.”
She said nothing, and he let his arms fall. He’d thought she cared enough to put up with him for the children’s sake. Surely she wouldn’t refuse now?
*
She mustered the words. “I do want it. I do want to marry you.”
He took her by the shoulders, looking down at her. “You do?”
“Of course I do.” She shook him off. “Do you think I would have bedded you if I wasn’t willing to marry you?”
“Twelve years ago, I thought you were willing to marry me. Tonight…tonight I didn’t think at all. I just needed you, and su
ddenly you were there.”
“Because the ghost sent me, and I couldn’t help myself.” She shivered, and he held out his hands, but she stood away, huddled in the safety of her own arms. “She’s been urging me to use my woman’s wiles on you, but I resisted. I knew you didn’t want to marry me, so it would have been wrong to try to trap you.”
“You didn’t need to trap me,” he said.
“Because you feel you must marry me to save John, but you don’t love me anymore. You deserve to find a better wife, one you can love like your first. Now that you’ve found the necklace, surely the ghost will give you a little more time.”
“I didn’t love my first wife,” Richard said. “I held her in affection, but love…” He shook his head. “No.”
“Then you did marry her for her money,” Edwina said, resigned. She shouldn’t have judged him so harshly. She wasn’t perfect either.
“No, I married her because I was heartbroken, and because she wanted me.” He sighed. “You’ll never believe your money didn’t matter, will you?”
“I don’t know,” she said shakily.
“I may never forgive you for marrying Harold White, either,” he said, but he laughed. “Sweetheart, you had no need to use your wiles on me because I’ve been in love with you since the moment you arrived. I didn’t want to fall in love with you again, but I couldn’t help it.”
She felt her lips tremble into a smile.
He smiled ruefully in return. “I didn’t want to marry you because I’d already lived through an uneven marriage, where one spouse loves more than the other. It was far worse from my wife’s point of view, knowing I wasn’t in love with her. I don’t want to be the one who isn’t loved.” He paused. “But I’m willing to be that one if it saves John’s life.”
“Richard, I have always loved you, and I always will.” She put her arms around him. “You will never, ever be the one who isn’t loved.”
Dawn had come, and a faint glow in the eastern sky heralded sunrise. At the sound of children’s voices, they broke apart. Lizzie and John came running around the side of the house, clad only in their nightclothes.
“Did you find it?” Lizzie cried.
“Of course he did,” John said. “The ghost just told me so.”
Lizzie’s eyes lit upon the necklace. “Papa, are you going to marry Mrs. White?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Of course he is,” John scoffed. “It’s been obvious ever since she arrived.”
“Yes, Mrs. White and I are going to marry,” Richard said. Lizzie let out a squeal and hugged both her father and Edwina, while John grinned and congratulated them in a very adult way.
Then he rather spoilt the effect by asking, “Is there a skull?”
“Freddy and Joseph are taking the remains to the graveyard,” Richard said. “If you ask the vicar, he may let you have a look before the burial.”
“The lover’s bones,” Lizzie said with a shudder. “May I try on the necklace?”
“When we get indoors,” Richard said. “Run along now. It’s much too cold to stand out here in your nightclothes. Tell Mrs. Cropper to heat plenty of water in the copper, for both Mrs. White and I must bathe.” The children ran toward the house, holding hands and chattering happily. Tears gathered in Edwina’s eyes.
“What could be better than a Christmas wedding with the whole village in attendance?” Richard asked. “You can wear the crimson gown you’ve been making.”
“How do you know about the gown?” she demanded, and then flapped her hand. Perhaps Lizzie had peeked into Edwina’s bedchamber and told her father, but it didn’t matter. “We can’t possibly marry today. We must post the banns for three weeks first.”
“We will indeed marry this morning,” he said. “I sent for a license two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks ago? That’s only a few days after I arrived!”
“By which time my heart was telling me one thing and my mind another, but commonsense carried the day. You were here, you needed me, I wanted you, and time was running out. Planning to marry you made sense, and if you’d said no, I would have torn the license up and resigned myself to…I don’t know whom. Thank God you said yes.”
Fare thee well…
Like a whisper on the morning breeze, the ghost took her leave of them. The pall on Ballister Grange lifted with the rising of the sun. Hand in hand, Edwina and Richard made their way out of the knot garden, past the holly hedge with its glossy green leaves and red berries aglow in the day’s first light. Hearts now joined forever, they entered a house reborn, overflowing with love, joy and Christmas cheer.
The End
ABOUT BARBARA MONAJEM
Barbara Monajem wrote her first story at eight years old about apple tree gnomes. After dabbling in neighborhood musicals and teen melodrama, she published a middle-grade fantasy when her children were young. Now her kids are adults, and she's writing for grownups. Her Bayou Gavotte series of paranormal mystery and romance takes place near New Orleans and features hereditary vampires, a Native American telepathic rock star, and other characters with paranormal abilities. She also writes sexy Regency romances with bold, passionate heroes, spirited, adventurous heroines, and the occasional touch of magic. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia, with an ever-shifting population of relatives, friends, and feline strays.
BRIDE OF FALCON
After five Seasons, Ivonne Wimpleton has accepted she’s a haute ton undesirable. Always a bit ungraceful, her suitors are men desperate to get their hands on her marriage settlement. Guarded and aloof, she’s resigned herself to spinsterhood. She doesn’t mind her fate, since Chancy Faulkenhurst, the man who once held her heart, left for India years ago without an explanation.
When Ivonne’s father, Viscount Wimpleton, refuses Chaz’s request for her hand in marriage, he transfers to the East India Troops. Chaz’s dreams of making Ivonne his wife are soundly dashed. Ignoring her letters, he closes the door on his heart and Ivonne and remains in India.
Six years later, severely injured during a battle, Chaz returns to England physically and emotionally scarred. His love for Ivonne remains just as strong. When he learns due to a whim of Prinny’s she must choose one of the despots whose offered for her hand, Chaz is determined that none should have her but him. Except, not only is she infuriated he made no effort to contact her, in Chaz’s absence, his father arranged a marriage for him and fully expects Chaz to honor the agreement.
Copyright © 2014 by Collette Cameron
CHAPTER ONE
London, England, Late May, 1818
“There you are, Miss Wimpleton.”
Ivonne Wimpleton whipped her gaze to Captain Melvin Kirkpatrick. Groaning in frustration, she snapped her fan closed, prepared to use the frilly accessory to give him a good poke or two, if necessary.
Fiend seize it. What is he doing here?
He must have arrived after she ventured outdoors.
She’d specifically asked Mother not to invite him tonight. Somehow, the bore had finagled an invitation to accompany another guest. Ivonne had hoped he’d finally sailed for Africa and wouldn’t impose his unwelcome presence on her for six blessed months or more.
He staggered toward her secluded bench on the side terrace, a drunken smile skewing his mouth.
She shot to her feet, searching for a means to avoid him. The only possibility lay in the narrow stairway descending to the manicured garden where an occasional colored lantern glowed. Ivonne strode toward her salvation at a near run.
Captain Kirkpatrick caught her arm and pinned her against the balustrade with his great weight. Her fan fell, clattering to the flagstone.
Straining against him, Ivonne fought to breathe and gagged. Did the man ever bathe?
“What audacity. Unhand me, sir!”
He shook his head. Excitement glimmered in his glassy eyes. “I think not. You’ve played the reluctant miss long enough. It’s time you tasted what our married life will be like.”
“Are you dicked in the nob?”
Though no match for his strength, Ivonne still fought to break free. As she struggled, her hair pins came loose and scattered onto the stones. “I. Am. Not. Marrying. You.”
He tightened his clasp, and she winced as he held her arms in a bruising grip.
“I prefer blondes with blue eyes, but I cannot complain about your curves.” Leering at her bosom, Captain Kirkpatrick licked his lips. He pawed her breast with one beefy hand as his other gripped her head in an attempt to steal a kiss.
His foul breath assailed Ivonne, sending her stomach pitching at the stench of strong spirits and onions. Intent on screaming like a banshee, she opened her mouth and sucked in a huge breath.
A chortling foursome of gentlemen burst through the French windows onto the other side of the terrace. Their sudden appearance rescued her from the captain’s lewd groping. Panting heavily, his bushy red eyebrows scrunched together, he released her and scowled at her brother, Allen, Lords Sethwick and Luxmoore, and the Duke of Harcourt.
A pity the new arrivals weren’t her twin cousins, Edwina and Edward. They would come to her aid and not breathe a word of the untoward situation. However, if Allen spied her in Captain Kirkpatrick’s company, there would be the devil to pay.
Ivonne tried to blend into the manor’s shadow, but the sea captain’s stout form obstructed her. Her brother had warned the widower away from her once already. If he suspected the captain dared lay a hand on her, Allen would call him out. A dab hand at pistols—all firearms, for that matter—Captain Kirkpatrick might wound, or, heaven forbid, kill dear Allen.
She shuddered. It must not come to that. She peeked at the captain from beneath her lashes. More than a trifle disguised, his drunken focus remained on the other men. Ivonne seized the moment. Without hesitation, she kneed him in the ballocks with her good leg and gave him a mighty shove.
