She glanced to her trunk. She’d never be able to bring that along, not if she was sneaking off in the dead of night. It was best to go with the clothes on her back and a small satchel of personal things.
Decision made, she stuffed her pin money into one of her kid boots before slipping them onto her feet, grabbed up her satchel, and, outfitted in a warm and serviceable dress with her wool cloak about her shoulders, she threw open her window and set to scaling the wall. Thankfully, it was an ancient castle with uneven brickwork that made it almost like descending a ladder, and she found herself on the ground in a matter of minutes.
It wasn’t far to Bocka Morrow—there, she would find a carriage for hire to take her to Devon.
Chapter 24
The ride back to Foxglove Manor was exhausting and uncomfortable, but more than that, it was just plain depressing. He was leaving behind the girl he loved only to say goodbye to the father he loved, all because an apparition of his mother had appeared to him. And though he knew he would have Samantha in time, it made his heart ache to be away from her now. How he wished she could be with him. To meet the baron. To see his home and to marry him. He might never know why she resisted him at first, but she had no choice now. They would be married. It was just a matter of when.
With only one brief stop to change out the horses, they made it to Foxglove Manor late the next afternoon. Chad tumbled out of the carriage, eager to see his father. To hold his hand and let him know he was there for one last goodbye.
“Welcome home, Mr. Kendall,” their butler said as Chad strode across the gravel drive.
“You’re still calling me Mr. Kendall,” he noted with great relief. “That means I have made it in time?”
“Just barely,” the older man replied.
With that, Chad darted into the house, up the two flights of stairs, and down the hallway to his father’s chambers. He tread slowly into the room, out of breath, heart racing. The scene hadn’t changed a bit in the last five days—his father still lay there, small and gray, barely moving. Chad approached the bed on tentative feet and then placed his hand over his father’s, which lay atop his chest. He didn’t move or even flutter an eye, but his rattled breath continued steadily. Chad pulled up a chair and settled in to wait.
Samantha’s journey from Bocka Morrow was far less comfortable than her trip to Bocka Morrow, even with Oscar panting in her face the entire way. She’d overestimated the town, thinking they’d have carriages for hire, when really, by the time she’d arrived late at night, it had been completely desolate, save a few drunken sailors singing in the street. She’d inquired at the inn if anyone could help her, and it was quite a surprise when her redheaded apothecary appeared to rescue her. Only a few hours ago, she would have turned her nose up and found someone else to help, but she believed what Chad had written to her, even if she didn’t understand exactly how Toby was responsible.
“It won’t be comfortable,” the woman had told her, “but it will get you there.”
Indeed, it was quite uncomfortable being sandwiched in between dozens of bottles that Sam was quite certain had been smuggled into the country. Otherwise, why would they all have to be covered in thick blankets? She didn’t quite understand why she had to be under the blankets, but she wasn’t in a position to question it.
Once she arrived in Ivybridge the next morning, she set about discovering the whereabouts of Mr. Kendall.
“Foxglove Manor, my lady,” the innkeeper of The Cock and Burrow told her.
And so she began her walk in the direction the innkeeper had sent her. It was cold and she was tired, but all that fell away when she finally approached the wrought iron gates of Foxglove Manor.
It was a large house of square proportions with a grand staircase going up the middle to the front door. With the sun setting behind it, it seemed like something out of a fairytale.
But this couldn’t be his home, could it? It was the type of home that would have housed a peer—someone with great wealth and status. Perhaps Mr. Kendall was the solicitor or land steward or…something of that sort. Funny, she’d never asked him what his profession was.
“Good evening, young lady,” the Foxglove butler greeted her on the drive, once she’d made her way down the long gravel path. Clearly, someone had seen her coming from afar. “If you’re looking for work, the servant entrance is around this way.”
“Oh, no,” she said, not terribly surprised she’d been mistaken for a servant. Surely she looked affright after a night spent amongst liquor bottles and with her hair still bound in a gypsy cloth. “I wonder if you might help me. I’m looking for Mr. Chadwick Kendall. I was told I could find him here.”
The butler eyed her for a long moment. “Indeed, you can, but he is not seeing visitors at present. He is with the baron.”
Ah. Of course he was. That must have been why he left in such a hurry—perhaps his job was in jeopardy. “Might I wait for him?” she asked, though she wasn’t hopeful. Why would they allow a strange ragamuffin to wait for the solicitor in the baron’s drawing room?
“Of course. I shall alert him to your presence.”
“Oh, please don’t,” she said as they began their walk up the staircase. “I would hate to get him in trouble with the baron.”
The butler turned and gave her an odd look before saying, “I hardly think that will be a problem. Right this way.”
A strange thing to say, but he charged on ahead of her and then deposited her into a small but well-appointed parlor. Blessedly there was a fire in the grate and a comfortable place for her to rest near it. She nestled onto the sofa and pulled out her journal to write about her travels, prepared to wait until Mr. Kendall was able to get away.
Chapter 25
Chad was startled out of an uncomfortable sleep at his father’s bedside by a knock at the door.
“Enter!” he called, still trying to orient himself. It took a moment for the past days’ events to come flooding back.
“Sorry to knock, sir,” his butler said, coming into the room. “You didn’t hear the scratch.”
“That’s all right. What is it?”
“You’ve a visitor, sir.”
“I told you I am not at home,” Chad said, looking over his father to make certain he was still breathing.
“Yes, but…I did want to alert you to the young lady’s presence anyhow.”
At this, Chad stilled. It couldn’t possibly be. How in the world would she have gotten here? “A young lady, you say?”
“Lovely girl, brown eyes. I can’t tell her hair color, though…”
Whatever else his butler was saying about Samantha, Chad didn’t hear, for he fled the room as if there were fire beneath his feet. A million thoughts ran through his head as he made his way to the main floor—the most important one being that he had no idea where Balding had put her. Damn.
“Samantha!” he called as he began his search. “Samantha!”
He was about to burst through another door when she appeared from the small yellow parlor further down the corridor, and called back, “I’m here!”
Chad stilled and stared at her. Was she really there? Or was his over-tired brain playing tricks on him? Horrible, cruel tricks they’d be. But Balding had seen her, too. And now she was walking toward him, and in the next moment, she was throwing herself into his arms.
“Oh, Chad!” she cried, wrapping her arms about his neck and squeezing, whilst he gathered her about the torso, so relieved to have her near. To have her pressed against him. Everything felt right now. “Please forgive me. Goodness, I will never forgive myself if the baron terminates you for this, but I just had to see you. I had to tell you that…that I love you. And I want to marry you, not just because…well, because of what we did, but—”
Chad released her, confusion setting in as he stared into her lovely face. “Terminate me?”
She shrugged. “It isn’t every day a woman arrives at your employer’s house to confess their love, is it?”
“My…?” Chad couldn’t help it. The exhaustion combined with the absurdity of her words culminated into complete hilarity. It took him a moment to gain enough composure to tell her the truth. “My dear Samantha,” he said, pulling her close again as his laughter subsided. “I do not work here, you silly girl. I live here.”
At that, she pushed him away, her chocolate eyes wide with shock. “You…but…I don’t…”
He decided to spare her any further confusion and nonsensical babbling. “My father is the Baron Dinedor, for what will probably be only a few more hours. And then the title will pass to me, his only son.”
Samantha shook her head and furrowed her brow. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she breathed.
Chad exhaled. “Because I like being Mr. Kendall. I have many years ahead of me—too many, really—of being a baron. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what having lord or lady attached to one’s name means, and I was glad to enjoy my last few days of anonymity.” He stepped toward her and wrapped his arms around her lower back. “I did not set out to deceive anyone, least of all you.”
“Perhaps if I had been more forthcoming, you might have told me sooner.”
“What do you mean?”
“My parents expect me to marry a peer. That is why I sent you away that first night, knowing they would never approve of a marriage to you.”
“And the second night?” he asked, his voice rough as memories of that night came flooding back.
“I decided I didn’t care what they wanted,” she said, her own voice thick with the desire they both felt.
Chad couldn’t wait another moment to taste her sweet lips, so he lowered his head and did just that.
Samantha couldn’t quite believe her luck. She would have married Chad, even as a commoner; there was no question about that. She’d traveled through two counties in a liquor cart to tell him so, hadn’t she? And yet, she’d been the one to get quite the surprise. Of course, part of her had warmed to the idea of being Mrs. Kendall. He had a point about having lady attached to one’s name. There were expectations that Samantha often found it difficult to live up to, when all she really wanted was to be left alone with a good book most of the time. But as she stared into the most captivating hazel eyes she’d ever had the pleasure of staring into, she knew that it would be all right—that they would face those expectations together.
“We will be married by special license as soon as possible,” he said, “but first, I must ask a favor.”
Samantha nodded. “Anything.”
“Meet my father? He may not even wake—I’ve been with him for hours, and it seems he’s mostly…gone. But I have hope that he will hear your voice and at least pass on knowing that…that I will be all right.”
Sam smiled up at him—this beautiful, vulnerable man, whom she knew with the greatest certainty that she loved more than anyone else in the entire world. “I would be honored to meet the man that raised such a fine son,” she said.
“I love you, Lady Samantha Priske,” he whispered, his nose against hers as his thumb stroked her cheek.
“And I you, Mr. Kendall,” she whispered back. “Come what may.”
About Jerrica Knight-Catania
USA Today Best Selling Author, Jerrica Knight-Catania, knew from an early age that she was destined for romance. She would spend hours as a young girl sitting in a chair by an open window, listening to the rain, and dreaming of the day Prince Charming would burst in and declare his undying love for her. But it wasn't until she was 28-years-old, tired of her life in the theater, that she turned her focus toward writing Regency Romance novels. All her dreaming paid off, and she now gets to relive those romantic scenes she'd dreamt up as a child as she commits them to paper. She lives in sunny Palm Beach with her real life Prince Charming, their Princess-in-training and their aristocat, Dr. Snuggle.
* * *
Visit Jerrica's official website to learn more about her other books, the Wetherby family and to see what's new in her writing world!
Connect With Jerrica
@JerricaKC
princess.jewel
www.JerricasPlace.com
The Sweetest Curse
Renee Bernard
Chapter 1
Elethea Fairfax leaned back slightly to stretch her back before she picked up a knife to begin cutting the herbs so that they could be ground into a fine powder. She tried to swallow a sigh but her grandmother was far too keen not to notice.
“What troubles you? And answer quickly so that the truth has no time to hide, dearest.”
“I was thinking of the young ladies I met in the village—foolishly wondering…at their lives. I imagine that kitchen work of any kind is as far below them as…”
“As?”
“As I am in many regards,” Elethea’s voice wasn’t marred by a pout. “It is wrong to envy them their ease when—you and I both know that the lives of any branch of that family isn’t all smooth sailing and sleek privilege. But I am…a little envious all the same.”
“You are human, darling. Though wrong to think any one better than yourself. A bit of lace or velvet does not an improved lady make.” Her grandmother spoke with the authority of a dowager but the grey and white striped cat snaking about her ankles detracted quite a bit from the impression.
“Gran,” Elethea said with a smile, “I know. And the ladies were very polite in their introductions. They were very gracious and it was lucky to meet them as I did.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it! The family is gathering for the reading of the will and at this time of the year, too—it’s a sign, dear.” The old woman made a gesture out of habit to dismiss evil spirits. “That family has no sense of timing but it may be the chance we’ve waited for.”
“Gran,” Elethea Fairfax sighed. “It changes little for us.” She had come to visit her grandmother, happy to enjoy the quiet and rustic comforts of her cottage. As usual, their conversation ranged far and wide only to inevitably land on the Hamblys.
Her grandmother was implacable and notoriously firm once she’d set on an idea. “It may make the difference in everything. An end to the curse and a release of the coven from the weight of these years of accusation. The death of both of those sweet ladies…it was such a blow but what if healing is within our reach?”
“How can you view another death at Castle Keyvnor as a chance? It may only mean that fate has once again asked that family to pay a steep price for their position.”
“Fate will intervene. Every supplication—all these years, all our prayers all bent to it, yes? I can sense the tides of change.” Maevis Grayson announced the words with the confidence of her seventy-three years of experience the same way she ground out herbs in the stone bowl at her fingertips—relentlessly and without really looking to see the effect. “Isis sighs but in Her Mercy, we’ll set it all right, Ella.”
They worked side by side at the great oak table that was centered in the cottage’s great room. The weather had turned cold and damp, and it was a comfort to work inside in the little thatched house’s cozy warmth.
“Oh, Gran!” Elethea Fairfax smiled, loving the way her pet name sounded on the dear woman’s lips. “I hope so.”
“You’ll do more than hope, my bright flower. You’ll see to it, won’t you?”
“What can I do?” Elethea said as she continued cutting the flowers petals for the tincture. “I am the daughter of a country doctor and not going to be invited to the castle for tea or for any other occasion—much less allowed to perform some sort of forbidden and unexpected ritual to banish ghosts or end curses or…Goddess only knows what cleansing Keyvnor needs! They are a good Christian family, Granny. An offer to work a charm in their presence is going to end in a bonfire of yours truly in their main courtyard and well you know it!”
“They’re gathering, that family, all the branches to come in for the reading of the earl’s will and testament. I cannot remember when they came together like this…and at such a time of the year! It is not a coincide
nce, Ella. Samhain falls on the night of a full moon! A Witch’s moon and I cannot help but see this as a vast opportunity. Such powerful forces coming together…”
Elethea shook her head. “Agreed but I don’t see how this has a whiff of smoke to do with me, Gran. If there’s a spell to transform the situation, I don’t know it.”
Her grandmother was not swayed in her resolve. “I had a dream. A true dream and I awoke to the song of an owl’s third cry.”
Elethea put the knife aside and gave her grandmother her complete and respectful attention. “What did you dream?”
“I dreamt that the ravens left the castle’s skies. I saw you and you were singing from the walls—or crying but it was very pretty, Ella, so a song I think.”
“Go on.”
“There are songs. A wedding…more than one. The ravens fly and love will reign over the Castle Keyvnor.”
“Good then. But what else? You’re holding something back.”
“All I know is that it is you who will secure the future for that family. You.”
Elethea stayed very still for a moment before she could summon the courage to speak. “Gran, I don’t sing. I cannot carry a tune.”
They both grew somber. Maevis nodded slowly. “Tears then, but no woman died of crying, Ella.”
Another lie but this was one Elethea allowed to go unchecked. Tears made more sense. One did not balance the scales of misery and suffering with painless poetry and lightness. Any witch worth her salt knew that the threefold rule of curses meant the reckoning would be hefty.
Mystified Page 20
