“Frederick,” Simon said, crossing to the boy and drawing him up by his jacket. “Do you know something?” Simon’s voice was much kinder than the runner’s, but it was firm nonetheless.
“He saw something,” the runner said. “But I had to drag it out of him. Don’t know if you want this sort of lad working in your stables.”
Simon’s gaze narrowed, but Joan couldn’t tell if he was more displeased with the runner’s roughness or the boy’s apparent insolence.
“Monsieur Jacques didn’t come back from fixing the barn fence,” the boy said.
“How long ago was that?” Simon asked, his voice growing more urgent with each word.
The boy looked down at his scuffed boots. “More than an hour ago.”
“It must have been soon after I questioned the old man,” the runner added.
Simon’s brow furrowed, then he glanced over at Joan’s father. They exchanged a look that could only mean one thing: they both wondered if this man named Jacques was in danger. Joan’s heart started pounding in response. Had this man, who worked for the Rousseau estate, become the latest victim?
“Did he say he was returning to the stables?” Simon asked. “Perhaps he went to his cottage.”
The boy shook his head. “He told me not to leave the stable until he returned.”
The constable stepped forward. “Has this man Jacques done anything unusual in the past few days?”
“Jacques has been working for our family since my father’s time,” Simon interrupted. “He always keeps his word, which makes me think that something has happened to him.”
Joan’s father joined the gathering of men, saying, “Or... he could be the culprit.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong, Belrose.” Simon met the men’s gazes.
“Actually, your new father-in-law is quite right,” a new voice spoke in a deep tone that Joan hadn’t heard before.
They all turned and found a man standing in the doorway of the library, his hand raised, holding a pistol.
Joan gripped the back of the chair she stood next to.
The man’s peppered hair was tied back, but about his face hung loose pieces, slick and gray. His heavy eyebrows were bushy and wild, taking on their own life as the man swiveled his gaze about the room, the pistol moving with his gaze.
Simon stepped forward, and Joan gasped as the man with the pistol aimed it straight at Simon’s chest.
“Jacques! What are you doing?” Simon’s tone was equally angry and edged with disbelief.
Joan realized this man must be the stable master, the one who’d gone missing, who’d been working for Simon’s family for decades.
“Stay back, Simon, unless you want to fulfill the curse.”
“There is no curse, is there, Jacques?” Joan’s father said.
Jacques swung the pistol toward Belrose, and Joan’s heart stuttered. The expression on Jacques’s face was that of a man whose anger ran deep. He seemed here to enact his revenge— for what, she didn’t know— but this evening could only end in disaster. Joan looked about the room, desperate to find something that she or one of the men could use in defense. The fireplace andirons were on the other side of the hearth, too far to reach without drawing attention to herself.
Belrose continued. “I know now who your mother was.”
Joan stared at her father. It seemed that everyone in the room was holding their breath.
“Sophia,” Belrose said. “She was wronged by my father, wasn’t she?”
Jacques nodded, his limp hair brushing against his face.
“And you are my... half-brother?” Belrose finished.
The air left Joan’s chest. It was all starting to make sense...
Color flooded Jacques’ face, and his eyes hardened. “You’ve been raised with every privilege, while I... have been mired in horses’ muck.”
“I understand,” Belrose said in an even voice, taking a step forward. “You created the story of the curse so that you could get rid of the Belrose and Rousseau heirs, until there was no one left but you.”
Jacques sputtered, his mouth working. “How did you know?”
Simon answered, his own face pale. “You forgot one thing, Jacques. If every single person in the Belrose and the Rousseau family died, both estates would revert to the town and be governed by the abbey.”
“Not if I could prove that I am a Belrose and a Rousseau by birth,” Jacques snarled, his complexion deepening.
“You’re illegitimate,” Belrose announced, his voice far from calm now. Instead, he’d drawn himself up to his full height, and his tone was steely. “No judge would hand over an inheritance to an illegitimate child, unless the father had declared him an heir before his death. But my father is long dead, and so is your mother.”
Jacques’s pistol hand trembled, and his eyes started to water. Joan hoped that the man was about to give up the pistol. He would already be facing life in prison, but perhaps he could find some redemption for his soul.
She released the chair back and surprised herself by stepping forward. “Put down the pistol, Sir,” she began. “Your parents are gone, and they would want their son to live an honorable life.”
Jacques’s face crumpled, and tears coursed down his cheeks. His chest shuddered as if he were trying to hold back a sob.
Joan took courage from the way the man seemed to be experiencing remorse and a change of heart. She’d heard about it nearly every day during her growing up years at the abbey. She took another step, until she was near Simon. “We understand your pain. It’s time to let it go now, and seek forgiveness for your actions.”
Jacques’ attention was fully on Joan now, and he blinked through his tears. Even though he had brutally attacked her, her heart swelled with compassion for him. Who knew what his mother might have told him? But, he had been an innocent victim of his birth status. “Please,” Joan said. “Please turn over the pistol, and let’s stop the real curse of revenge.”
The color in his eyes deepened, and his face tightened. Then he lunged straight for Joan.
Time seemed to move slower, yet so fast that Joan didn’t fully comprehend what was happening. His arm extended, and his finger pressed the trigger of the pistol. Her father crumpled to the ground, and Simon and the runner tackled Jacques to the ground.
Belrose must have leapt in front of Joan and been shot. She sank to the floor, grabbing for him, screaming, “Father!” Blood soaked his shirt on his shoulder and chest, and his eyes were unfocused and staring.
“No!” Joan screamed again. “Father, look at me.”
Then she realized a second person was kneeling over her father— Simon. He pulled off his jacket, then ripped part of his shirt and bunched it up, pressing it against the bullet wound. The entrance wound was higher than Joan had at first thought.
She exhaled, adding prayers to her desperation. Perhaps there was a chance her father would live. Somewhere in the background, the constable and runner subdued Jacques and led him out of the library. But for the moment, all Joan could see was her father— the pain on his face, the pallid color of his skin.
“Save him, Simon,” she whispered over and over.
Simon called out for Madame Mauriac, who appeared almost instantly, as if she’d been hovering nearby in the corridor. “Call for the physician.”
The woman scurried away. Joan’s eyes met Simon’s, and she saw the same worries there.
“We won’t let him die, Joan. Not so soon after you have found him.”
She nodded, hoping desperately that Simon was right. Then her father’s eyes opened and focused on Joan. In his eyes, she saw his apology for all their years of separation. She knew that he couldn’t change the past, and, even if there would be no time together in the future, he’d finally been a true father to her— if only for a moment— when he’d protected her.
She grasped his limp hand and squeezed it gently, telling him in this one action that she understood, that she forgave him, and that if he survived, th
ey’d face their new life together.
Joan didn’t know how much time had passed when the physician finally arrived, but she felt exhausted when he came into the room and took over.
She and Simon sat on the sofa together, hands clasped, as the doctor worked to remove the bullet.
And then her father was able to rest. He was breathing steadily, his eyes closed, his expression calm. The physician insisted that he stay on the floor, unmoved, for a couple of hours. Joan didn’t want to leave him, so she stayed next to Simon on the sofa, curled up against his side, his arm around her.
Chapter Ten
As the night wore on, Joan dozed off and on, leaning against Simon as they sat together on the couch. His mind spun, making any and all sleep elusive. When the runner arrived, Joan stirred awake. Only then did Simon release his new wife, so he could help the runner move Belrose up to a bedroom.
Joan followed them up the flight of stairs, and Simon knew it was because she didn’t want to remain in the library by herself. The physician also sent a nurse to watch over Belrose throughout the night.
“I can help too,” Joan said, stifling a yawn, when Simon came out of her father’s bedroom.
“You should rest,” he said, guiding her along the hallway to the bedroom she’d been in the night before.
She hesitated at the room’s entrance. The fire had been lit and two oil lamps burned, so it should have seemed welcoming and cheery, but Joan wouldn’t step inside.
“I’ll take you to another room.” Simon led her to one of the guest rooms across the hall. As he led her inside, she clung to his hand.
“Don’t leave me,” she said. “I know that Jacques is in custody, but I don’t want to be alone.”
Simon wrapped his arms about her, pulling her close. “I wasn’t planning on leaving you.”
He felt Joan nestle against him. She didn’t treat him like a stranger now. He kissed the top of her head, then guided her to the bed. Pulling back the blanket, she climbed in. Then he joined her, propped up on pillows, and she curled against him and closed her eyes.
It was only then that Simon found himself relaxing. Jacques had been arrested, Belrose was resting and being watched over by a nurse, and Joan... his new wife... slept in his arms. Just before Simon drifted off to sleep, he silently thanked his mother. He didn’t doubt that she was still somehow watching over him.
Some hours later, Simon woke with a start to sunlight streaming in through the window.
He lifted his head, only to see Joan still nestled at his side, smiling up at him. Simon couldn’t remember ever having seen anything more beautiful.
“You’re awake,” she said.
He couldn’t help but smile. “Heard anything about your father?”
“I just spoke with the nurse. The physician should be arriving within the hour, but my father slept peacefully and even awakened for a few moments and swallowed some broth.” Her eyes fluttered. “Climbing back into bed was probably what woke you.”
“Hmmm.” Simon slid his arm around her. “I like that you climbed back in.” As he knew it would, her face flushed bright red.
“This is strange,” Joan whispered.
“A good strange?” Simon teased.
“Yes, I think so.” Her smile was shy now, but she didn’t draw away.
So Simon kissed her. Her mouth felt soft and delicate, and her body was warm as she pressed against him, kissing him back. He pulled her closer and kissed her harder, feeling the slowly igniting flames throughout his body as their limbs tangled together and her fingers moved to the back of his neck.
He wasn’t sure where he ended and she began, but there seemed to be no past or no future. Just the present moment.
“Simon,” Joan broke off, breathless. “I didn’t mean to be so forward.”
He laughed, squeezing her against him. “I did, my love.”
Her breath caught as she seemed to comprehend what he’d implied. But he hoped she didn’t mind. He’d never spoken truer words in his life. He kissed her again, taking his time, until time itself seemed suspended. It wasn’t until he heard voices outside the bedroom door that he touched earth again.
“The physician,” Joan said softly. “We should speak to him.”
Simon groaned. Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from Joan, then helped her from the bed.
She flushed as she stood and tried to smooth out her skirts and fix her hair.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
She looked up at him, and his heart stumbled. Her gaze was open, trusting... and loving.
“Come, Wife,” he said, extending his hand. “Let’s see how your father fares.”
She smiled and placed her hand in his, squeezing his fingers lightly.
Simon couldn’t wait to return to return to this room again and take his wife into his arms. But most of all, he couldn’t wait to start the rest of his life with this enchanting woman by his side.
“Are you listening?” Joan asked.
Simon arched a brow and blinked his eyes.
She laughed. “You weren’t. How about we order the morning meal sent up to the bedroom?”
Grasping her other hand, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. “I can’t think of anything better.”
That blush again. Simon was completely charmed.
It took Joan practically tugging his hand to get him out of the bedroom, and they walked the short distance to where Belrose was convalescing. They entered the room while the physician was packing up his instruments into a satchel. Belrose was awake, and his eyes brightened when his gaze landed on Joan.
She rushed forward. “You look so much better.”
“Thank you,” Belrose said, his voice scratchy.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“I’ll be well soon enough.” Belrose’s brow furrowed. “What about you and Simon?”
“We are well, thank you,” Joan said.
“Thank you, Sir.” Simon stepped to the side of the bed. “Thank you for bringing Joan and me together, and thank you for saving her life.”
Next to Simon, Joan wiped her eyes. “Yes, thank you, Father.” She leaned over him and kissed his cheek.
The man’s face reddened, and Simon hid a smile. Like father, like daughter. But Belrose looked pleased, and Simon thought he saw moisture in the old man’s eyes.
“We’ll leave you to rest now,” Joan said, straightening. She turned to Simon, and he was more than happy that he’d soon have her all to himself.
As they left Belrose and stepped back into their bedroom, Simon felt as if he were stepping into a new life, one that held great promise of happiness, one that would chase away all the darkness and replace every shadow with light. Sophia’s curse had only been a threat, and Jacques had breathed life into it, keeping it a deadly reality for years.
But now, Jacques was locked up, and the Rousseau and Belrose families were forever safe.
“Joan,” Simon whispered, pulling her close and burying his face into her hair. “The curse is truly broken now.”
Her arms tightened about his neck, and she whispered back. “Yes, my love. I believe it is.”
Click on the covers to visit Heather’s Amazon Author page:
Heather B. Moore is a USA Today bestselling author. She writes historical thrillers under the pen name H.B. Moore; her latest is Finding Sheba. Under Heather B. Moore, she writes romance and women’s fiction. She’s one of the coauthors of The Newport Ladies Book Club series. Other works include Heart of the Ocean, The Fortune Café, The Boardwalk Antiques Shop, the Aliso Creek series, and the Amazon bestselling Timeless Romance Anthology series.
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Chapter One
“Attention, passengers, this is Allison King, entert
ainment coordinator for the Odysseus Star Cruise Line. We have a number of special treats in store for you tonight— no tricks! The masquerade ball will begin at 7:00 in the main ballroom on Deck A. Our legendary chefs have prepared a ‘spooktacular’ buffet on Deck B. And Count Dracula himself will be hosting an arts-and-crafts party on Deck C.
“And for those of you who have registered for the Storytelling by Starlight event, please gather at the departure area in fifteen minutes.
“On behalf of Captain Williamson, First Mate Michaels, and the rest of the Odysseus Star crew, I would like to personally wish everyone aboard—”
The crackle of the ship’s PA system cut in, obscuring the last words of the overly perky Allison King.
“A happy Halloween,” Oliver muttered, shaking his head and leaning his elbows on the railing overlooking the ocean, grateful for the small moment of solitude he’d managed to find.
The cruise was four days into the trip, and the passengers had been celebrating all day. Loud music, all-night dances, endless food. The cruise line certainly knew how to throw a party. Even the weather was in the holiday spirit: a full October moon, a brilliant sky dotted with stars, and a cool breeze that carried with it the hint of a coming storm. The night-black waves rippled far below him as the luxury liner cut inexorably toward Greece like a silent, oncoming leviathan.
Oliver was four months into his six-month contract as the lead physician with the cruise liner, and while he was proud of his immaculate uniform, complete with gold caduceus and red-and-gold bars on his epaulets, he wished he was somewhere else this Halloween. Anywhere else.
A pack of kids dressed as pirates ran along the deck. As they careened around the corner and disappeared from sight, he swallowed past a scratch in his throat.
“Ready for your storytelling gig, Doctor?” Derrick asked as he walked past. His housekeeping uniform glowed orange under the string of pumpkin lights wound around the deck.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Oliver replied with a smile. “Congratulations, by the way. I heard about you and Allison.”
All Hallows' Eve Collection Page 14
