On a mission, Elizabeth rushed to her writing desk and pulled a quill and ink from its depths before searching for a roll of parchment.
My dearest Matthew, she wrote, scrawling her words as fast as she could. I may not have much time before he discovers that I am again myself. I believe he is controlling me with the wine. It might possibly be witchcraft of some sort. Sorcery. Whatever it is, it isn’t me.
I do not love my Lord Husband. I became Lady Dabney out of duty to my father, not love for the man as he would have you and the town believe. My heart, as always, belongs to you, my love. Please do not believe for one moment that I have forsaken you.
Find a way to free me, my dear Mr. McKinnon. Otherwise, I fear we shall be lost to each other for an eternity.
With all my love, your Elizabeth.
With that, Elizabeth folded up the letter, placed it in an envelope, and dripped a few drops of red wax on the paper, stamping the Hargrove Family Crest on the front to seal it. Standing, she once again grabbed hold of the torch and, clutching her dressing gown around her, she silently made her way through the house and out into the garden until she found the cove she and her lover now called their own.
On the far side of the clearing, a small wooden box sat on a stone shelf sticking out from the wall. They had been exchanging letters this way since the beginning, and Elizabeth could only hope that he still checked the box even though she was now legally bound to another.
With a shaking hand, she lifted the lid of the wooden box and let out a gasp. There, nestled within the confines of the four cedar walls, was a letter from Matthew. Crying in relief, she traded the letter for her own, shut the lid, hurried back through the misty garden, and up to her own set of rooms.
Once inside, she leaned against the door and tore open the envelope, dropping it to the ground in her haste. She unfolded the letter.
To my beautiful Elizabeth, it read. I know not whether you will receive this, though I must believe your heart is still as it was; that it still belongs to me. I know your marriage was a necessity, but your feelings were not. You pledged your heart to me, and I hope beyond hope that whatever spell Dabney has cast over you can be broken.
Keep your window open, my love. I will come find you.
Love always, your Matthew.
Sobs escaped Elizabeth’s throat and she sank down to the floor, her back still pressed against the door. He still loved her. He knew it was a spell. He knew she would not forsake him so easily. There was still hope. Knowing that only made her cry harder.
How was she going to be with her love when her husband controlled her heart? If she refused the wine, he would know, and he was in no way an understanding man. But if she did nothing, she would be lost forever.
She must hide the letters, she decided. Somewhere in her house where Dabney would never find them. Dashing from her room once more, Elizabeth ran to the back stairs that led up to the attic. When she was a girl, she had loved to go play up there, even though her mother forbade it. One of her favorite things to do in the attic was find places to hide her treasures. It was to these treasures that she ran now.
Her feet pounded up the stairs, and in her desperation, she dropped the letter, stopping only long enough to pick it up. When she reached the top, she fumbled with the latch, sobbing harder when she found the door to be stuck. Yet Elizabeth Hargrove was not one to give up. Leading with her shoulder, she threw herself against the door and managed to shove it open. She stood silently for a moment, hoping she hadn’t woken the house. When she didn’t hear anything, she made a bee-line for the nook around the far corner and pried up the loose floorboard she had found when she was ten. Still sobbing, Elizabeth stuck the letter inside, replaced the board, and ran as quickly as she could back to her room, locking the door behind her.
Ellie awoke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. Beside her, Matt stirred, reaching for her with one bare arm, though he didn’t wake. Ellie’s chest was heaving, her pulse pounding in her ears like it had so many mornings ago when she had arrived in Dover. So, Elizabeth married Lord Dabney against her will, controlled as she was by whatever he put in his wine. She lived with him, she slept with him, and she believed she loved him until the effects of the wine wore off. What a horrible existence that must have been. And all because one man’s cruel obsession led him to control her.
Could Matt be right? Could the Lord Dabney of Elizabeth’s time be the same James Dabney who kept trying to seduce her in her family’s home? It seemed impossible, but then, so did the fact that she was living another woman’s life in her sleep. So then, maybe.
“Matt,” she whispered, shaking him gently. “Matt, wake up.” Groaning, Matt buried his head deeper into the pillows. Ellie laughed. “Matt, I’m serious, wake up.” This time, she leaned down and left a trail of kisses down his back. When he merely held the pillow down over his head, Ellie shrugged and got out of bed.
She dressed quickly in a warm pair of sweats and a sweater, and was just about to open the door when Matt finally lifted his head. “Where are you going, babe?” he asked. He looked so groggy and cute, it took a lot of willpower for her to not join him in bed again.
“I had a dream,” she replied, her hand on the handle.
“A dream?” he wondered. “What kind of dream?”
“Elizabeth and Matthew continued to see each other after she was married. That part of the story was true. They exchanged letters at their secret spot in the garden, and probably even continued their affair. But Matt, she kept the letters.”
Confused, he frowned at her. “So?”
“So, she hid them in this house. Somewhere no one else would find them. Yeah, I see I have your attention now.” Matt sat straight up and alert. Ellie smirked. “And I know where.”
“So where are these mystery letters?” Matt asked as he tugged his shirt over his head and followed her down the hallway. She had allowed him enough time to pull on pants, but to get back at him for not believing her, she’d started out before he was dressed. And she enjoyed every second of his muscled, bare chest that she could.
“They’re in the attic,” she answered, opening the door to the back stairs. Matt slipped into his shoes without tying them and pounded up the steps behind her.
“Have you ever been up to the attic?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know where you’re going?” he asked. “Hargrove House is huge.”
Stopping, she turned to face him with a finger in his face. “Are you doubting me?” she wanted to know. “After everything we’ve discovered, after all your theories of past lives and other craziness, are you seriously thinking that I don’t know what I’m doing?”
Laughing, Matt held his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, calm down there, Turbo. It was just a question.” Ellie raised a brow. “Okay, okay. No, Miss Fitzgerald, I am not doubting you. I swear. I was merely – stupidly - asking if you knew where you were going. My mistake. I won’t do it again.”
Narrowing her eyes, Ellie leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. “Okay. Forgiven.”
“Good. Now get going.” He lightly slapped her behind and grinned when she squeaked.
When they finally reached the attic, Ellie looked around and followed the steps Elizabeth took in her dream. The problem was, Elizabeth knew exactly where she was going and Ellie was trying to remember where some long-dead ancestor went in her subconscious. Not exactly easy.
Glancing around, she spotted the corner Elizabeth had disappeared behind. “This way,” she told Matt, reaching for his hand. She led him to the alcove and knelt on the floor. “The box was under a loose floorboard. I think it was somewhere around here. Help me look?”
“How do know it hasn’t been nailed down in the last two hundred years?” Matt asked, then instantly backtracked. “Okay, okay. You just know. Of course, I’ll help you look.”
The two of them felt along the floor, hoping to hear a creak or feel the give of a board. After about five minutes, Matt finally foun
d something. “Here.” Finding something long and flat, Matt pried up the board and shined the flashlight from his phone into the hole. “You were right.” Pulling a long wooden box from the opening, he set it in front of her, illuminating it with the flashlight beam. “What do you think?” he asked her. “Should we open it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Would you like to do the honors?”
“Yes.” Her fingers tingling with anticipation, Ellie cautiously reached out and lifted the lid of the box to reveal a pile of yellowed envelopes. Excited, she looked up at Matt. “We found it.”
“You found it.” Shocked, he stared at her. “I’m taking you to meet my sister tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 11
Confused, Ellie frowned. “Your sister? But why?”
To her surprise, Matt looked slightly uncomfortable. “Well, my sister, she’s…well, she’s a little odd, to say the least. She’s, er, well, she’s a bit of a psychic, really. She reads tarot and all that. And what with everything that’s been going on with you, I think we could really use an expert, don’t you think?”
“Oh.” Disconcerted, Ellie stared down at the letters in her hands. The same letters she’d seen in her dreams. Had Elizabeth’s ghost led her to them? Or had it really been her past life? Maybe Matt was right. Maybe they really did need an expert to figure out what was going on with her.
Matt glanced down at his watch. “Damn. It’s getting late.” Leaning in, he kissed her forehead before climbing to his feet, hauling her up with him. “I’ve got to get into to town and open the museum.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t hide her disappointment. She could hear it in her voice and felt slightly ashamed. Of course, he had to go to work. He still had a life to live, didn’t he? It wasn’t his entire world that had been turned upside down; it was hers. “Of course.”
“Will you be alright by yourself?” The concern in his voice was palpable.
Ellie felt her disappointment warm to a fond embarrassment. “Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.” She held up the letters. “I’ve got plenty to keep me occupied, don’t I?”
Chuckling, he took her hand and began to lead her out of the attic. “I suppose you do. Come by the museum around three this afternoon?” he asked, as they entered her bedroom once more. He hastily began to dress.
“Sure.”
“Great.” Flashing her a handsome smile and kissing her again, Matt dashed from the room.
Ellie stood staring out the window until Matt’s car disappeared down the long drive. Then she glanced down at the pile of letters in her hand. What could they possibly say? Finally, curiosity won out and Ellie plucked one of them from the stack. As carefully as she could, she pried it open and began to read.
They were love letters. From the dates at the top, it looked as though they spanned the length of a year, detailing the love affair of Elizabeth and Matthew in their own words. Tears spilled down Ellie’s cheeks as she read the tender words, as she became absorbed in the bond the two of them shared. So much love. So much pain. And it was made even worse by the fact that there were times when Elizabeth seemed so in love with Lord Dabney and didn’t appear to care about Matthew at all.
They knew Dabney had been controlling her somehow. Matthew thought it must be from the wine, because any time he had seen her take the drink Dabney offered, her entire demeanor would change. Matthew was furious with Dabney’s manipulation, but Elizabeth was too scared to be angry. She felt as if she were lost in a prison, stuck in a life that was no longer her own.
Even throughout her pregnancy, her husband encouraged her to continue drinking whatever potion he had concocted, to the point where Elizabeth was terrified it was affecting the baby. According to her letters, she had even confronted Dabney once. It hadn’t ended well. While it was never considered proper to physically punish one’s wife, during the Regency Era, it definitely wasn’t unheard of. Lord James Dabney had a nasty temper, and before long, Elizabeth was nearly afraid of her own shadow.
It was only when she would wake from a dream thinking of Matthew or when she would suddenly find herself alone with him at a social event that the spell would be broken. She said it was like coming alive again; like finally breaking the surface of the water and being able to breathe. She was living her days in a fog, and when she could feel like herself again, she was so terrified and depressed that she no longer had much life in her, regardless of how hard Matthew tried to make her happy.
Ellie sat back and stared at the paper in her hands. It was all so sad. “That poor woman,” she whispered into the silence. “To have everything taken from her that way…to have her love and her life stolen by some selfish man. It isn’t right.” Then, with an appalling thought, Ellie’s eyes widened in fear. What if Matthew’s theory was right? What if that woman was actually her?
Despite herself, Ellie’s hands began to shake, the stack of letters falling to the floor. Numb, she tried to gather them together, picking on up at random. Yet, the handwriting on this one wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t Matthew’s or Elizabeth’s; it wasn’t even her grandmother Victoria’s. Intrigued, she scanned the page again, and gasped when she caught the name at the bottom of the stationary: Anne Hargrove.
It was her mother’s.
All her words were true, Anne wrote. Ellie pressed a hand to her heart. He has come calling after me, just as she said he would. I didn’t even know it was him at first. I just thought he was another tourist or maybe a relative that had moved to the area while I was away at University. But I was wrong.
There is a darkness about him that I cannot explain. He scares me. And there are times, I don’t know how he does it, but there are times when I feel as if I am drawn to him, as if I belong to him. Times when my body feels as if it wants to be near him, to be wrapped within his arms, even when my mind is screaming that it’s wrong.
I know I’m not Elizabeth. I know we do not share the same soul. But Mother says it is not necessarily her soul that he is after. She says he does not understand the difference between obsession and love. He blames our family for his ruin two hundred years ago, and will not stop until he has reclaimed both the Hargrove fortune and a Hargrove heart.
Mother says that we are cursed. That James Dabney—the same James Dabney that drove Elizabeth Hargrove to her death—cursed our line when he forced her to love him. That his obsession with her and with dark magic culminated in both of their souls being trapped in an endless loop, that won’t be destroyed until the cycle is broken.
He can’t have me. He won’t. And any child I have will never be anywhere near him. Mother cried when I told her, but I have to leave. His influence on me is too much, and I can’t risk giving him what he wants.
My only hope is that my leaving will break the curse on our family, and any daughter I may have will never have to fear the obsession of the timeless Lord James Dabney.
Timeless. Ellie let the world roll across her mind. James was immortal. It wasn’t possible. None of it was. And yet…could it be true? Could he really be the same man who had hurt her family for hundreds of years?
Thunder clapped outside the window, making her jump. It was starting to pour. She hadn’t even noticed the sky getting dark. How long had she been at it? Her eyes searched for the clock on the nightstand and she gasped at the time. If she was going to meet Matt, she needed to get moving.
CHAPTER 12
Two hours later, Ellie sat next to Matt in the back seat of her family’s town car, staring out the window at a quaint little cottage at the base of the cliffs. Flowers grew up a trellis near the door and a pentagram was woven into the rocks in the garden. Charms, crystals, and wind chimes hung from the eaves. A sign reading “Phoebe’s House of Fortune” swung perilously in the wind.
“You’re sure your sister can help?” Ellie asked, rubbing her hands over her arms. The door opened and she stepped from the car, thanking the driver with a kind smile. Matt followed.
“No,” he admitted, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, �
�I’m not. But it couldn’t hurt.” Glancing down at her, concern lit his eyes. “Are you nervous?”
“No,” she answered automatically, wincing at the bite in her own voice. “Yes. I don’t know.” Exasperated, she turned to face him. “A psychic? You’re really taking me to see a psychic?”
Matt chuckled into the wind and pressed his lips to her hair. “She’s my sister. And she’s not as crazy as she sounds. Most of the time.” Still laughing, he led her up the cobblestone walkway and knocked on the front door.
Ellie tried to push down her anxiety as they waited. She hadn’t been able to breathe properly since she had read her mother’s words about the family curse. How she had never wanted Ellie anywhere near James. And yet, here she was anyway. And she was absolutely terrified.
The door opened, and a small woman stood within the frame, a warm smile on her pretty face. Soft brown hair flowed over a cream-colored sweater, which she paired with black yoga pants ending in bare feet. Shiny silver rings adorned both fingers and toes, and there were charms around her neck and bangles at her wrists. Ellie couldn’t help but feel a little envious. She had always wished she’d been brave enough to wear jewelry like that.
“Hey, Phoebe,” Matt said, leaning in to give his sister a hug. She patted him on the shoulder, but her eyes were on Ellie.
“Hi!” Phoebe said with a sunny smile, stepping aside and ushering them in. “You must be Ellie. My brother’s told me a lot about you. Except for the fact that he’s absolutely crazy about you.”
Heat flushed Ellie’s face, but it was Matt who exclaimed out loud. Phoebe chuckled. “Auras, little bro. It’s obvious.” She patted a hand against his cheek. “But don’t worry. She feels the same way.” She laughed again as Ellie’s blush deepened.
“This should be interesting,” she whispered, inwardly feeling better when Matt closed his eyes as if praying for patience.
“Come on,” he said, his hand at the small of her back guiding the way. “Her studio is this way.”
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