by Meara Platt
“I admitted it,” she said, placing a hand over his heart as she frowned back at him, “because I want you to know the truth. I’ll be leaving soon, but it’s not for any failure on your part. I’m so grateful to you for all you’ve shown me. If not for you, I would never have experienced the joy of passion, a pure joy that can only occur when a man and a woman give themselves to each other completely.”
“That night had consequences.” He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Julia, surely you must know, you may be carrying my child.”
Her anger faded and she cast him a small smile. “Perhaps it would have changed things, but I know for certain that I’m not. You needn’t concern yourself. I know you would have done the honorable thing, but no sacrifice is required.”
Losing her was the sacrifice, but he doubted she’d believe him while she was too caught up in King Cadeyrn’s web of lies.
He needed to confront Charlie.
Too angry to be gentle, he quickened his step and towed Julia along beside him. They walked in uneasy silence the rest of the way, the turmoil in his heart matching the obvious turmoil in hers. She was small and delicate, and her eyes gleamed with tender yearning whenever she looked his way. Her golden hair had blown loose from its pins, whipping about her slender shoulders. She looked wild and beautiful, and as fragile as the wind slipping through his fingers.
They entered the house and climbed the stairs.
As they neared Charlie’s room, Julia paused a moment to wrap his jacket more securely about her shoulders. She breathed deeply, as though breathing in his scent one last time, the scent of sandalwood he always wore. “Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
Charlie was just waking up as they entered.
Homer rose from his post.
“Please leave us, Mr. Barrow,” Douglas said.
“Aye, m’lord.” He lumbered to the door and quietly shut it behind him, leaving the three of them to their discussion.
“How do you feel, Charlie?” Julia asked, her hands nervously clasped in front of her.
“Strong.” He tossed the covers off his bed with surprising vigor, but was careful when he set his feet on the ground. “I think I can still walk.” He took several steps toward Julia, then several more back to his bed, and finally skipped across the room. “Look! It doesn’t hurt at all! I’m walking on my own, without King Cadeyrn’s help!”
Douglas kept his eye trained on the boy as he jumped from corner to corner. “Charlie, what happened today?”
“I met my grandmother and Lady Cynthia,” he said, breathless from leaping about, a healthy breathlessness from excited activity. “I heard carriages roll up the drive, but couldn’t walk downstairs on my own. So I asked King Cadeyrn to help me.”
“You asked him?”
Charlie nodded. “He didn’t want to at first. He said Julia would be angry. But he agreed when I started to cry.”
“Homer would have carried you down,” Julia said, then quirked her head in confusion. “Homer was here with you when King Cadeyrn appeared.”
Charlie looked quite shamefaced. “He put Homer to sleep so he wouldn’t hear us talk. He’s done it many times before. Even to you, Julia. He’s done it for years.”
She turned to Douglas, her eyes wide in surprise.
“Don’t be angry with me, Julia. It didn’t happen all that often. He mostly kept to the bluebell garden by the vicarage, but things changed when Uncle Douglas found me. I was afraid you wouldn’t let me go to Eastbourne.”
She clenched her fists. “I wanted to protect you.”
“As King Cadeyrn wants to protect you. He wanted to let you know that his powers extended beyond Borrowdale, that’s why he turned into that stag and left those little hints as we traveled down to London.”
Douglas frowned. “He frightened Julia.”
Charlie dipped his head in shame again. “I know.”
Julia took the boy’s hand and sat him down beside her. “Tell me again why you allowed King Cadeyrn inside of you today.”
“I just told you. I asked him. I didn’t want Grandmama to see me as a sick boy. I’m so tired of being stuck in that chair and, anyway, King Cadeyrn said I wasn’t really sick. He said I’ll be better soon.” He turned to his uncle. “I like Lady Cynthia. King Cadeyrn said you’re going to marry her. I think she’s nice.”
“He’s wrong, Charlie. Cynthia won’t have me once I relinquish the Eastbourne title to you.”
“But you mustn’t!” the boy cried. “I don’t want you to.”
“Why not?” Julia asked.
The boy clamped his mouth shut tight.
Douglas knelt at his side. “If King Cadeyrn claims you aren’t sick, then why did he have to take over your body?”
“To help me walk.”
“But if you’re healthy, you don’t need his help to walk. You don’t need him at all.”
“I… I don’t…”
“You didn’t ask for his help, did you? He tricked you and took over your body, as he’s been tricking you for years.” Douglas studied the boy’s expression. He seemed so helpless and confused. “Charlie,” he said gently, “tell me the truth. Can you walk on your own?”
A tear trickled down the boy’s cheek and his lips began to quiver. “I don’t know. It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten. It feels good, though. So good.”
“It’s all right, sweetling,” Julia said, her eyes brimming with her own unshed tears. “I promise you that you’ll be well.”
Douglas turned to her. “Will he, Julia? How can you be sure?”
“I…” She clamped her mouth shut.
Frustrated, he turned back to Charlie. “Don’t you see? King Cadeyrn has tricked her, too.”
Julia shot to her feet. “No! The bargain is made.”
“A devil’s bargain,” Douglas said with a growl, lifting Charlie into his arms and striding to his easel. “You painted a portrait of Julia this morning. Show it to me.”
“Charlie, don’t!”
Douglas whipped the cover off the canvas and let out a soft oath. “Julia, sweetheart,” he said with a wrenching groan.
She nodded. “So you see, it’s quite hopeless.”
Chapter 20
Julia stood by her open window watching the red sunset over the Eastbourne garden. Since tonight was the night of the masque ball, the garden was a hive of activity. Servants were rushing back and forth between the house and garden, stringing lanterns among the boughs and bushes, placing white lace tablecloths on the long tables, and setting crystal punch bowls and glasses upon them.
A soft breeze swirled about Julia, warm and moist, the salty scent of the ocean mingling with the sweet scent of grass and late autumn roses. The time had come to fulfill her promise to the faerie king. “Too soon,” she whispered, wiping a lone tear off her cheek.
She wasn’t ready to leave the mortal world, to forget the joy in Charlie’s laughter or the exquisite pleasure of Lord Eastbourne’s touch. These two weeks had passed so quickly, each new day bringing a deeper ache to her heart.
King Cadeyrn would come for her tonight, by the silver gleam of the full moon as depicted in Charlie’s painting.
A sharp knock at her door startled Julia out of her thoughts.
She turned from the window and crossed to the door to open it.
A young maid with curly, dark hair and twinkling blue eyes stood before her, smiling brightly. Julia didn’t recognize the girl, but thought little of it since the Eastbourne staff was large and trained to keep out of sight unless personally summoned.
“I’m Moragh,” the maid said, holding up a large box in her hands. “His Lordship asked me to deliver yer costume for tonight’s ball.”
“My costume?” Lord Eastbourne had specifically ordered her not to take part in the evening’s festivities, as though shutting her away would protect her from the faerie king’s powerful grasp. He must have realized the folly of it and changed his mind.
Julia nodded and let the gi
rl in.
Since making her “devil’s pact” with King Cadeyrn, she had tried to make the most of her time, spending her waking hours with Charlie, watching him grow stronger each day, proud of his growing confidence and poise. Lord Eastbourne often joined them, but she found their time together too painful to endure and made up excuses to leave soon after he arrived.
Still, she treasured those moments alone with him, for he had a protectively tender way of looking at her that made her heart soar. Although he touched her rarely, her body sang to life with his every gentle caress.
She tried to etch those moments in her heart, hoping she would remember him in her dreams after she crossed into the faerie world.
“Miss Julia, may I set down the box?”
She gazed distractedly at the dark-haired girl. “Of course, but are you certain the order came from Lord Eastbourne?”
“Oh, yes! Though he’d never speak directly to me, but I know it was ’im that gave it.” She placed the box on Julia’s bed, opened it and withdrew a note. “It bears his seal,” she said, “and can only be from the earl ’imself.”
Julia shook her head. “A costume and a note. Seems he’s given it some thought.”
“Indeed, tonight’s special for ’im,” Moragh said with a smile on her lips. “Everyone’s talkin’ about the marriage between ’im and Lady Cynthia. They say he’ll propose tonight by the silver gleam of the full moon.”
Julia’s heart took a leap. “Say that again.”
“That he’ll marry her–”
“No, the expression. By the silver gleam of the full moon. Who told you to say that?”
“No one, Miss Julia. Aw, ’tis just a manner of talkin’. The autumn moon is big here at Eastbourne and shines like silver on the water. ’Tis a beautiful sight to behold.” She bowed her head. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I’m so sorry, Miss.”
“Not your fault, Moragh. I’m a little on edge, that’s all.”
“Well, the party will cheer ye right quick. A couple in love and plannin’ to marry is always good reason to celebrate.”
Julia dismissed the girl.
“The note,” she muttered, waiting for Moragh to close the door behind her before turning back to the box. With hands shaking, Julia raised the lid and reached for the folded paper, then paused, holding it stiffly in her hand.
Lord Eastbourne knew that she loved him, so why not wait another day before announcing his engagement to Lady Cynthia? Just one more day. A few, short hours and she’d no longer feel the pain of a shattered heart.
Why couldn’t he wait?
That Lord Eastbourne had sent her this costume could mean only one thing. He’d changed his mind and now wished her gone.
She opened the note and sank to her knees as she read it. We’ve made our choices and must move on. Spend these last few hours with Charlie.
Her legs felt numb by the time she finally staggered to her feet.
She shed no tears.
In truth, she had no more tears left inside her.
Unable to feel her limbs, unable to cry. Is this how passage into the faerie world starts? She walked to the mirror and slowly, as though in a trance, unbound her hair. She was surprised when it fell in rolling, golden waves down her back, longer and thicker than she remembered. It curled at the ends, as Charlie had drawn in the faerie portrait of her.
Lord Eastbourne had taken the painting from Charlie’s room and hidden it away before Charlie had finished the final touches, filling in the face of the man who stood behind her.
What had he done with it?
Shrugging, she decided it mattered little. There was no escaping her fate and no reason to fight now that Lord Eastbourne had chosen Lady Cynthia to be his bride.
Julia removed her clothing and stood naked before the mirror to inspect her body for blue faerie webs.
Surprisingly, she found none.
Yet, she felt different.
Her body tingled and her skin felt soft and cool despite the warmth of the room.
She turned to the box, withdrew the costume, a gown of lilac velvet with over layers of lilac sarcenet and slowly raised it against her body. As she turned to look at her reflection in the mirror, the gown suddenly changed to the color of moonbeams, casting an exquisite shimmer.
Unable to resist, she put it on.
The gown felt soft as gossamer as it slid over her skin. It was cut low at her breasts, too daring to be considered proper. The soft layers hugged her curves perfectly as though someone had taken precise measurements.
Of course, no one had.
Julia twirled in the gown.
Odd, she felt so light and free!
She dug through the box and found a pair of jeweled slippers. She put them on her feet, then returned her gaze to the mirror. For the first time, she noticed a dusting of glitter about her face and shoulders.
She dug through the box again and withdrew an elegant black mask. As she put it on and turned to her reflection in the mirror, she saw herself in a small violet mask with soft lilac feathers at its tips.
Outwardly, her transformation into a faerie was now complete.
But inside… oh, how she ached inside.
*
“Pinch me,” St. Giles said, nudging Douglas as they stood in the entry hall preparing to walk to the garden. “Am I awake or in heaven?”
Douglas followed his friend’s gaze to the top of the staircase. “Hell, I’d say.” His breath caught as he watched Julia gracefully glide down the grand staircase as though on wings, for it didn’t seem as though her feet touched the steps.
Damn, she seemed to be floating on shimmering faerie wings.
“What’s this about, Eastbourne? I thought you said she had the headache and wouldn’t be joining us. Not that I mind her change of heart, of course. Gad! The gel’s beautiful!” St. Giles cast Douglas a leering grin. “Who would have thought it of you? A vicar’s daughter for a mistress. Did you buy her that gown? Must have cost you a fortune, but worth every shilling. Gad, she sparkles like starlight! I’m beginning to love masque balls. And vicars’ daughters.”
Douglas strode toward Julia.
She looked enchanting, and enchanted, just as Charlie had drawn her in his painting; the gown, slippers, and feathered mask, the glitter sprinkled on her velvet skin and in her magnificent, flowing hair. She was the girl in the portrait down to the last detail.
How do I keep you in this world, Julia?
St. Giles also came up beside her. “Miss Marsden, may I claim the first dance?” He was well into his cups and looked ridiculous in a Roman gladiator costume. The dimwit stood gaping at Julia like a love-struck idiot. If he thought to claim this vicar’s daughter as his mistress, Douglas would turn him into a eunuch.
“St. Giles, you’ve finished your drink. Go get yourself another.”
“Splendid idea. Don’t run away, Miss Marsden. I’ll be right back.”
Douglas fixed his gaze on Julia’s eyes, for those were the doorway to her soul. “Why did you come down here? It’s dangerous for you. And why are you dressed like that?”
“Are you going to pretend you don’t know?” She shot him a scowl.
His tension eased. Though she’d donned the faerie costume, inside she was still mortal. Achingly, exquisitely so. He continued to study her, saw a maelstrom of emotion still alive inside of her. Fear, despair, sorrow, but most important, he saw love, in those beautiful violet depths.
He reached out his hand to her.
She darted around him and fled into the garden.
Douglas turned to chase her, but St. Giles returned and blocked his path. “You’re losing your touch, old boy. Let me have a go at her. I promise to treat her well. I’ll set her up nicely, better than that house you got for her in Bayswater.”
“Shut up, you idiot.” Had he ever been as drunk and stupid as St. Giles?
He continued after Julia, but too many guests got in his way and he quickly lost sight of her or the tell-tale sparkles of
light cast by her gown. As he scanned the garden, the musicians hired for the evening’s entertainment raised their instruments and began the lilting strains of a waltz. At the first notes, bejeweled revelers made their way onto the wooden boards constructed as a makeshift dance floor.
Behind him, Douglas heard the ring of crystal and laughter of guests as they raised their glasses in salutation. The aroma of roasted meats sizzling in plum juices carried on the wind and tickled his nostrils. Liveried servants strode past him, each carrying an elaborately decorated silver platter laden with cooked fish and local game. There were lanterns strung on tree boughs and on posts along the dance floor and tables.
The realization struck him with the force of a cannon burst, for all appeared exactly as Julia had described that night at The Stag and Princess. The Eastbourne gardens had been transformed into a faerie kingdom, lacking only the scent of honeysuckle to complete the scene.
He glanced at the moon, now visible above the treetops.
“Lady Cynthia’s waiting for you,” Charlie said, coming up behind him and tugging on his coat. “Why aren’t you in costume, Uncle Douglas? Do you like mine? Everyone else does. They say I look like a faerie prince. I gave Grandmama one of my drawings of King Cadeyrn and she had this costume made for me.”
Douglas eyed the boy’s blue satin coat, silver pants, and black boots. “It won’t work, Charlie. I won’t let her go, nor will I let you go over to that creature.”
“He isn’t a creature! He’s my friend!” The boy clasped his hands into fists as he cast Douglas an angry glare. “You don’t know anything!”
“Don’t I? We’ll see about that.” He took Charlie’s little fist into his hand and bent down to whisper in Charlie’s ear. “See that tall man dressed in a purple toga? That, my lad, is the Marquis of Wythorne. He has a very ill father who isn’t expected to last out the year.”
“Oh, that must be awful for him.”
“Yes and no. You see, he does love his father. But he also loves Lady Cynthia. That his father is dying makes the marquis more attractive in her eyes.”
Charlie regarded him warily. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”
“No, I didn’t think so. A man should want the woman he loves to love him back, a wholehearted love without regard for his prospects or title. Society views that as a radical notion, for how are families to gain power and prosper without these advantageous alliances? I’m sure Julia feels the same way.”
