Several of the officers went inside to arrest Steven. I had never felt such joy as I did when they brought him out in handcuffs. As they came closer to us, I stopped the officer asking if I could have a word with Steven. He agreed. But stayed right there with his hand on Steven’s arm. They wanted to make sure this piece of shit never got away.
“Steven, remember me telling you that if you fucked with my family, you would pay for it? Well, we know everything and now so do the state police. All of us will be there for your trials. Murder, kidnapping, forgery, and whatever else they can dig up on you. You will be going away for the rest of your life. I will personally ask the judge not to give you the death sentence. I want you to live a very long life.”
With an evil glint in my eye and a grin on my face, I continued.
“I never told you how my parents died. They were murdered by my father’s brother. He came in drunk and stoned, demanding money. When my parents refused, he killed them, then took everything valuable that he could get his hands on. A few days later, when the money ran out and he was no longer high as a kite, he remembered what he did. Uncle Isaac turned himself in to the police. He is serving a double life sentence at the same prison you will be going too. I’ve heard from him over the years. He sincerely regrets what he did and swore to me if there was ever anything that he could do for me, all I have to do is ask.”
I started to laugh as the beads of sweat grew on Steven’s brown and the fear began to show in his eyes.
“I will make sure that Uncle Isaac keeps you alive. He will be your protector keeping you from all harm. You will be paying the price for that protection. You will be his cellmate. We have connections at the prison, so it will be easy to work out. What I didn’t tell you is that Uncle Isaac is about six feet, five inches tall and two-hundred-seventy-five pounds of pure muscle. Oh yes, he is also gay. For the rest of your miserable life, Uncle Isaac will be making you his bitch. Because of what you put my wife and me through, he may rent you out to some of the other prisoners to fuck.”
With that, I spit in his face. Turning my back on him, I took Delilah and Arabella in my arms, holding them tightly to keep myself from killing that son of a bitch.
Epilogue
It’s been almost two years since we got Arabella back. In that time, our family has grown considerably. Uncle Theoval spends as much time as he can with us. Then we have Arabella’s three Aunt’s, Willow, Cideria, and Keva. They fell in love with her when she was dumped on them by Steven. I’m forever grateful to those women for loving her in our absence. Delilah and I agreed that there is no way we could deny them spending time with her Aunties.
We’ve called a family meeting for later today. We have news for our loved ones. I’m not sure who is more excited to tell them, Delilah or me. I’m excited and nervous.
“Honey, you have a letter from your Uncle Isaac. Do you want to open it or should I open it and read it to you?”
“You can read it and let me know what he has to say. You know we have to go visit him again soon. We have to share the news with him too. It’s taken me a long time and help from you for me to forgive him for what he did to my parents. Plus, he has really changed over the years.”
I can hear Delilah laughing as she comes into the living room. Oh lord, if Uncle Isaac made her laugh, it must be something really funny.
“Your uncle said he is doing very well and keeping out of trouble. He goes on to say that Eve has finally broken down and given in to him without fighting anymore. Now that Eve is behaving and being a good bitch, your uncle thinks he is in love with him.”
“Oh my God, he is still calling Steven, Eve? I can’t help but laugh my ass off every time I see that when he writes it. Can you imagine hearing him say it?”
“I guess we will get to hear him say it when we go visit. I still don’t want to see Steven. As far as I’m concerned, I do not have a brother.”
Just then there was a knock on the door. Delilah answered it, letting in the rest of our family. Theoval went straight for Arabella, as he calls her his little princess. I keep hoping that he and Cideria will decide to have a child now that they are married. I knew even back then there was magic between those two. Once everyone sat down, it was time to share our news.
“We wanted our family here with us today because we love each of you. Delilah, Arabella, and I have been blessed that the four of you came into our lives.”
They all started chattering over top of each other, not letting me finish.
“Excuse me, you all need to be quiet. Felecia is trying to tell you something.”
“Thank you, honey. As I was trying to say. We hope that you will love our newest addition to the family just as much as you love Arabella and us.”
They all looked at each other oddly, trying to understand what I was saying.
“What my wonderful wife is trying to tell you is that in about six months, there will be another baby in this house. We discussed it and Felecia is carrying the baby this time.”
That was all it took for the whole house to erupt with cheers, congratulations, and tons of other questions. Our lives may not be a fairytale, but they are filled with unconditional love. I hope I have the strength and courage to deliver this baby, just as my wife did with Arabella.
Looking around at my family, I can’t help but remember back to that small child who had no one to love her. Now I have the family that I always wanted.
Hope, faith, courage, trust, strength, and most importantly, love is what it takes for fairytales to come true.
The End…of the beginning
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The Honey Cave
Chapter One
Pippa
“He’s ready for you, girl.”
I flinch at Mrs. Potter’s voice. Not for its sternness — I was raised in an orphanage run by the kind of nuns that make Mrs. Potter look like a wet rag — but because I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t heard her approach.
“Thank you.” I dip my head a little and leave it at that, not sure if she expects a curtsey from me or not. I’ve worked in homes like this before, where the hierarchy between the staff was strictly adhered to, but never for a man of this stature. I’m still trying to decide where I fit in.
Mrs. Potter turns on her heel and I follow a moment later. The heels of our boots click against the flagstones as she leads me deeper into the manor. Her earlier tour included the entire bottom floor and most of the second. But now she’s headed for a sweeping staircase that leads to the third. Our boots are silent on the now carpeted stairs — thick fiber in dark burgundy — that twist maddeningly as we ascend.
“You are never to enter this staircase without explicit invitation,” Mrs. Potter warns in her tight, slightly breathless voice — as if I’m just some commoner with absolutely no sense of etiquette. It’s no wonder she can’t breathe — the chest of her dress binds her breasts near flat on her ribcage.
I’m not one for fashion, but the style of Mrs. Potter’s garments appear to be at least a decade old. Had the fabric not been so faded, it would have been a very colorful, outspoken piece. My dress is powder blue, trimmed with white, and although plain, it was only tailored a few weeks ago. My first new dress after Howie had been born.
I pause for a moment, fumbling blindly for the railing as my eyes squeeze closed. It’s a pathetic attempt to block out that lurid splash of memory that blooms every time I think of my dearly departed child…but fortunately I recover before Mrs. Potter notices.
Straighten your goddamn spine, Pippa.
My husband’s voice echoes hollowly in my mind, and makes me grimace. But I push my shoulders back, and lift my chin, and even attempt a faint smile as Mrs. Potter stops in front of a massive oak door and taps the knocker three times with her thin, red-knuckled hands.
The urge to toy with my bonnet or clasp my hands like I’m awaiting the lash is unbearable.
“Come.”
&
nbsp; The hair on the back of my neck stands up at the deep baritone that calls out to us through the thick door. Mrs. Potter glances over her shoulder at me and scans me as if to make sure there’s not a strand out of place. My hand lifts before I can stop myself, running self-consciously over the tail of luscious curls bouncing over my right shoulder. Mrs. Potter doesn’t look pleased…then again, I can’t imagine what it would take to see mirth light up her flinty eyes.
With an audible sniff, Mrs. Potter takes me over the threshold and into the baron’s apartments.
Brandon
At first, I don’t see the nanny. I frown at Mrs. Potter so hard, her stern expression cracks into confusion before she steps aside.
“Miss Goodwin,” Lydia begins. “Permit me to present to you the Honorable Baron Dunn—”
I stand in a rush. “Thank you, that will be all.”
Mrs. Potter cuts off, curtsies, leaves.
The young girl standing a few feet off could be a statue carved from pale marble.
“Mrs. Goodwin,” I say. Not that I can imagine her a married woman. She’s too young, too shy.
“You may call me Pippa if it pleases you, my Lord.” A smile flashes over her mouth.
“Sir.”
Pippa ducks her head a little, and looks as if she wants to curtsy but can’t remember how. “Sir. My apologies. I, uh, I’ve never worked for a—”
“Baron?” I cock an eyebrow at her as I move around my desk. On instinct, I reach for my cup of coffee, and then stop. It’s cold already.
Everything in this fucking place is cold moments after it gets up here. Unless she’s blushing, Pippa’s not taking too kindly to the chill. I hold out my arm, and she shifts as if about to bolt, should I touch her. “There’s a fire in the next room. We can warm ourselves there.”
Pippa nods, and her cheeks color even more as she keeps to my side.
“And Rose, of course.”
“Of course,” Pippa repeats, a touch breathlessly.
Is it because we’re in my bedroom? If she is in fact a married woman, I’m sure she knows exactly what happens behind these doors.
What used to, before Rose.
As if my thoughts touch her, the tiny bundle inside its crib begins howling like a banshee. My eyes slide shut. I force a deep breath into my chest and spread my fingers out so they don’t bunch into fists. “I’m afraid that’s the only sound she makes these days,” I say.
I expect to see Pippa standing in shock, perhaps running back the way we came. No one — no one — can endure this infernal screeching.
But when I open my eyes, Pippa is beside the crib, a wide smile on her mouth as she peeks inside. “May I?” she asks, although she’s already reaching inside.
I run my hand through my hair, shaking my head. “It won’t make a difference. Mrs. Potter’s tried on numerous occasions to quieten the lass, but she just—”
Rose lets out an ear-piercing shriek, tiny fists balled as if she wants to pummel Pippa to death. The young woman simply slips an arm under her and cradles her to her chest. Rose hiccups, takes another massive breath, and goes quiet. Pippa starts bouncing the little bundle in her arms, crooning wordlessly to Rose’s red face.
Witchcraft.
There’s simply no other explanation.
Rose lets out another odd little noise, and then reaches for Pippa’s face with a bright red hand.
“The fire left its mark on—” I begin, dropping my gaze.
“Ssh.”
When I look up, Pippa has a finger raised, to one side. Shushing me. Me. I bristle, but then my eyes dart down to little Rose’s bright red face, and the stiffness in my shoulders melts away.
“She’s hungry,” Pippa says quietly. She glances over her shoulder at me. “Where’s her bottle?”
I open my mouth, and then close it again. “Honestly, I hadn’t thought you’d get this far.”
The woman’s brown eyes narrow a little. She shrugs at me. “Well, I have. But this poor thing’s starved.”
“Because it refuses to eat!”
Rose hiccups in fright as my voice booms out, and then bursts into tears again. I can’t hear the words, but there’s no mistaking the way Pippa’s lips form the word, “It?”
I pivot and storm out of my room. I wrench open the landing door and bellow down the stairs, “Bring the bottles!” I slam the door and sink down into my seat. It was a fluke, of course. The child had simply been surprised by a stranger. She was back to her demonic ways, howling day in and day out, and spitting up everything anyone can get in that little mouth.
I’d been too eager, accepting the first candidate the agency sent my way.
Pippa Goodwin will be gone come the morrow.
Chapter Two
Pippa
I’m staring down at the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. When I’d first lifted Rose from her crib, I’d almost cried out when I saw the hot red flush covering her tiny face. Could it be a birthmark?
But now all I see are her eyes. Big, bright, and blue. Hypnotizing.
My heart is still thundering from the baron’s outburst, but as soon as I lock eyes with this tiny thing in my arms, I forget all about him.
I manage to quieten her moments after Sir Brandon leaves the room. Honestly, I’m not surprised. As much of a gentleman as he makes out to be, his commanding presence fills the room like a thick, suffocating fog. His temperament is fair enough, but with his thick, wild brows and piercing blue eyes, my initial impression was of a barely-tamed beast rather than a highly esteemed baron.
When I applied for this position, the information the agency grudgingly provided was sparse. A recently widowed gentleman required a nanny for his infant child. They claimed to have no information on how the Lady of the house passed, nor were they precisely certain where the manor lay. They were, however, adamant about a single fact: my services were required through winter, and the single road leading to the manor was impassable after the first snow. In fact, other than ensuring that I had the required experience, this seemed the caveat they were most concerned about.
Four months. A week — perhaps less — to change my mind, should I wish.
Why on earth I would change my mind, God only knows. Although the manor is dour beyond belief, the wages easily compensate for the fact that I will only return to civilization next quarter.
Honestly, I couldn’t be happier. Here, no one knows who I am.
No one knows what I’ve done.
This chance at a clean slate is more than I could ever have hoped for…more, even, than I deserve.
Brandon
Either Mrs. Potter is out of earshot or the damned woman is ignoring me. She thinks I don’t notice when she does that. Stubborn as my father was, the old hag. Especially if I attempt to alter her routine in any way. In fact, I’m convinced that — had Rose not been close to starving — Mrs. Potter would still be attempting to feed the babe herself.
I glance over my shoulder, but the nanny is hidden behind the wall.
Rose has grown quiet again.
Fluke.
I shake away the thought and storm downstairs, hollering for Mrs. Potter every second or third step. I’m sure I’m making a terrible impression on our newest employee — Pippa, was it? — but best she knows now what kind of dysfunctional household she’s inserting herself into. The agency had been taken aback when I told them about my unique situation. They requested information I was not inclined to provide, but doubling their commission quickly soothed their concerns.
What does it matter how Lady Alaine passed? All that matters is that I need a woman who can convince my child to take a bottle, lest she perishes of hunger before the week is out.
“Mrs. Potter!” My voice echoes back to me as I throw it down the wide passage. From here, anyone in the library, the music room, or the den can hear me. But no Mrs. Potter appears. I turn.
The skin on the back of my neck crawls as I stare down the other side of the passage. Could Mrs. Potter be down there,
perhaps dusting one of the disused bedrooms? I was content with her laying sheets over everything and leaving the rooms alone entirely, but cleaning every room in this manor is something Mrs. Potter is most stubborn about. To hear it from her, no one would want to purchase a dusty house, even one as grand as Dunnwood Manor.
I take a step down the hall, but my body pulls to a halt of its own.
The old nursery is down there. If I go any closer, I might catch a whiff of charcoal in the air. I step back, cup my hands over my mouth and—
“Ya called, m’lord?”
“Christ, woman!” I spin on my heel. Mrs. Potter’s standing a few feet behind me, wringing her hands as her shoulders stoop an inch further.
“Yes, m’lord?”
“Where were you?”
“In the music room, m’lord. Dusting the piano, m’lord.” Her dark eyes remain downcast, the corners of her lips turning down. “Would you like me to bring Rose’s things, m—?”
“Very much so,” I growl, dusting my hands as if she’s somehow transferred all the piano dust onto me. “And hurry.”
She’s already scampering away, her tall body hunched as if she wishes she could melt into the carpet. My gaze flickers to the stairwell. I should go back up there, but for some reason I feel that my presence would deter Pippa. Instead, I hover at the foot of the stairwell, itching to go up, but forcing myself to wait on Mrs. Potter so that I accompany her.
Blessed silence filters down from above. I’ve been this far away from Rose before, and yet I would still be able to hear her wailing. God knows where that tiny thing finds the energy to cry as much as she does, especially since she refuses to nurse.
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