Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  Do what? She glanced to Philip, then William, then back at Philip with curiosity.

  William slowly turned his head toward his father.

  “Just try,” Philip said with a reassuring smile.

  “Eliz-bet home.”

  “Dear Lord.” Her hand shot to her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes, in her throat, constricted her chest.

  William still pat her hand.

  Mary, Elizabeth noticed, also had tears in her eyes, even staunch old Tyler gave a little sniffle. And Philip’s face shone with pride and love.

  A cry of joy broke from her lips. “Did he really?”

  Philip stood, brushed a tear from her cheek and nodded.

  His warm, gentle touch sent a flutter to her heart.

  She clasped William’s hand. “I am so proud of you.”

  Undaunted by everyone’s reaction, William’s big brown eyes observed her with a look of oblivion.

  Within minutes, Elizabeth’s bed was surrounded.

  Marlinda smiled and repeated several times, how glad she was that no harm had befallen her.

  Tyler, dressed as usual in a neatly pressed gray jacket, matching gray breeches, and white shirt, as stiff as his personality, stood in the background.

  Mary, on the other hand, flitted around her like a mother hen, fluffing her pillows, straightening her blankets and making sure by the stern looks she shot at Philip, that he remembered he was in a woman’s chambers.

  Elizabeth’s head pounded.

  An array of perplexing emotions engulfed her. Her mind reeled, her thoughts scampered; and through the maze of unspoken questions, one, stood out among all the others; how was she to tell Philip, William was Tisdale’s son?

  “I think Mistress Elizabeth is in need of some rest,” Philip suggested, as he rose from her bed.

  He took William’s hand off hers.

  William frowned. His foot tapped the floor and his head wavered back and forth.

  Philip knelt beside him. “You can come back later.” He placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Son, I promise.”

  More hot tears trembled on her eyelids. How could she tell him about William now?

  “B-back?”

  “Yes,” Philip smiled.

  William patted her arm. “Sl-eep t-tight.”

  Philip’s mouth dropped open. Tears misted in his eyes, as he must have realized, as she did, that William had been very aware of his father’s presence at night by his bedside.

  Philip turned away and quickly swiped his cheeks with the back of his hand.

  Elizabeth did the same.

  Pride, both in herself, Philip and William, filled her chest. A pride a mother would have for one of her own; the kind of pride that resounded in a father’s voice when he spoke of his son.

  Miserable, she bit her lip. She couldn’t tell him the truth. She just couldn’t.

  Without a glance in her direction, William ran from the room and Mary followed. Philip straightened.

  “I am in awe,” Elizabeth said, when everyone had left but Philip. “He spoke…”

  “You were the only one who did believe ‘twas possible.” He sat down beside her. He took her hand in his. “I am indebted to you beyond…” He took a deep breath, his chest rose, then fell heavily, “so much, so very much.”

  She brought her fingers to his lips, silencing him. “Again, I owe you my life.”

  He grabbed her hand .Bowing his head, his eyes closed, as though anguished, he pressed his mouth to her fingers.

  The smooth warmth of his lips set her pulses racing.

  He laid his cheek against her wrist and her heart swelled with love.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  Though the words were spoken so softly, anger hardened its tone.

  She ran her free hand through his hair, her sprit heavy.

  How can I leave you? “Nay. He did not have the chance.”

  My love, my sweet love… “Where is he?” she asked, hoping he’d been thrown in the gaol.

  “He is dead.”

  “How?”

  Though a monster he had become, her mother had loved him, as had Rebecca. They had to have seen some good in him, a side to him hidden beneath greed and lust.

  “Twas an accident… I warned him, but he didn’t move. A barrel of wine broke—slipped and fell from its rigging as ‘twas being hauled up the side of a ship.”

  Tisdale was dead and with him the truth about William. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “My son told me.”

  His son. His acknowledgment warmed her heart.

  She had made the right decision not telling him the truth. She sniffled, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

  Through his past actions, her guardian had managed to destroy all that was good; from his grave he snatched any chance future happiness.

  “Look, “ he pointed to a portrait of William hanging on the wall. “’Twas a birthday gift from Mary. I thought it was time to bring it out of the attic.”

  That was why Rebecca had lured her to the attic, to show her William’s face, to let her know she had a son, only Tess had interrupted the exploration.

  “I went searching for you after you left the garden.”

  Her heart jumped at his words.

  “I went looking for you to ask for your hand in marriage.”

  “But?” Confused jubilation sang a discordant song.

  He brushed the side of her face with his thumb. “Ah, my beloved I love you. Without you, darkness consumes my soul. “ He kissed the inside of her hand. “You are my eternal light.”

  Misery passed over her like a cold, damp fog.

  He loved her. He truly loved her. And now ‘twas time to leave.

  “The fears I’d harbored weigh nothing compared to the fear of losing you,” he leaned forward, his eyes full of emotion, “The thought of never seeing you again,” his warm breath fanned her face, “is unbearable.”

  Screams of frustration seemed to choke her. The truth about William hung on the tip of her tongue. She bit her lower lip, fighting the tremble over taking her limbs. “But--”

  “I am so weary, of chafing my heart against my love for you; of letting my inadequacies lock away the love that quells within my breast.” He grabbed her hands in his. “I beg you take this man beside you, make him whole and if you do, I promise you will never want for anything.”

  ‘Twas the words she’d longer to hear. Her shoulders slumped.

  But could she live with William’s secret, day in, day out? She wanted a life of honesty with nothing hidden betwixt them.

  “Philip.” She squeezed his hand.

  Nay, he had to know the truth. Even now, deceit lay heavy, threatening to crush her heart beneath its weight.

  “There is something I must tell you.”

  “I know.”

  “Nay.” She shook her head.

  “Yes.” He cradled her hand at his chest. “William is mine, because I am his father, even if he is not of my flesh.”

  “I am so sorry.” She reached out and touched his cheek.

  His handsome face, full of strength, shone with steadfast determination and resolve. “He is mine in my heart. I shall always love him.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I found Rebecca’s letter.”

  Confused, she glanced to her gown, which lay neatly over a chair, then she frowned.

  Philip laughed. “Nay, I did not go through your pockets, nor did I have the delight of undressing you.”

  A mischievous twinkle of bedevilment lit his eyes. “Let me say that in the future, I look forward to undressing you with great anticipation.” The mattress stirred as he stood. “I found the letter on the floor in William’s chambers.”

  He got down on his knee and held her hand. “Elizabeth Rose Morgan, will you consent to be my wife, I beg you to say yes.”

  She stared at him in silence. “But what of my… you know?”

  “Your gifts are a part of who you are
. A rare rose in a garden full of common flowers. I would, however, appreciate it if you have a good talk with Rebecca.” He grinned. “ I think it’s time she leaves.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Are you sure?” Her heart fluttered.

  He squeezed her hands. “My heart cannot beat without you.”

  Blissfully happy, coming fully alive, she threw her arms around him. “Then yes. Oh yes.”

  ***

  Elizabeth and Philip sat in the music room listening to William play holiday music on the glass armonica.

  The pride and love that shone on Philip’s face, as he watched his son filled her with happiness. Life as Mrs. Philip Ablington, was more than her heart could hold.

  Mozart lay at her feet, purring, and a warm, cozy fire crackled in the hearth.

  Outside, December’s blustery winds whipped through the clear evening sky. Branches stripped of their covering, scratched against the windowpane. A full moon shone with an incandescent brilliance, and candles flickered on the Christmas tree that stood majestically in the corner of the room.

  Elizabeth clasped her stomach. “Philip,” she whispered softly so as not to disturb their son’s performance. “Give me your hand.”

  He reached over and she placed his palm over her swollen belly. “Do you feel him kicking?”

  “Yes. He likes the melody.” He smiled. “Perhaps we’ll have another musician in the family.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He ran his hand slowly up and down the side of her neck and jaw. His foot lifted her hem and rubbed against her ankle.

  His subtle invitation clear, a giddy sense of anticipation pricked her skin. “Your lordship,” she exclaimed in feigned astonishment.

  “Soon we may be listening to our son playing duets with his brother.” Philip beamed fondly. Desire smoldered in his eyes.

  An image of them lying together under silken sheets filled her mind.

  “Only duets?” She leaned closer. “I must confess to preferring a richer tone.”

  He kissed her throat. “Perhaps a trio?”

  When she didn’t answer, he kissed her again. “Are you thinking an orchestra?”

  “‘Twould require lots of practice to create such spectacular musicians,” she whispered, her lips within inches from his.

  Her heart beat with the pulse of the music and a heated quiver surged through her veins.

  She leaned back and slowly, seductively, her gaze slid over his body, then she leaned forward. “And a maestro, who uses his stick well, can command many a repeat performance.”

  With a laugh, he gathered her into his arms. “That my love is music to my ears.”

  Across the room Rebecca appeared. She smiled, then disappeared, and Elizabeth knew she was finally at peace and would visit no more.

  Blissfully happy, Elizabeth smiled.

  Dreams really can come true.

  A note on the glass armonica:

  Some people believed that the sharp, penetrating tone of the glass armonica ran like a spark through the entire nervous system, forcibly shaking it up and causing nervous disorders.

  In 1788 it was warned that: “If you have been upset by harmful novels, false friends, or perhaps a deceiving girl, then abstain from playing the armonica, for it will upset you even more.”

  Some armonica players did indeed become ill. They complained of muscle spasms, cramps, nervousness and dizziness. Some listeners were also subject to ill effects and when word got out, people began to panic, blaming the instrument on everything from premature births, to domestic disputes, to evoking the spirits of the dead, and some believed the “melancholic timbre” of the glasses drove people mad.”

  It was said that lead from the crystal bowls, or paint, was absorbed into the musicians’ fingers, causing sickness; however, no proof was ever really given to any of these claims.

  Despite all the controversy, Ben Franklin continued to play the instrument until the end of his life with none of the symptoms mentioned.

  If you would like to hear what the glass armonica sounds like, please visit:

  www.mariannepetitbooks.com

  Other books from Ms. Petit

  A Find Through Time: A Native American Time Travel

  Amulet Of Darkness: A Fantasy

  Behind The Mask, A romance set in 1940 France

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  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/

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  About the Author

  Ms. Petit is a past president of the Long Island Romance Writers of America and past president of her favorite charity group, the Melville Lions.

  Her love of history stems from her French born father, whose love of American history greatly influenced her.

  Some of her favorite outdoor sports are horseback riding, and white water rafting. She loves the theater and her garden.

  Marianne lives on Long Island, New York.

  Visit Ms. Petit’s website:

  www.mariannepetitbooks.com

  or email her at:

  riteromance@aol.com

  Reviews

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider reviewing, Rebecca’s Ghost at Amazon.com, Goodreads, and at online retailers. It is only by getting reviews from loyal readers, like you, that an author’s work has the chance of standing out among so many other works of fiction that are on the market. I would truly appreciate you taking a few minutes of your time, while the story is still fresh in your mind, to go to Amazon and other book sites. It doesn’t have to be a long review, a sentence or two would be great.

  Even with multiple editing mistakes slip through..

  Though we’ve done our best to make this book as error free as possible, if you find a typo, please let me know.

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  Thank you for your support. I look forward to sharing many more of my books with you and I wish you many hours of enjoyable reads and thanks for choosing Rebecca’s Ghost

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  Marianne