Hosts to Ghosts Box Set

by Lynne Connolly

  She realized Vernon had left her and she felt a pang of loneliness. This was wrong, it was all wrong. She had the child of a different earl to the one she was married to. Her child would still be a Heatherington, but not the man she had promised to stand by. His behavior did not excuse hers. She was wrong. There and then she decided that if Edward returned to her she would ask Vernon to leave, or perhaps take Edward away to another of their houses, so they could make a new start. If Edward did reform, she owed him that.

  “Yes, my dear,” she said, meeting his soft gaze. “If you return safely we will try again. But on our own, just we two.”

  He said nothing for a moment, but his hand caressed hers, his thumb stroking gently on her palm. “Yes. Just the two of us. I’ll keep myself safe, and I’ll come back to you with enough money to pay the bills and give us a fresh start.” He got to his feet, releasing her hand with reluctance. “I’ll write, shall I?”

  “Yes please.”

  He left just as the maid walked through the door with the tea. “Never liked that stuff. I’ll see you at dinner, my dear, and leave first thing in the morning. Enjoy your rest.”

  Her tea tasted like ashes. She had sinned, and she would bear the burden for the rest of her life. She loved Vernon, she would always love him but she owed Edward more than reparation. She hoped the child was a girl. That way, her firstborn wouldn’t be able to inherit the estate.

  * * * * *

  “She wants me to leave.” Vernon lowered his head into his hands.

  “Has she said so?” Nathaniel sounded much calmer, but the tension thrummed behind his words.

  Vernon looked up. “What we did was wrong. I loved her, but I shouldn’t have made love to her. I haven’t told her she’s carrying a boy. It would devastate her. I only hope when she sees the child, she will love him. I must withdraw.”

  Nathaniel put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, the gentle pressure coming as a comfort to Vernon. “What happened was inevitable. She was unhappy, she needed you and you did what was necessary to bring her back to life. It’s too late repining now. It’s done. Now you have to face it and cope with the situation as best you can.”

  Vernon met his brother’s eyes, on a level with his. “What should I do?”

  Nathaniel smiled grimly. “You can’t do anything wrong while you’re in this state. So stay with her and look after her until the child is born. Then you must take your cue from her.”

  Tears glimmered in Vernon’s eyes. “I cannot bear it.”

  “Yes you can. Pray she leaves this place, because it could get worse.”

  “A reconciliation? I cannot hope for it, but her husband seems determined to make a new start.”

  “Then you must let him.”

  Vernon smiled shakily and lifted his hand to cover his brother’s. “You were always the righteous one and you are right now. He is her husband, and he must take precedence. If she wants me, she will call.”

  “Don’t abandon her. Stay with her. She cannot sense when you are present until you speak to her, so stay silent. She will call you if she needs you.”

  Vernon dropped his hand and turned away. “I will do as you advise. But don’t expect me to do it with a glad heart. I love her, Nathaniel. She is the love of my life—and my death.”

  Chapter Seven

  Cassandra tried very hard to be good. She wrote to her husband, and read his infrequent letters with interest. He really did seem to be trying to turn over a new leaf. But try as she might, she could not love him and knowing the weakness of his nature, she doubted she ever would.

  When she called, he was there. She suspected he’d never left, but he never intruded, never came to her unless she asked.

  Is there something I can do for you, my love?

  No. Just be here, be my friend.

  I am always that.

  She smoothed her hand over her now swollen belly. The baby kicks.

  I wish I could feel it, too!

  Vernon, I’m sorry I did this to you. Speaking to him, mind to mind, was as easy as speaking out loud now. She could hardly tell the difference any more.

  I’m not. You made me very happy, and while I know it is wrong, I cannot help feeling overjoyed. I never had a child before.

  Before he could censor it, Cassandra felt his deep melancholy. You have one now. I am glad that if this is a boy, the heir to the title will at least be a Heatherington. But I want a girl. I want to give Edward the chance to father his own heir.

  I understand. His tone was neutral, but Cassandra didn’t push him to explain his reticence. He probably already knew the sex of the child, but she didn’t want to know, feeling that these last two months before the birth were precious, her last moments with him.

  Now that monster has escaped from Elba, Edward tells me he’s on active duty. You know what that feels like, don’t you?

  Only too well. He didn’t hide the grim tone of his voice. However, more soldiers survive than perish and they may recapture Bonaparte before he forces a battle.

  I do not think so.

  She heard a gentle gust of wind, a ghostly sigh. Neither do I. Whatever happens, you know I’ll be here for you.

  Will you be allowed to stay once the baby comes? It wasn’t a question she wanted to ask, but she needed to know the answer.

  I do not know. Perhaps this is why I’m still here, to see you safe until the babe comes or perhaps I am here for the rest of your life. I want to be here, waiting for you and I pray I will be allowed to do so.

  Now her body filled with gentle warmth, comforting and tender, cradling her in his embrace. She allowed herself to slide into sleep, feeling his gentle love.

  * * * * *

  Vernon didn’t leave her until he was sure she slept soundly, then he returned to the parlor in his own part of the house. He entered and then froze.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Shock lanced through him when the monk spoke. He’d never spoken to them before. “Your brother requested it. There is little time, if what I have been told is correct.”

  Vernon frowned. “Little time for what?”

  His brother stepped forward, and gave him a bleak smile. “I have been trying to find a way to unite you with your lady love. Apart from your personal concerns, there is the child to think of.”

  “It is yours?” The monk asked. He was dressed in a plain, brown robe. Vernon watched him lifted gnarled hands and throw back his hood.

  He’d never seen the monk this close before. Dark, deep set eyes framed by thick eyelashes, heavy eyebrows above. A thin, ascetic mouth, and pale skin, lined with middle age. He’d thought the monk older.

  “Aye, the child is mine. There is no doubt.”

  The monk’s mouth straightened in disapproval. “You sinned.”

  “She is the wife of my heart.”

  The monk stared at him in silence for what felt like hours, but could only have been a minute or two, his eyes shrewdly assessing. “The child has given you a chance. Do you repent your sins?”

  “I repent all of them except comforting her and loving her.”

  “You must repent that, too.”

  “Why?” he shot back. “I cannot repent bringing her comfort, and I cannot repent making love to her. It was the very best thing that ever happened to me, and I will take the memory with me to hell, if I have to.”

  The monk looked away and took a short turn around the room, his long robe sweeping across the rushes on the floor.

  “Brother Anselm has noticed your distress, and he came to me with an offer of help,” Nathaniel said, low voiced. “He was here when this parlor was dedicated to the abbot of this place, and he won’t tell me why he died, or why he is still here. Likely he doesn’t know, any more than we do.”

  “That is correct.” The monk stopped his pacing and turned to face them again. “My concern is with your immortal soul. There is one way you can amend your sins, but we must be quick.”

  Vernon exchanged a speaking look with his
brother, who shrugged in a gesture saying he had no more idea what the monk meant, either.

  “You have committed adultery with this woman, and this is the only sin of which you do not repent,” Brother Anselm said. “There is a way of putting this right. At this moment, the husband of your lady is lying on a foreign field, mortally wounded. He is reconciled to God, and in a few moments he will leave this world.”

  Vernon’s heart soared and sank in the same moment. She would be a widow, but he was in no case to ask for her hand. Why did he always forget his state?

  The monk watched, his hands folded at peace before him. “You may take over his body.”

  “I thought you said he was mortally wounded!” Nathaniel exclaimed before Vernon could speak. “You are asking my brother to die!”

  “By sharing the body of Cassandra’s husband, you will share in the sacrament of marriage and expiate your sin.” The monk paused. Vernon stood completely still, holding all his feelings inside him. “There is a chance he could live. A slim chance. You may take that, if you wish.”

  “Otherwise?”

  “Otherwise you will carry on as you are.”

  Vernon turned away, no longer able to keep his emotions from his face. “If I accept?”

  “You will wake up in the body of the present Earl of Rustead. You will then be human, without any of the powers you have enjoyed recently. You may die, but your sins will have been expiated and you will go on to the life beyond.”

  “And leave Cassandra alone?”

  “Not completely alone, Vernon. Brother Anselm and I will do our best for her,” his brother reminded him, making him feel guilty for even raising the subject.

  Vernon bit his thumb, his habit when thinking. “How is his cousin?”

  Brother Anselm sighed. “He is well. He was the cause of the earl’s injury. He worked for the Duke of Wellington, as a galloper, but he deliberately failed to get a message to the earl’s company. This meant they obeyed the Duke’s previous order to attack, when they should have waited for reinforcements.”

  “The bastard!”

  “I was a bastard.” The calm tones of Brother Anselm did a little to quell Vernon’s incandescent rage. “I was a son of a duke, but he sent me to the Abbey.”

  “Did you transgress?” Nathaniel, trying to give Vernon a moment to calm down. He had reason to know Vernon’s temper only too well.

  “I did, or I would not be here. I have learned a little more than you, which is how I learned the news today. You have not long, I suspect, before the earl gives up and passes on to a better life.”

  “Is there anything else I need to know?” Although his voice shook a little, Vernon was back in control of his emotions.

  “You cannot come back until after the anniversary of your taking human form. You cannot communicate with anyone in this house in any way for any reason until after that date. If you survive.”

  “I have to tell Cassandra.”

  “There is no time. If you wish to go, you must go now.”

  Vernon knew how to make a decision when he needed to. This was his chance—his only chance—to join Cassandra in a meaningful life. If he could persuade the body to live, then he could join her, spend every day in her company, and work to rebuild the estate, something he had longed so badly to do for the last hundred and some years.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Eight

  The world went black, for how long Vernon had no idea. The first sense that came back to him was sound. A cacophony of shouting, the clash of metal on metal, the whistle of bullets, the thunder of hooves.

  He knew those sounds. The sounds of war.

  Then he became aware of the smells. He smelled blood, fresh blood, unmistakably fresh. Mud, earth churned up by hooves, turned into mush by rain. To a man unaccustomed to war it would be overwhelming. To Vernon, it was like coming home.

  He hated it. When he opened his eyes, it was to the alarming sight of the belly of a horse, in the act of vaulting over him. He lay still, hardly moving until the beast had passed over him.

  Then the pain, the last sense of all to return. Agony, shooting through him. He’d been shot or cut or both—impossible to say which. The pain occupied his whole body, invading every pore, every single blessed inch.

  The fleeting thought that it wasn’t worth it, that he should just give up and follow the previous occupant of this body shot through him, immediately to be dismissed. It was worth it. It had to be. He deliberately planted the thought in his head, set it there, so whatever was to come he would not forget. There was a reward to be won at the end of all this and he would win it.

  “Captain!” The voice above his head shocked him more than the horse. That someone should see him, recognize him. He would have smiled, had his teeth not been gritted from the pain. Captain Lord Edward Heatherington, Earl of Rustead. Not Captain Lord Vernon Heatherington, Earl of Rustead. “I’ll be back, sir, just you bide there.”

  What else would he do? Smiling slightly, though even that hurt, he closed his eyes.

  * * * * *

  When he opened his eyes again darkness shrouded his surroundings. He was still in the open air, still lying where he had fallen. And the pain still racked his body. He wondered how he had fallen asleep then realized it had been less sleep, more unconsciousness. He moved, or tried to, and groaned aloud when pain shot through him, worse than before. It was too enveloping to decide on the origin. Where all had been screams of agony from men and horses, interspersed by shots and yells, now there was silence, broken only by a few moans and unidentifiable rustling, probably from rats.

  He could still die. He would die if someone didn’t find him soon, and he knew he would not be allowed back to the Abbey and his brother. That part of his existence had stopped when he’d agreed to occupy this body. Either he would haunt this desolate place, or he would move on. Either way, he would still love Cassandra.

  Her name reminded him why he was here, and added to his determination. After trying all his limbs, he discovered he could move his left arm a little. Mud squelched, oozing between his fingers when he clenched his fist, and sucked at his arm, unwilling to let go. Battling in the mud must be a nightmare, the soldier in him considered. It would clog the horses, make it hard to drag the cannon into position, and muffle the orders yelled by the commanders. Terrible.

  As feeling returned to his shattered body, Vernon realized another fact. He was naked. When he’d previously woken, he’d been clothed, he was sure of it. In any case, someone had recognized him, probably from his insignia of rank.

  Scavengers of the human variety had removed everything from him. All identification, all signs of him. They must have thought he was dead. He was nearly so. Only the memory of Cassandra, sweetly lying in his arms, had sustained him thus far, and he would fight to the bitter end.

  Which might not be long in coming.

  A noise near him made him turn his head sharply and then cry out with the pain. An uneducated male voice opened up close to his ear. “Oy, stretcher bearers! There’s a live one ‘ere, and by where e’s lyin’, e’s one of ours!”

  Vernon could only moan his thanks.

  “Wot’s yer name, mate?”

  “Vernon.”

  “Awright, Mr. Vernon, we’ll ‘ave you out of ‘ere quick as winkin’. ‘Old on jus’ a couple more minutes.”

  Vernon held on, but when hands grasped his legs and shoulders and lifted, he screamed his pain and a black mist descended on him again.

  * * * * *

  He awoke in what was clearly a field hospital. He lay on a rough cot, covered by a single sheet, and someone had dressed him in a nightshirt. He blinked.

  “Awake, are you?” Another male voice. A face swam into his vision. “The orderly said you were called Vernon. Is that right?”

  Vernon nodded.

  “Well then. You’ve been wounded on your hip. The cut is very deep, and it might well fester. You’ve also got a bad wound on your leg, but nothing’s broken exc
ept for a bone in your wrist, which I’ve set. We’ve cleaned you up and bound your wounds. They will be unbound and examined every day, and if they fester, we’ll cauterize and drain them and hope you’ll fight back. If you have anything to live for, think hard about it now, because you’ll need every ounce of strength you’ve got. If the hip wound heals, we’ll think about amputating that leg.”

  Vernon lay back and thought hard, wondering what to do, how to get word to her. A letter. When he was well, he would send her a letter. He couldn’t enter the Abbey until after October, which was four months away, but perhaps she could come to him. If he survived. A letter, that was it.

  When the fever began, he was still thinking of Cassandra.

  * * * * *

  Cassandra was at first not in the least alarmed when she couldn’t contact Vernon. They had been days before when he couldn’t get through to her. Neither knew the reason but since they eventually re-established contact, they had ceased to worry. In any case, Vernon did everything he could to prevent her concern.

  But as the weeks passed and June turned into July, Cassandra became increasingly concerned. She had never been able to contact anyone but Vernon, and that with difficulty, before he’d come to her. Perhaps something had burned out, or perhaps her condition had something to do with it. Desperately she tried not to worry, but it ate at her, gnawed away at the back of her mind until she thought she might go crazy. The only thing that kept her going was the baby, now vigorously exercising inside her. Until, in the middle of July, the letter came.

  My Dear Cousin,

  It is with great regret that I convey to you the awful news that Edward died at Waterloo. There is no kind way of saying it. He died valiantly, leading his company on a charge that was, unfortunately, doomed to failure from the outset. I saw him fall, but I could not reach him. When I returned, I found a man who had seen him lying there, but we could not find him, and then the area was cleared.

  Edward lies in a mass grave on the field of battle, but when I return I will arrange a permanent memorial in the family chapel.