“He’s alive,” Wyn said. “I’ll get him to Dr. Max’s office. Jackson, take custody of Ruth.” Wyn started the hike to town with Mr. Guthrie following.
“Mama, look.”
Deidre looked over at Lori. She’d pulled the stuffing from the back of her doll. What devil was she doing? She hurried over. Deidre crouched down. “Lori? What is this, darling?”
“I don’t know. The back came apart and this fell out.” Lori handed Deidre a small notebook.
It was dark green and very small—small enough to fit inside the back of her ragdoll. Deidre flipped through the few pages it held. Her sister had been dangerous indeed. “Stay here,” she said to Lori. Deidre rose and went over to Jackson. “Maybe this will answer some questions.”
She crossed her arms over her stomach, waiting. She hadn’t felt so sick or so helpless since the night she’d found Charity.
Jackson moved next to her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight against him. She wasn’t alone. Not any longer.
It was a long moment before Jackson spoke. “My, my,” he said. “This is quite a list of names, dates, and amounts.” He speared Mr. Guthrie with a cold shrewdness that made Deidre shiver. He held the book out to the older man. “I expect you can explain what that list is, hmm?”
Mr. Guthrie’s confusion was clear, but after a momentary glance at the list, his pallor grew downright puce, seeming to age him another ten years right before Deidre’s eyes.
“Shall I take a guess, Guthrie? Looks like a list of payoffs to me. Could it be a list of the women Junior paid to keep quiet after he raped them?”
The old man collapsed in on himself, defeat a steel beam on his shoulders.
27
October 15, 1938
Jackson paced the library of the manor house. There was still time to convince Deidre they belonged together, Jackson told himself. Okay, three days. He had three days left to convince her. She had to know, had to believe him when he told her that there wasn’t anyone else.
“Well?” Tevi demanded. “Did she answer?”
Jackson scowled at his youngest cousin.
“Leave him be, Tev,” Lydia said. “He tortured us enough as kids. I find it entertaining to sit back and watch him get back a little of his own medicine.”
A suspicious sound erupted from Jo’s direction, but when Jackson glanced over, he’d either been wrong, or she’d managed to wipe away any humorous evidence in her expression.
“You told Lori you would arrange for her own fireworks show if she helped, didn’t you?” Tevi was nothing if not relentless.
He could hardly blame her, or any of them. If Deidre didn’t marry him by week’s end, the Montgomery inheritance for the four of them would be forfeited to the city of Stone. It hardly mattered to Jackson, because he’d already come into the Claremont fortune from his mother’s side of the family. His cousins were the ones who would suffer. They didn’t seem to care—well, except for Tevi.
“Of course I didn’t tell Lori that,” he bit out.
“I thought you might say that,” Tevi said, tapping her child-sized foot on the Persian carpet. “Which is exactly why I did!”
Ah, hell. Jackson hurried out of the room and raced up the stairs to Deidre’s room. He tapped on the door. “Deidre?”
“Hi, Jackson. Come in.”
Jackson crossed the threshold and found her sitting in a chair in front of a blazing fire with her feet curled beneath her. The fall weather was quickly shifting to winter.
“Where’s Lori?”
“I sent her to her room. She had the audacity to bribe me with a fireworks show if I married you. Honestly, I don’t know what has happened to my shy little girl.”
“Don’t blame her, darling. Tevi put her up to that particular shenanigan.” He strolled over to the hearth to take in some of the warmth emanating out into the room. “Tevi’s quite the expert at that sort of thing.” He gauged Deidre’s response from the corner of his eye. “It’s likely to get worse before it gets better, once you marry me.”
She was fiddling with the folds of her skirt. “Yes.”
Yes? Jackson stilled. “Are you saying you’ll marry me?”
“I’m quite aware of the consequences if you don’t marry by the nineteenth of this month.” She didn’t answer his question directly, letting an excruciating silence filled the room.
“Dammit, Deidre. I’d rather leave my cousins paupers than have you believe I was marrying you for our inheritance.” He couldn’t take it another minute. She either would or she wouldn’t. He sauntered over to her chair and lowered onto the arm. He lifted her chin with an index finger. “Can you truly not find a place in your heart for me?”
She flinched as if the question was a physical blow.
His heart sank. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I-I thought…” He removed his hand and stood.
“I love you, Jackson.”
His gaze whipped to her. She was staring at her hands.
“I’m just not sure I can marry a man who sees my sister every time he looks at me. This is the rest of my life, the rest of Lori’s life.”
Jackson stopped as the shock of her words penetrated. He went back over. “You think I see Charity when I look at you? You think I taste Charity when I kiss you?”
She lifted her tormented gaze to his.
“You aren’t Charity, my love. You are anyone but. The minute I kissed you in my inebriated state four years ago, my body knew it wasn’t kissing Charity. I may not have known you yet, but I knew you weren’t Charity.” He went down on one knee before her, took both her hands between his. “I love you, Deidre. God knows, I can’t bear thinking of a life without you.”
“Do you swear it, Jackson?” she whispered.
“I swear it, love. I swear it. I love you. You’re the only woman for me.”
Epilogue
Serpent’s Point Lighthouse, October 18, 1939
“I feel a little sorry for Mr. Guthrie,” Deidre said. Her arms were clasped at the base of Jackson’s neck, swaying to soft jazz filling the air of the refurbished ground floor in the iconic Serpent’s Point lighthouse. The playing music could not drown out the occasional mourning wail of the lighthouse’s foghorn.
It would be a cold walk back to civilization for everyone from the Spence-Montgomery wedding celebration as they’d decided to hold the ceremony at the lighthouse. It was the only place large enough to accommodate the entire population of the island.
“Don’t bother feeling sorry for him,” Jackson said. “His retainer for handling the Montgomery Estate may end the day after tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean he won’t land on his feet. He’s like a big cat, waiting to pounce at the next opportunity that comes his way. Besides, he still has his son.”
“It was a near thing,” Deidre said. She shuddered, recalling all the blood Junior had lost. He’d also been disbarred, a fate he’d admittedly deserved. Most of the women on the list Charity had stuffed in Lori’s doll had been clients of the Guthrie & Guthrie Law firm.
Her gaze shot around. “Where’s Lori?” She could hardly stand having her daughter out of her sight.
Jackson kissed Deidre’s forehead. “Lori’s fine.” He lifted his head then winced. “Well, if you don’t count her whispering with Tevi. A worrisome sight I’ve ever seen. Sometimes I think Tevi is still four.”
“If it makes you feel any better, Lori will turn five in another month.”
He laughed.
“I can’t help worrying about Ruth.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But she’s in a better place. Most importantly, she’s no longer under her father’s thumb.”
“Yes. But… how sad for her. To live as she had. At least Charity and I had one another growing up.”
“I know, darling. But she received the best outcome under the circumstances. She killed her sister and stabbed two others. Being judged not-guilty-by-reason-of-insanity was perhaps the safest possible optio
n in her case. If it makes you feel any better, being confined to an asylum is considerably better than being condemned to the prison system.”
“And you would know this, how?”
“Not that I have experience in the penal system,” he said quickly, grinning. “Although, you might as well know, I did spend a night or two in the local tank, thanks to my now, cousin-by-marriage.”
“I suspect you deserved it, if only to keep you from being a danger to yourself,” she teased.
Jackson led her from the makeshift dance floor to Tevi and Lori. Preston and Lydia sauntered up holding flutes of champagne. Within moments, Jo and Wyn had joined their intimate group.
“I propose a small private toast,” Jo said softly. “To receiving our inheritance and the happily ever after of never having to deal with Wallace Banks and his ilk again in this lifetime.”
“I’ll second that.” Eleanor had strolled up on the arm of Tevi’s husband, the Baron. “And, I will add another, citing the thrill at having all of my daughters together and Jackson, looking blissfully happy.
Jo leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek.
Lydia lifted her glass high above her head. “A toast to the bride and groom!” Her voice echoed against the metal and the cement interior, despite all the tapestries and rugs brought to create some warmth inside the island’s one landmark.
“Hear! Hear!” Glasses clinked throughout. “To the bride and the groom!”
Jackson’s lips stole hers and Deidre felt she’d come home.
Home. She was home.
****
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Read ahead for a snippet of Blood Stained Memories
Enjoy the start of a contemporary gothic romance by Kathy L Wheeler…
One
January 2015
Winds howled against the windows of the sleek Amtrak train—the windows of my soul. I hardly registered the lush green terrain rushing by. Memories of that day were thrusting me headlong into my destiny.
The shrill whistle of the train startled me from my over dramatic thoughts. I reached for the red spinel stoned locket that hung around my neck before remembering I’d packed it away in the event someone recognized it. Instead, I hugged the tote that held all my valuables in the world to my chest. My locket, my lucky Spanish coin, and the letter I’d clung to that horrific day so long ago. A letter I’d completely forgotten until the angels had descended and claimed poor Aunt Lydia’s aging body, found in a box of forgotten personal effects. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes at the loss of Papa’s only aunt, and my last remaining family member. I was alone now, and the quest to learn the truth behind my father’s death could finally begin. Perhaps absolving me of the nightmares I’d never outgrown.
The passing landscape slowed to a crawl until the wheels of the train screeched to their final halt. “Fort Pickens,” the porter called out. “All bound for Fort Pickens. Prepare to depart.”
With mixed emotions, I gathered my single bag and made my way through the passenger coach. The porter assisted me to a desolate platform. I tugged at the stiff collar of my white cotton blouse having forgotten how thick the air on the Gulf was, even in early January at a balmy 61 degrees. A stark contrast from my home in Alexandra, Virginia where the snow was knee-deep and likely to remain that way another four months. The dark clouds on the horizon I’d seen gathering through the modern train’s small windows since Atlanta, let loose their tears in a grand torrent of angry energy, bringing a sudden and welcome coolness.
A moment later the whistle blew the train’s signal to depart and the wheels churned into motion. The porter’s sad smile lingered until the caboose took the curve of the tracks and disappeared from sight.
I feared the last leg of my journey would prove as inefficient as my correspondence with Dr. Adam Creighton. I blew out a held breath. The man’s brusque manner had come across about as accommodating as a wet blanket in a raging downpour. Much like the one currently bearing down. My wry thoughts came as a welcome surprise. At least my wit had not abandoned me. That was a relief as all but one memory surrounding my life around the time of Papa’s death certainly had.
I scanned the deserted platform, a shudder snaking up my spine, and with nothing to do but wait, my mind veered straight to that only recollection that still haunted me after eighteen years. The sharp sting of Aunt Lydia’s palm against my cheek, and the stark harsh reality of the sticky knife I still gripped in one hand, the blood-stained letter in the other…
A hot breeze stirred my hair from the window. The windows were never opened in the summer. It was too hot. My thoughts were strange considering the burn now searing my cheek.
“Helena Abigail.” She shook me so roughly, I feared my neck would snap. “Never let me hear you utter a word regarding this God-awful day,” she barked. “Ever. Do you hear—No! Don’t look—” Her words came too late as my eyes met the gaze of my father’s blank stare.
I was eight years old.
****
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Books by
Kathy L Wheeler
Rebel Lords of London
Enchanting the Earl
The Earl’s Error
The Marquis’ Misstep
The 7th Son
The Viscount’s Vendetta
Lady Felicity’s Feud with Christmas (Regency Christmas Kisses anthology)
The Weatherford Sisters Mysteries
A Bullet to the Heart – Kathy L Wheeler
Hanging by a Threat – Terry Andrews
Fatal Drip of Wisdom – Sanxie Bea Cooper
A Dagger Cuts Deep – Kathy L Wheeler
Mail Order Bride Series:
The Counterfeit
The Breakaway (IDA finalist)
The Betting Billionaires
Coming soon:
Fool’s Fortune
Fool Hearty
Fool’s Gold
Foolishness
Blooming Series
Quotable (IDA finalist)
Maybe It’s You
Lies That Bind
Martini Club 4 Series
Reckless – The 1920s and Pampered — The 1940s
Other fun novellas
Nose Job – Scrimshaw Doll Tale
The Mapmaker’s Wife – Civil War Novella (IDA Winner Historical Short)
Blood Stained Memories – A World of Gothic novella
Trust in Love – Four Holiday Shorts
Cinderella Series
The Wronged Princess – book i
The Unlikely Heroine – book ii
The Surprising Enchantress – book iii
The English Lily – book iv (Scrimshaw Doll Tale)
The Price of Scorn: Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother
About the Author
Kathy L Wheeler graduated from the University of Central Oklahoma with a BA in Management Information Systems and Vocal Music minor.
Kathy loves the NFL, NBA, musical theater, reading, writing and karaoke. She belongs to RWA’s Greater Seattle and Contemporary Romance Writers chapters, and the Regency Fiction Writers.
She lives with her musically talented husband in the Pacific Northwest, a recent migrant from Oklahoma. She has one grown daughter (who has two adorable boys), and a neurotic dog!
Find Kathy all over social media.
https://kathylwheeler.com
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