The Mackenzie laird smiled, knowing love had found him again.
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Caroline Lee
The Sinclair Jewels Series
The Sinclair Hound
The Mackenzie Regent
The Sutherland Devil
The MacLeod Pirate
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Caroline Lee has been reading romance for so long that her fourth-grade teacher used to make her cover her books with paper jackets. But it wasn’t until she (mostly) grew up that she realized she could WRITE it too. So she did.
Caroline is living her own little Happily Ever After in NC with her husband, sons, and brand-new daughter, Princess Wiggles. And while she doesn’t so much “suffer” from Pittakionophobia as think all you people who enjoy touching Band-Aids and stickers are the real weirdos, she does adore rodents, and never met a wine she didn’t like. Caroline was named Time Magazine’s Person of the Year in 2006 (along with the rest of you) and is really quite funny in person. Promise.
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Making Spirits Bright
Chasity Bowlin
Chapter One
Elizabeth Burkhart started at the scene before her with a tight smile fixed on her face. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy to be there. She was thrilled to be there, watching her daughter navigating society in a way that should have been her birthright if William Satterly had been anything other than a brute. Happy as she was for Lillian, for herself, she was simply, well, uncomfortable. She could feel the weight of judgment on her, the stares and whispers. Satterly’s discarded mistress. The mother of his illegitimate child. The charity case for the Somers Clan. They were calling her all those things and more and it was exhausting.
“Put your chin up, girl. Do not give them the satisfaction of seeing you break.”
Elizabeth turned her head to see that the Dowager Duchess of Templeton had eased up beside her. How the woman moved so silently when she was in her dotage was a mystery.
“Is that what I’m doing? It’ll take better than the lot of them to break me, your grace,” Elizabeth replied haughtily. “I simply dislike that my unfortunate past is making things harder for Lillian.”
The dowager duchess guffawed. “Hardly that! Look at her, for heaven’s sake! She’s young, beautiful and hopelessly in love… and it’s Christmas. What on earth could possibly be difficult for her? Well, marriage. Naturally. But that’s difficult for all of us.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Elizabeth replied. “I’ve never been married.”
“Count yourself lucky. Husbands can only be depended upon for one thing… disappointment,” the dowager duchess said. “Now, go get us a sherry, my dear. I find these events so tedious that a bit of sherry is the only way to salvage any sort of goodwill toward my fellow man.”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched on what would surely have been a scandalous giggle if she’d dared let it emerge. There were servants who could easily have done the old woman’s bidding, a fact they were both well aware of. But the dowager duchess was no one’s fool. The woman was forcing her to pry herself away from the wall and integrate herself into the evening’s festivities. Cagey. Manipulative. Practically Machiavellian if the truth were told. All were perfectly apt descriptions of the Dowager Duchess of Templeton and yet, in the months she had been there, Elizabeth had grown terribly fond of the woman, though she could run the whole house ragged.
She moved toward the refreshment table that had been set up for Lillian’s first ball, a festive Christmas soiree. It was her daughter’s first attempt at hosting a society gathering and there she was in queue with several of the very same people who’d been whispering about her. A glance over her shoulder showed the dowager duchess smirking with satisfaction at their slightly scandalized expressions.
“Wicked old bird,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath.
“I beg your pardon?”
Elizabeth glanced to her right and saw a man standing next to her. Where had he come from? “I’m sorry, sir. I was woolgathering, I did not intend to engage you in conversation.”
“Ah,” he said. “So I’ve put my foot in it then by speaking openly to a woman I have not yet been introduced to.”
“I’m hardly a stickler for such matters, but as my daughter is the hostess of this event, I should certainly be circumspect in my behavior,” Elizabeth admitted.
“Oh, so you’re the scarlet woman,” he said.
Elizabeth’s head came up and she glowered at him. “I’ll thank you, sir, whomever you may be, to mind your tongue and your business.”
“Don’t call attention to yourself, Elizabeth,” he admonished softly. “No one else can see me here. I’m not really a guest… well, I am. But only in the spiritual sense.”
She blinked. “No one else can see you? You’re invisible?” He was a bedlamite. Somehow, some way, a lunatic had entered her daughter’s first society event and it was all going to hell in a veritable handbasket. She had to get him out of there… and quickly.
“To everyone but you,” he offered with a smile.
“That’s impossible,” she denied immediately, but then an idea struck. “But perhaps, just in case anyone is looking, we should not discuss it here. I’ll get the dowager duchess her sherry and meet you in the library. Will that be convenient for you?”
“Quite,” he agreed with a smile.
He was very handsome, Elizabeth thought, though terribly young and not at all the sort for her being that he was stark raving mad. Still, pretty. A moment later, with the sherry in hand, she found the dowager duchess and delivered the drink.
“Who were you speaking to over there?” the dowager duchess demanded.
“Some gentleman… just making observation about the soiree,” Elizabeth remarked.
“I saw no gentleman! I saw you talking to yourself like some sort of madwoman,” the dowager duchess replied with a stern look. “It’s one thing for these heartless, wretched gossips to try and rake you over the coals for your past. It’s quite another for you to provide them additional grist for the gossip mill. Mind yourself, Miss Burkhart.”
She hadn’t seen him. Elizabeth blinked. She hadn’t seen him at all. Was she mad? Was she going mad from the pressure of trying not to destroy her daughter’s lunch into society as the Viscountess Seaburn? “I find I am not feeling quite myself, your grace. Please pardon me for a moment, won’t you?”
Without waiting for an answer, Elizabeth made a hasty exit from the ballroom. Down the stairs, she reached the second floor and darted past a footman toward the darkened doorway of the library. Inside the room, she closed the door behind her with a resounding thud and with only the light of the fire burning low in the hearth to guide her, made her way toward the desk. There was a gas lamp there and, with shaking hands, she finally managed to strike a match to tinder and get the blasted thing lit.
As the dim glow filled the room, Elizabeth looked around and found herself alone. She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m not mad. I’m not mad at all. I simply had a momentary lapse of reality brought on by the stress of nosy, old biddies.”
“Is that what it was?”
A shriek escaped her and she nearly set the entire house ablaze by sending the lamp she’d just lit crashing to the floor. At the last moment, she managed to right it and only the wildly flickering flame revealed just how closely disaster had been averted.
“You were not in here a moment ago! How did you simply… you can’t simply materialize! That isn’t how things work!” Elizabeth said, stamping her foot on the carpet for emphasis.
“I can. I do. I’m dead. It’s sort of how we do things.”
“Dead?” Her eyes widened, her brows shooting almost to her hairline in complete shock. “Dead? I’m being haunted? I don’t deserve this! Why would you haunt me? Haunt one of those dreadful, gossipy wretches in the ballroom! That’s who deserves to be haunted!”
She was arguing with what arguably could only be a figment of her imagination. Realizing that, Elizabeth clamped her lips shut and turned away from the “spirit”.
“It’s not a punishment, you know?” he said, strolling idly around the perimeter of the desk until he was, once more, in her line of sight. “Don’t get me wrong. It can be. Sometimes it ought to be… but the dead have work just like the living.”
Against her better judgment, Elizabeth gave him a once over, noting his impeccably tied cravat and starched collar. Other than the fact that his waistcoat tended toward the garish side of things, he was turned out meticulously. “And do the dead have valets?”
He grinned, once more showing just how handsome he was. At least, she thought, if she had to lose her mind then her hallucinations weren’t horrendous to look upon.
“We don’t. But we don’t really have a physical form either so this is what I was buried in.” The last was uttered in a somewhat theatrical whisper. “But I’m not here to talk about death and burials, Elizabeth Selene Burkhart. I’m here to talk about life… the life you should have. The life you can have if you’ll allow me to guide you.”
“Guide me to what?” she demanded. Did hallucinations always use one’s middle name?
“The love and the life that would have been yours… if William Satterly had not intervened. There’s a perfect person for all of us, you know? Your daughter found hers. Now it’s your turn.”
“Who are you really?” Elizabeth asked.
“You can call me Burney,” he said. “All of my friends do.”
Burney. The name teased her memory. But where she’d heard it from, she could not say. “Very well, Burney… tell me who this perfect gentleman is for me. I will arrange an introduction and you need haunt me no more.”
“It doesn’t quite work like that. Get your cloak, Elizabeth. You’re going to need it.”
Chapter Two
The gaming hell was not crowded. Many had left London for the countryside and the holiday festivities of families. For himself, well, Lord Oliver Weston, Marquess of Whittendon, there was no family and there were no festivities to be had. Born in America to the second son of a second son, there should have been no chance of him inheriting a title or an estate. And yet, there he was, playing cards in a gaming hell off St. James’s Place with a total stranger who had greater interest in brandy than winning. Or losing. Hell, he wasn’t even certain the man was awake.
It was the draft that had him looking up. The doors were standing wide open and in that space was the figure of a woman. Draped in a long, dark cloak, her face hidden beneath a velvet hood, he had no notion of what she looked like. Yet, he couldn’t tear his gaze from her. She was compelling to him in some way.
Tossing his cards on the table, he rose. His opponent had apparently been awake after all. The man hooted with glee at his apparent forfeiture. For himself, Oliver would have given the man every last guinea in his possession just to end the blasted game and get to her. Whoever she was, knowing her had suddenly become as imperative to him as breathing.
She stepped inside and the doors closed. A pair of small hands, delicate and graceful in their satin gloves, reached up to push back that hood. A wealth of dark hair piled high in an elaborate coiffure. But she was no girl. The candlelight glinted off just the barest hint of silver in those dark tresses. It only made her more interesting. As if anything needed to.
As he moved toward her, he noted that she looked to her right and gave a slight nod. It was an odd gesture given that no one was standing near her. She’d entered the establishment completely alone and there was hardly a soul in sight. The few stragglers were men like him—lifelong bachelors who had no families to celebrate with as the Christmas holiday approached.
Closing the distance between them, he halted just far enough from her that he could see her clearly from head to toe. Still draped in a velvet cloak, her figure was a mystery. But her face… heaven above, her face. Helen of Troy. Cleopatra. Aphrodite herself. None could have been more compelling. “Pardon me,” he said. “But—” He stopped. What could he say? He didn’t know her. Every bit of etiquette and protocol that he did know and that he’d ever bothered to adhere to demanded that he should not simply insert himself into the affairs of a woman he did not know.
“I’d love a glass of sherry,” she said, her voice a bit husky and low, but with a sweet, honeyed texture that was pure seduction. “It’s been a very long night.”
It was only ten o’clock. “It has, indeed. I am Oliver.”
“Elizabeth,” she said, accepting his proffered arm.
There was a small settee tucked into an alcove and Oliver led her toward it. He motioned to a footman who trotted dutifully forward. “Sherry for the lady and a brandy for me.”
“Yes, my lord,” the footman said and departed immediately to do his bidding.
“My lord?” she asked. “And here I thought you were simply Oliver.”
“And you? Are you simply Elizabeth.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’m Elizabeth. But hardly simple.”
He laughed, the sound a surprise to them both. He was still chuckling about her witty response when the footman returned, placed their drinks on a small table and then vanished. “Well, Elizabeth,” he finally managed as he raised his glass, “here’s to never being simple.”
She sipped her sherry and then asked, “So what exactly are you lord of?”
“A large estate in Derbyshire that I know nothing about. Another smallish estate in Somerset that I’m equally ill-informed of… and a house here in Mayfair that I cannot abide because it’s pretentious and dull,” he answered honestly.
“So sell the house, hire someone to run your estates and then be lord of whatever you like,” she suggested.
“And you? What is it that you want to do, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth stared at the remarkably handsome man before her. If she’d thought her hallucination/guardian spirit—really, what a contradiction in terms—was attractive, then surely Oliver, as he’d misintroduced himself, was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. With shining, dark hair that fell onto his forehead in a manner that suggested he cared little for his appearance, chiseled features and kind eyes, he was certainly remarkable. And just beyond his broad shoulder, her spirit was grinning like a fool. He was all but jumping up and down in glee. He’d told her in the carriage on the way over that his purpose was to lead her to her destiny. Staring at the handsome, charming and very charismatic man before her, Elizabeth couldn’t quite fathom that destiny could be so kind after so many long years of cruelty.
The spirit was gesturing wildly as if fluttering a fan. Then he was winking at her and batting his eyelashes. He was telling her to flirt. More concerning was the fact that he clearly had little understanding of flirtation. Rather than look like a madwoman, she brought her hand up to her hair as if to pat it in place while, in actuality, she was waving him away. He continued his rapid gesturing. Trying her best to ignore what she could only assume was his enthusiasm that he’d managed to lead her down the path of utter ruin, as if a thirty-something woman with a grown, illegitimate daughter weren’t ruined enough, Elizabeth smiled. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”
Oliver chuckled softly. “Have I bored you so much already that you’ve stopped listening to me entirely?”
“No,” she denied hotly. “I’m just… I’m a bit distracted. The holidays are a trying time of year. Lots of parties and people who aren’t really my friends or even friendly acquaintances, and yet we all smile and nod at one another with false goodwill. I’m afraid it’s been a difficult night.”
“I’m sorry for that. It is beyond question their loss. But what I asked was what you wanted,” he replied.
“Tell him you want to find a perfect romance,” Burney offered in a stage whisper as he stepped closer.
Elizabeth ignored him, and focused on Oliver who was glancing over his shoulder, almost as if he’d heard her spirit. “I wa
nt my daughter to be happy. And I’d like to find a bit of happiness for myself, far away from judgmental people.”
“That’s not the right answer!” Burney insisted. “Tell him you want to find romance, to fall in love, to be swept off your feet!”
Again, Elizabeth ignored him. Again, Oliver frowned and glanced in Burney’s direction.
“Your daughter?” Oliver asked. “Are you married, then?”
“No,” she replied.
“Widowed, then?” he asked.
“Say yes,” Burney interrupted. He was all but screaming in her ear.
Elizabeth tuned him out entirely. “No. One might say, I am not simple, but I am certainly scandalous.”
“You’ve ruined it,” Burney said, his expression utterly forlorn. “Men do not marry women who’ve had children out of wedlock. Not when they’re lords!”
“Lords!” Elizabeth echoed dismissively.
Oliver blinked at her. “Pardon?”
“Lord,” Elizabeth said, setting her drink down on the table and brushing her skirt with enough force that she was also brushing her hand directly through what should have been Burney’s thigh if he’d had actual physical form.
“Oh, that tickles”! Burney said and giggled like a child.
“Lord of what,” Elizabeth clarified. “You told me about your estates, but not your title.”
“Ah… Marquess of Whittendon. It even sounds dull, doesn’t it?”
Elizabeth’s movements halted. “Whittendon? So your estate in Derbyshire is neighbor to the Burkhart and Marchebanks families?”
“Yes,” he replied. “You know them?”
“I did,” Elizabeth admitted. “Long ago. Forgive me, Lord Whittendon, I fear coming here was a mistake. I must go.”
Elizabeth rose and made for the door.
“Wait!” Whittendon cried out from behind her. “You never told me your family name… or where to find you.”
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 8