Toil And Trouble, A Paranormal Romance (Jolie Wilkins)

by H. P. Mallory

  Before I had the chance to squeal my protest, Pelham beat me to it. “I hardly think her mad, Balfour. She nearly met her death in the snow—it seems perfectly acceptable that she would be a bit … delirious.”

  God, at least someone was supportive. Thank you, Pelham! Rand continued to shake his head, apparently hell bent on believing my marbles were lost. “Pel, you must admit, if only to yourself, the fact that you enjoy Christine having a playmate. You know I love nothing more than seeing your sister happy …”

  “Christine has not been happier since Miss Wilkins’ arrival. The vivacity she now exhibits has replaced the sullen and withdrawn creature she once was.”

  Rand continued staring at the horizon, his jaw tight, making his features hard. “Yes, but that is not to say that Miss Wilkins might harbor ill intentions regarding you and your fortune.” Pelham laughed as Rand faced him with an expression of surprise.

  “And what of your fortune?” Pelham asked, his chin tipped in defiance. “Your fortune is far more sizeable than mine.”

  Rand raised his brows and nodded, shifting a pine cone with his shoe. “I have not rejected that thought either, Pel. I do not believe Miss Wilkins cares whose fortune will be pillaged as long as she can get her grubby little hands on someone’s.”

  Grubby little hands? Seriously? God, the more I saw of this 1878 version of Rand, the more I disliked him. If ever I thought the Rand I knew so well was a little uptight and old fashioned, he was nothing compared to this Rand.

  Pelham sighed heavily and the anger in Rand’s face dissolved into concern for his friend. “Are you well?” he asked in a small voice.

  Pelham nodded slowly. “Yes, although I find day by day I become weaker.” He was quiet for a moment. “If I should meet my end …”

  “Do not say such things,” Rand interrupted, pain visible in his eyes. “You thought it merely an insignificant cold?”

  Pelham shook his head. “That was for Christine’s sake, Balfour.”

  “Perhaps I should send for Mr. Hodgins,” Rand started. Hmm, I had to wonder at the fact that Rand didn’t heal Pelham himself. Maybe his magic wasn’t yet strong enough.

  Pelham shook his head. “No, I will not see the doctor.” He paused for a moment, feigning interest in his fingernails. “Shall we change the subject?”

  “Pel, if you are merely being headstrong ...”

  “Say no more of it; I am well.” Pelham’s jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a straight line, signaling the fact that he wouldn’t discuss the topic any longer. “What became of that vile creature who set his eyes on my Christine?”

  Rand’s hands fisted at his sides and he took a few steps forward. “Sinjin received his just rewards, Pel.”

  My ears perked at the mention of Sinjin. Could this be the same Sinjin, my Sinjin? I couldn’t imagine it could be any other. How common was the name Sinjin anyway?

  “Have you located him, then?” Pelham asked.

  Rand nodded and continued pacing back and forth, his jaw clenched. “Yes, I did not want to inform you until your health had improved, but Mr. Sinclair is no longer welcome in the upper circles of London, Yorkshire, Derbyshire, and the Midlands.”

  “Thank you, my good friend.”

  Rand stopped pacing and patted Pelham’s shoulder, a sad smile appearing on his face. “Anything for you and Christine, Pel. You are all the family I have left.”

  Pelham covered Rand’s hand with his own, patting it consolingly. “Then perhaps you will allow me one more request, Balfour?”

  “Of course.”

  “Please allow Miss Wilkins to stay.”

  Rand pulled his hand away and sighed. “William,” he started.

  “At least through Christmas. I could not turn her away during this season. Perhaps by the time the holidays are over she will have regained her memory?” He became thoughtful. “And she is quite lovely.”

  Rand chuckled, a deep, harmonious sound that echoed through the trees. “Ah, your ulterior motives have surfaced.” The smile melted into a frown again. “Lovely or not, I cannot ignore my suspicions.”

  Pelham cocked his head and an amused smile lit his lips. “Balfour, always looking out for us. It is my hope the mysterious Miss Wilkins will grow on you, old man. Perhaps she will change your opinion dramatically.”

  Rand remained serious. “Do not conceive any matchmaking notions in that head of yours.”

  Pelham’s smile widened, making him appear incredibly young, only his pallor the reminder of his ill health. “Tell me you do not find Miss Wilkins quite fetching?”

  Rand appeared to be having a mental conflict, his eyebrows knitted and his lips pressed into a rigid line. “I would be blind not to notice her beauty,” he said in a small voice, as if trying not to admit it to himself, let alone Pelham.

  Pelham nodded. “I can now die a satisfied man, Balfour,” he said and attempted to stand, looking like a wobbly newborn giraffe. Rand was instantly by his side, taking his arm and helping him to his feet.

  “Shall we retire inside?” Rand asked, stepping slightly away to allow him the dignity of walking unassisted.

  Pelham just nodded.

  I began to experience the lightheadedness inherent in my magic whenever it begins to wane, so I scampered back to my snowy bush. I allowed the fox to leave my body, and watched as she trotted off to join her natural world again. The raw cold of the snowy air slapped me back to attention. I glanced down at myself, remembering my nightgown which was now ripped along the breast area and soaking up the snow. Well, so much for that. I closed my eyes, trying to ward off the cold and imagined a pair of thick and insulating pants, and an oversized sweatshirt. The clothing suddenly enveloped me like a warm hug. Not wanting to waste any more time to magick a pair of shoes, I hurried back up the snow covered path to Pelham Manor and opened the door as quietly as I could. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself in my current getup. The house was just as quiet as it had been when I’d first descended the stairs. I tiptoed to my bedroom and once safely ensconced in my room, behind the locked door, I relaxed.

  So Sinjin was once involved with Christine. Intrigue piqued my curiosity. Hmm, this little situation had to be the reason for all the bad blood between Rand and Sinjin—it had to be. Absentmindedly, I magicked off my clothes and tried to remember the style of the nightgown I’d been wearing. Grasping a picture of it in my mind, I felt the lightweight fabric materialize as it skimmed my knees and flowed over my shoulders. I wrapped my arms around myself, still chilled to the bone and opened my bedroom door, glancing down the hallway to ensure I was still alone. The coast was clear so I ran the long corridor separating me from Christine’s room and knocked on her door.

  “I am asleep, Elsie!” she called.

  “It’s Jolie,” I whispered but didn’t wait for her response. I opened her door and entered, carefully closing it behind me.

  Christine sat up in her canopy bed and rubbed the surprise from her eyes. “Jolie, are you ill?”

  “Yes, I mean no.” I took a seat on her bed. The fire was still flickering in her fireplace, making the room almost too warm. Hmm, it wasn’t lost on me that Elsie had allowed my fire to go out. What a …

  But on to more important subjects, such as the situation between Sinjin and Christine. I didn’t imagine Christine would willingly discuss Sinjin, seeing as how we’d basically just met, but maybe it was worth a try. Being stuck in a house with only two men for company would definitely make me yearn for some estrogen. And if natural coercion failed, I could always charm her, much though I didn’t want to.

  “I overheard your brother and Rand discussing someone named Sinjin?” I initiated.

  Christine nodded and her gaze fell to her fidgeting hands as a blush suffused her cheeks. “Yes.”

  “Tell me about him,” I started, taking her hand and offering what I hoped was a consoling smile. I mean, despite my burning curiosity about Sinjin, I really did care for Christine and if I could help her with any pain sh
e was harboring, I was happy to do it. Think of it as killing two birds with one stone.

  “I prefer not to; my brother has forbidden his name to be mentioned in this house.” Her wide eyes met mine, belying the fact that she did want to discuss the subject of the charming vampire.

  “Christine, I will not tell another soul, I promise.” I even crossed my heart but didn’t hope to die. I’d come close enough already.

  She seemed to be considering it, cocking her head as if deep in thought. Then a huge smile overtook her face. “Oh, Jolie, Sinjin Sinclair is … the most handsome and irresistible man I have ever met.” Well, I could concur with her on that one. Sinjin definitely was handsome, and the irresistible part? Check. Her smile vanished as her lip began trembling. “I have so desperately attempted to forget him, to stay angry with him.”

  “Why would you be angry with him?”

  She glanced away, shutting her eyes tightly against her tears. “My brother says he courted me merely to spite Mr. Balfour.” Her German accent was thicker now, as if the purging of her emotions encouraged her natural state.

  “Why would he do that? You’re beautiful, Christine, and you have a lovely personality.”

  “You are very kind.” She sighed. “As I understand, Mr. Balfour and Mr. Sinclair had known each other previous to Mr. Sinclair’s and my introduction. I believe they had a business deal that went sour and my brother believes Mr. Sinclair was retaliating when he sought me out. Retaliating in order to upset Mr. Balfour.”

  Hmm, Sinjin and Rand in business together? That didn’t seem to ring true. I mean, it wasn’t that farfetched but what business could Rand and Sinjin possibly have in common? No, that must have been a cover up. The truth of the matter had to be more closely aligned with the Underworld, and if so, of course Christine wouldn’t be aware of any of that … right? Did Christine even realize Sinjin was a vampire? Over six hundred years old, in 1878 Sinjin would be well into his blood diet. “So did you allow Sin … er, Mr. Sinclair to court you?”

  She nodded and nervously picked at her coverlet before returning her glassy green eyes to mine. “Yes, I was foolish, Jolie. And I cannot blame my foolishness on youth. This occurred in September, merely three months ago. And I also cannot wipe the images of Mr. Sinclair from my mind, try as I might.”

  I offered her an understanding smile. I knew all about trying to forget about disappointing men and unluckily for me, I had two to commiserate over. As if one wasn’t enough. “Okay, so let’s go back to Mr. Sinclair for a minute. How did you meet him?”

  She bit her lip, as if trying to arrange her tempestuous thoughts into some sort of fluidity. “Yes, I should have started from the beginning.” She sighed, long and deep. “Mr. Balfour, my brother, and I were at the Furvish’s for a harvest festival. Mr. Sinclair happened to be attending the celebration as well. As fate would have it, we were introduced and Mr. Sinclair entertained me with tales of his travels abroad. During the course of the evening, he danced with me three times! Can you imagine?” A flush lit her face.

  “Wow, three times,” I said, not knowing what else to say. It didn’t sound like much of a milestone to me but what did I know about Victorians and harvest festivals? Not much, apparently.

  Christine’s eyes took on a faraway glaze, as if she were reliving the events as she told them. “That very evening when I retired, I heard the sounds of pebbles on my window and found Mr. Sinclair outside.” She smiled nostalgically. The poor girl was absolutely head over heels in love with Sinjin. And if the Sinjin of 1878 was anything like the Sinjin I’d come to know, I didn’t imagine being in love with him would be a good thing, whether in 1878 or the twenty-first century.

  “Go on,” I said, smiling encouragingly.

  “I know I should not have, Jolie, but I sneaked downstairs to meet him.” Her lip started trembling again and I gripped her hand, as if to say I was there for her and she could get through this. She nodded and wiped her eyes. “He told me of his undying love for me. How we should always be together.”

  Yep, good ol’ Sinjin, the rake. I’d have to give him a ration of crap for this one, that is, if I ever got home again. The thought of home deflated my entire being so I pushed it to the back of my mind. I’d get home. Somehow. “So I imagine this courtship continued?” I prodded.

  “Yes, Mr. Sinclair swore me to secrecy, that I would not inform my brother or Mr. Balfour. And like a silly fool, I never uttered a word.” She glanced away, biting her lip again as if doing so would keep her tears at bay.

  “It’s okay, Christine.”

  She faced me again. “On our last meeting in the courtyard, Mr. Balfour must have overheard us because he suddenly appeared and a horrid fight erupted between the two, Jolie. And … I never saw my Mr. Sinclair again!” She lost it at that point and collapsed into a teary heap on her bed.

  Hmm, a fight between Sinjin and Rand over a girl … it sounded oddly familiar.

  So what was Sinjin planning? To elope with her? That didn’t seem like him. Had he truly been in love with her? Rand apparently didn’t seem to think so. But what did 1878 Rand know of love? Then it occurred to me that maybe Sinjin merely intended to deflower her to ensure she was damaged goods? If nothing else, that would have destroyed her chances to marry well. Hmm, if Sinjin had done that then he was a bigger asshole than I’d ever imagined.

  “Christine,” I started and tilted her chin up, wiping away her stray tears with the pad of my thumb. I wasn’t sure how to ask this question, seeing how completely personal it was. And she’d probably be mortified I was even asking … Crap! I was mortified, myself. “Were you ever intimate with Mr. Sinclair?”

  She blushed until she was the color of me after I’ve been in the sun too long. The decision of whether or not to tell me played out on her face like a bad movie. Then she shook her head. “No, thank goodness. Though I believe it was just a matter of time, Jolie. I was so foolish, I would have done anything for him, even given him the prize reserved for my husband.” Hmm, and knowing Sinjin, he would have greedily accepted.

  Then she fell onto the bed again with renewed anguish, so I held her, crooning in her ear and rocking her back and forth as if she were a colicky infant. My mind raced with thoughts of Sinjin’s involvement with this girl. There had to be more to it than a business arrangement gone wrong. And I intended to find out exactly what had transpired between Rand and Sinjin that ended with Rand abhorring Sinjin for over one hundred years.

  ~

  For the remainder of the day, I searched for Mercedes, after deciding she was my most important contact. But she managed to elude me and I couldn’t prevent the anxiety that was now stampeding through me. I had to get out of 1878 but I had no clue how and anyone who seemed a likely assistant either refused to help or had gone MIA. I paced my room, trying to think of another plan. If I could just get Rand alone again, maybe I could convince him I really was a witch and not a gold-digger. I mean, when I’d tried earlier, it hadn’t exactly gone well but maybe if I tried again—if I performed some of my witchcraft, maybe he might believe me?

  Anxiety spiraled up my throat and I had to sit down on my bed and close my eyes, trying to rein in the panic attack that was looming. If only Sinjin were here so I could gaze into the abyss of his beautiful eyes. The thought made my stomach ache as I wondered if I’d ever see my infuriatingly charming vampire again.

  Tears flooded my eyes and I didn’t bother wiping them away. Maybe I needed a good cry, a soul cleansing. The panic in my stomach had dissipated just at the remembrance of Sinjin’s eyes but now my focus was on my miserable plight. What if I couldn’t return to my own time? Could I even survive in 1878? What would become of me? If Rand had any say so, I’d be shipped off to the local loony house never to be seen or heard from again.

  Now the tears were streaming full force and I let them come, quickly blotting them once I heard a knock on my door.

  “Jolie?” It was Mercedes. Thank God.

  I leapt off the bed and threw the door open,
not caring that my eyes were red and swollen. “I am so happy to see you,” I croaked.

  She entered and once I closed the door, approached me, her arms wide, as if to hug me. The offer surprised me momentarily but I needed a shoulder to cry on so I collapsed into her outstretched arms.

  “There now,” she crooned in my ear. “We will find a way to send you home.”

  I pulled away from her and dried my tears, needing to understand how much she knew and more so, how she knew it. “How do you … how did you … what did you mean when you said you were expecting me?”

  She sat on my bed, patting the coverlet beside her to indicate I should also sit. I did so as she took a deep breath. “You are Jolie Wilkins and you were in the midst of battle before I found you in the snow. Prior to being thrust into 1878, you were in the process of being stabbed by Gwynn. You had just defeated the vampire Ryder, and before you could blink, you ended up here, freezing in the snow.”

  I just gawked at her, wide eyed. “How can you know that? I mean, your aura is human.”

  She smiled, a wise and knowing smile. “I am a witch, as you are a witch, Jolie. And as to my aura, I shield it so as not to expend energy uselessly.” To prove her point, she ran her hands over her head and down to her waist. As if unzipping her aura, it blasted out of her in a rainbow of colors. I gasped as the colors vacillated this way and that, a glow that lit the entire room. Holy freaking crap. She was like the mother of all witches, a mega witch.

  “Oh my God,” I said in awe.

  Mercedes just laughed and ran her hands back up her waist and head and her aura disappeared as if it had never revealed itself to begin with.

  “Unbelievable,” I said, my mouth still hanging open. Trying to shake myself out of my stupor, I focused on her stunning green eyes, a gold ring circling the irises, like cat’s eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said proudly. With an aura like that, I would’ve been proud too. I shook my head and tried to focus on the facts before me—that Mercedes was a witch, well, more fittingly, an uber witch. “You must be powerful enough to send me back?” My voice was hopeful.