Charmed: Gowns & Crowns, Book 6

by Jennifer Chance

  “Hmm? Oh. Of course.” The mention of the jewelry seemed to pull Prudence back into awareness. “In their quaint little museum. But it was costume jewelry, donated before World War II—it’s not worth anything, not really.” She frowned, refocusing on Caroline. “You saw it, I assume. I can’t possibly be wrong about its value.”

  “I’ve seen it,” Caroline nodded. The less she said about recovering the jewels, though, the better. She still needed to figure that part out. “They have quite a nice collection of artifacts in that museum. And it’s a lovely house.”

  “Oh, it very much is.” Abruptly, Prudence wheeled around and strode several steps to the screened wall, gazing out over the back yard. The evening was soft and murmuring, the sounds of birds, buzzing insects, and rustling branches heavy in the air. “Or at least it was when last I saw it.”

  From where Caroline was standing she could see Prudence in profile, the enigmatic smile on her face like nothing she’d ever seen from the precise, elegant woman. Gone was her surprise, her tremulousness. In its place was an emotion that was very much different. Not wistfulness, exactly, but more the savoring of a long-forgotten memory.

  “When was that?” Caroline asked.

  “A long time ago, I’m afraid,” Prudence’s voice sounded almost dreamy, and Caroline took a step closer. “I was barely more than a girl myself, engaged to be married no less.”

  Caroline’s eyes widened. She’d known Cousin Prudence was widowed, without children, but the woman had not once spoken of her relatives other than on the Contos side—particularly Caroline’s own mother. But it was as if Caroline really wasn’t standing there anymore. Prudence continued the story as if she’d lived it yesterday.

  “I was out there with two girlfriends—such a lark, really. We were all from west of Charleston, and the islands were so pretty in the summer. Even back then, Pearl Island had the reputation of being something of a hippy commune—artists, weavers, writers, the whole lot. My own fiancé would never have approved of our little clandestine trip, but there was an artists’ fair that weekend and the wedding was coming up so quickly. I knew we’d have no time at all together once I was a properly married woman. So we up and went, intending only to spend the day. We bought pottery and dishtowels, and then there was this one old woman with the most marvelous lace-collared dresses…”

  Caroline lifted her hand to her neck. “This is your dress, isn’t it?” She frowned. “But how did it get to be at Pinnacle House?”

  Prudence’s smile deepened. “Margaret—one of my friends—got to talking to a group of young men at the coffee shop. She always was a little fast, if you take my meaning. But as it happened, there was to be a dance up at Pinnacle House that night. A celebration, if you will, for local boys going off to war.” She waved off Caroline’s question. “The Vietnam War, dear. As I said, it was quite a long time ago.”

  “Oh.” Caroline glanced down again, twisting her body slightly. “It’s a very pretty dress. Did you wear it that night?”

  Prudence turned back to her, and in that moment Caroline thought she saw her as that young, long ago girl—her eyes bright and excited, her manner mysterious, her beauty radiant though the lines of her face had long since grown softer, less distinct. “I think we owe ourselves a bit more of that punch, wouldn’t you say?” she asked, gliding away from the screen and seating herself on the couch again. “Would you care for some?”

  Caroline plopped down into nearest chair, rapt with attention. “Of course,” she said. Anything to keep the old woman talking.

  “We had Margaret telephone our mothers to convince them we were spending the night at her house, she was always far better at that than we were. And we were full-grown women, after all, students at university. But those were different times.” She shook her head, her smile growing fond as she reminisced. “And it was a wonderful party. There were people from the island and Sea Haven too, so many dashing young men heading off to war, uncertain of when—or if—they’d be back. But no one was allowed to be sad that night. It was as if the place was conspiring to provide the absolute most perfect memory for everyone.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It was a foolish night, really.”

  “You met someone,” Caroline said. She didn’t know how she knew it—she simply did. “A boy.”

  “Not a boy,” Prudence said. “I was marrying that—and I loved my fiancé, mind you. I did. But this…” she paused. “He was a man, fully formed. Fierce and bright and strong. A soldier going off to defend our country. He was so earnest and determined, yet such a gentleman too.” Her gaze suddenly flew to Caroline. “Don’t mistake—we didn’t do anything terribly inappropriate. We simply danced under all those strung up lights, swayed to the music, stared into each other’s eyes.” She glanced away, back to the sleepy Carolina evening. “We kissed, too. I suppose that wasn’t very appropriate. But he was going away, and I was to be married. There was no harm in it.” Her eyes seemed as if they were searching for something a thousand miles—or years—away. “No harm. Not really.”

  “You left the dress behind the next morning,” Caroline said. It wasn’t a question, but Prudence chuckled as she nodded.

  “I couldn’t very well look at it for the rest of my life, knowing what had happened when I’d slipped it on. I figured the owners of Pinnacle House would donate it, if none of the staff wanted it. It was a very lovely dress.”

  Caroline nodded, glancing down. “Instead they kept it,” she said, her voice almost in awe. “All these years. I wonder why?”

  “Probably forgot about it—but their oversight is our good fortune,” Prudence said. “Because now it’s come back to us, for you to wear like you are right now. It’s a young woman’s dress, Caroline. It suits you.”

  But as she leaned forward to make a plate of small sandwiches for them both, Caroline watched her closely. The dress wasn’t solely suited to a young woman, she thought. It would still look lovely on Prudence, too.

  It was just a matter of finding her a reason to wear it.

  Simon’s jaw hurt from smiling, an expression he was unaccustomed to and didn’t much like on the best of days—and this wasn’t anywhere close to being the best of days.

  He’d endured no fewer than three sets of interviews about his research proposal on royal superstitions—and not one of them had seemed all that interested in how long it would actually take him to produce a scholarly work on the subject. Instead the focus had been on conducting a series of interviews on network affiliates as a subject matter expert—both on royal superstitions and superstitions in general, one producer had suggested with a wave of his hand. As if Simon could somehow become profoundly knowledgeable overnight in a subject that was as layered as it was treacherous, skating exceptionally close to the line of profound religious belief in some societies.

  But Dr. Anderson was pleased, and he’d mentioned Simon’s research sabbatical as a foregone conclusion no less than five times during the interviews. If playing nice was all it took for Simon to get back to his first love of research and travel, he supposed he could smile a little longer for these people.

  “That’s excellent, excellent,” their rep from the college’s media agency, a small man with an oversized camera was now saying. “Now, talk a little about the book itself. What’s the title?”

  Simon frowned. “It doesn’t have a title. I haven’t written it yet.”

  “Oh, come now. Surely you’ve got a title in mind. Something colorful, ideally, evocative of the pomp and circumstance of royalty combined with the absolute inanity of their beliefs.”

  Simon’s frown edged dangerously close to a scowl. “I would not characterize these beliefs as inanity.”

  “Of course you would!” The man fairly beamed. “I saw the video from your talk. You’re the perfect antidote to all those boring History Channel repeats on why such and so Middle Ages community pledged their fealty to a king or a lord or whomever else stood up to lead them. They can claim these people are better—blessed by God, e
ven—but nothing humanizes a monarch more than knowing he believes in stories so ridiculous an American sixth grader would dismiss them out of hand. It will feed perfectly into our news cycle decrying elitism between the classes. Hard to insist you’re better than someone if you believe you have to marry a prince in order to save your family. It’s pure fairy tale rubbish, and it is ratings gold.”

  Simon shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll remind you that I haven’t completed the book yet. You may wish to hold judgment until you’ve at least read a summary, or until the book has attracted any reviews from the trades.” That would slow them down several months, if not years, he knew. By then they would have long since moved on to other topics, and he’d still have gotten his research trip.

  “We don’t need any of that.” The man lowered his camera, then peered at the oversized tablet set up on a stand beside him, flicking it to life with a wave of his hand. “Says here you don’t have a website, Dr. Blake.”

  Simon stiffened. He didn’t like where this conversation was going. “I’m disinclined to engage in social media given my role as a serious academic,” he said repressively.

  “Uh huh. Well you’re going to need to get over that and pronto, or you’re going to need to vomit out that book of yours right quick. The early reaction to this premise has been phenomenal—far more than we expected. And we’re going to need to jump on it, or the word will get leaked out and some other yahoo will slide in ahead of us, stealing our thunder.” He looked at Simon, his gaze going steely sharp. “This is a great premise, but not a wholly unique one. Another writer with half a brain and the slightest of research abilities can get a website and blog set up. Then its content’ll be dumped into the media, a few key interviews get scheduled, and boom, suddenly the guy’s an expert.”

  He gestured his camera at Simon. “I don’t want some geek in Des Moines jumping on this story. Give me a title to run with.”

  “I told you, it doesn’t have a title. Call it Myths and Monarchies if you want, it doesn’t—”

  “Stop right there, I like that,” boomed the rep. “Bob, write that down. Myths and Monarchies: Curses, codes and secret symbols of royalty. You got any secret symbols in your research yet?”

  Simon grimaced. “Look, this is getting out of control.”

  “Actually, Dr. Blake, I confess to being quite interested in this answer.” It was the first words Dr. Anderson had spoken in a half-hour. “Do you in fact have anything along these lines currently? I do think it would be a fascinating way to hook the general audience into the nuances of anthropological study.”

  “No I do not,” Simon said, his tension ratcheting up. In part, he knew his defensiveness was simply that—Dr. Anderson was right. Hell, he’d be interested in learning more about royal societies, now that he’d gotten to know Caroline. If he was honest with himself, it was a way to hold onto the memory of her.

  Even as he thought those words, he grimaced. Dear God, he was becoming his grandparents, gathering up mementos from the past and enshrining them. What was next, framing a lock of the woman’s hair and hanging it in the front parlor? He shuddered in revulsion.

  “Dr. Blake?” Clearly, Anderson had known him long enough to wait for Simon to process his thoughts when he fell quiet in the middle of a tirade. It was one of the things he liked about Anderson. Another was the man’s interest in supporting his research, as long as he could justify that research for the university. Simon was comfortably well-off as a professor, and he wanted for nothing except time.

  Once again, unbidden, Caroline’s face slid into his thoughts. Her bright eyes, her laughter, her quick, efficient movement as she laid out the shell pathways between the tiny rain-freshened buildings in the clearing at Pinnacle House. Was she so whimsical in her behavior because of a generations-old belief in fairy tales and curses? Or did her willingness to believe in such tripe lead to a more open and playful spirit?

  These were the kinds of things he’d be learning if he went along with the media agency’s directives. These were the kind of things that scholars and researchers cared about—particularly researchers and scholars like him.

  He turned to Dr. Anderson and considered him fully, offering, at last, a nod. “I don’t have any of this sort of research currently completed, Dr. Anderson, but I do agree, the idea is a sound one. It wouldn’t take me long to put together a trip to furnish that exact information—there are several families I researched who would prove promising for that.”

  Not in Garronia, of course. Even he wasn’t that crass. But there were others.

  The Countess Caroline Saleri had indeed touched Pinnacle House with her enchantment—and him as well, though in ways she hadn’t intended. But now her work there was done, and she would be leaving. He had other paths to take, other seas to conquer.

  “Excellent,” beamed Dr. Anderson. “Let’s talk Monday about moving some of your workload off to assistants, see what international travel arrangements will be necessary. If you’re going to go on leave to do this, we might as well get you on your way.”

  Simon stuffed down the curious deflation that filtered through him, making his heart suddenly heavy.

  “Agreed,” he said. “Monday it is.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It took Caroline another week before she could make her move, but now she was nearly bouncing with excitement. She’d had Edeena ship three different sets of antique jewelry to her, and she and Prudence had researched each of them with fanatical care, finding stories at once delightful and awe-inspiring. It seemed as if the past generations of Saleris had imbued their somewhat pedestrian jewelry collection with a price quite literally above rubies, simply by giving them a provenance half-steeped in fantasy.

  “I think we have to go with these, don’t you?” she asked Prudence now. She’d finally divulged the reason for her interest in Pinnacle House to her second cousin. Since the day she’d walked in wearing Prudence’s long ago dress, she’d grown closer to the older woman. She and Simon had exchanged several texts and phone calls, but his schedule at the university had been wall-to-wall, so she hadn’t seen him. Which was just as well, frankly. She still hadn’t told him about the jewels. She’d wanted to, several times, but then embarrassment and family loyalty had stopped the words in her throat. Besides, if he knew the truth, would he think less of her? That she was still caught up in a curse that wouldn’t seem to die quietly?

  No. She needed to do this the way she’d planned. Honoring the request of her family mattered more than anything.

  “I agree,” Prudence said, rousing her from her thoughts. Caroline turned next to Marguerite, who’d glanced up from her tablet to watch the final rollout.

  “What do you think?”

  “They’re pretty—and the color is deep. Purple is nice too, very royal.”

  “Good point,” Caroline nodded. “The set they have is more of a soft pink—these will have more of a royal feel, and there’s more of it—earrings, necklace, bangles and two separate rings. The story is perfect too. Given to the Saleris by the Andris family, as a nod to the Saleri’s inherent royalty, despite the fact they weren’t the first family of Garronia.”

  Marguerite snorted. “Of course, in true Saleri style, our forefathers immediately relegated the jewels to a locked box in someone’s private safe. They wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something that seemed so much like a sop to their wounded pride.”

  Caroline continued the tale. “And so, the story grew, that only a daughter with a truly noble heart could wear them—and yet the Saleris kept having boys in that branch of the family. They finally gave them to Silas in disgust when he married Mom. And then they had Edeena…”

  “Ah! No wonder he was so certain that she would be the one. She or one of you.” Prudence winked at Marguerite. “Either of you could marry a prince as well, you know. It’s as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one, my grandmother always told me.”

  “She should have been a Saleri,” Caroline laughed, shaking her hea
d. She didn’t want to talk about love. Simon had dutifully followed up after their night on the island, but he’d seemed so…distracted. And she hadn’t been much better, keeping their conversations to the most superficial of topics. Her exchanges with his grandparents had been equally frustrating, though for a different reason. They wanted to see her again, leapt at the chance, really, but only out at Pinnacle House. She’d personally called twice already at the Retirement Center, to be informed by the fresh-faced attendants that the Wetheringtons were “off island.” Caroline was almost sure they were simply hiding in the kitchens, they and all their friends, but she couldn’t very well raid the pantries for them.

  But now, bolstered with the strands of purple sapphires, she felt like she had the necessary armor to greet the Wetheringtons in their own home. She glanced at Prudence. “Will you need me today, meeting with the real estate reps?”

  “Not at all, dear. One of them is due any minute, actually, but Marguerite has offered to help should I need it.”

  That was such a surprising statement that Caroline swung her gaze to her baby sister, her eyes going wide. Marguerite’s face was carefully composed—another bad sign. “In fact, I should probably go freshen up, now that I’m thinking of it,” Prudence said breezily. “Do have a good day, dear.”

  Prudence paused as she passed Caroline’s seat, laying a light hand on her shoulder. “You’re meeting with the Wetheringtons, yes? Belle and Bobby?”

  Caroline nodded. She longed to ask the young man’s name that Prudence had known all those years ago—but Marguerite was watching them both now with undisguised interest, and Prudence was blushing. Blushing!

  Prudence patted her absently. “I remember them as being very kind. Good luck, dear,” she said, her voice once again returning to the polite southern drawl.

  She’d barely cleared the doorway when Marguerite turned on her. “What was that all about?” she demanded. “Very kind?”

  “No idea—and forget them.” Caroline skewered her sister with a sharp gaze of her own. “Since when do you want to help Prudence sell this house? I thought you hated every minute you were cooped up here.”