With a heart full of dread I turned to face the room once more. My eyes darted urgently from shadow to shadow, and I half expected her to take form before me, but there was nothing amiss… nothing except the despair and fury that filled the chamber like a miasma.
I cursed myself for a fool. It had never been the brooch or the mirror that had created a conduit between me and the unhappy spirit. Our connection existed because I felt something like what she had felt, that terrible futile loneliness and frustration at being forced onto the outskirts of one’s own life and becoming no more than a spectator. The housekeeper’s silly superstition about mirrors had distracted me from the one reason that ghosts in stories always haunted the living: they had unfinished business. Whatever the unhappy souls had not achieved in life tethered them to the mortal world, and only when their desires were assuaged would they be freed.
And Lady Garnet still desired to do a great deal of living—through me.
The chilling knowledge lent me new resolve, though my heart was beating so forcefully that it seemed to knock against my ribs when I addressed the air.
“Lady Garnet,” I said loudly, “you are angry and unhappy, and with good cause—but you are not cruel.” Silently I prayed that this was true, for I was not as certain as I sounded. I rushed on before I could think better of it. “It would be an act of cruelty to condemn me to the fate you endured—to force me to be no more than an onlooker in my own life. You know better than anyone what misery you would be foisting upon me if you do not relinquish control of my body.”
There was no sound, no sign that she had heard. Despite my best efforts, my voice wavered when I said, “Please, leave me alone to live out my own life—on my own terms.”
The response when it came was inside my own head. “Your life?” It spoke in the clear, sweet tones of the voice in my dream—and with the very words from my dream when it continued, “You aren’t using it. Why should you not let me have it?”
“But it is mine,” I said aloud, just as my dreaming self had said. Except that it was not a dress we were fighting for, as in the dream; it was my future. Tears smarted in my eyes. “You have no right to it,” I protested, hearing the break in my voice.
“I have more of a right than you do.” The voice was calm, the words merciless. “Those who squander their lives should forfeit them to those of us who were denied the opportunity to truly live.”
Vaguely I became aware of noise behind me, of a sound like the blows of an axe upon wood, but the sweet, relentless voice in my head persisted. “I would never take life for granted as you do. You are wasting your precious time on this mortal plane, letting your existence pass before your eyes without so much as reaching out your hand to steer its course.”
“That isn’t true,” I whispered, knowing that it was. Behind me came the sound of rending wood.
“You love Sir James and yet you have not even hinted as much to him.” The spirit’s voice took on a mischievous quality that somehow made it more terrifying. “I can assure you I will be a better wife to him than you would have.”
That was the last straw. “Don’t you dare!” I cried aloud. I whirled around just as the broken door burst open and James stepped across the threshold. Grabbing him by his cravat, I pulled him toward me so vigorously that he nearly lost his balance. Then I pressed my lips to his.
Such a torrent of sensations. The tender pressure of his mouth, the silky brush of his beard against my chin, the feeling of safety and protection as his arms closed around me, holding me against him as if he would never let anything part us.
All sense of another presence in my mind vanished in an instant, and the blood rushed tingling through my limbs as if my body were coming back to life. The cloud of despair and futility lifted, as if the cursed atmosphere had been dissipated, and I felt a corresponding lift of my heart. I felt as if I could float away, if it were not for the embrace of this man holding me earthbound.
But here on earth was where I belonged, for many years yet. If I had my way, they would be exciting, eventful years.
A long, delicious interval ended without warning when James suddenly raised his head. For a moment he gazed searchingly into my eyes. Then he smiled.
“What is it?” I asked.
He chuckled. “For a moment I was worried that it was Lady Garnet kissing me. But your eyes are green again.”
I slipped my arms around his neck. “She is gone,” I assured him. Then, surprising myself with my own boldness, I added, “From now on I am the only lady who will be kissing you.”
To judge by his response, this arrangement suited James very well indeed.
A long time later—but not long enough—I became aware of a commotion and opened my eyes. Drawn by the noise of James chopping at the door, onlookers had traced the disturbance to its source. I tapped my ardent lover on the shoulder, and he turned to find our host and a scattering of guests watching us with bemusement from the hidden entrance.
“Sir James,” Mr. Tregonne said in his mild voice, “I consider myself a fair-minded man, but I can hardly countenance this sort of behavior.”
My beloved stood up straighter in an attempt to regain his dignity, but he kept one arm firmly around my waist. “I beg your pardon for the disturbance,” he said, as calmly as if he spent every evening breaking down doors and embracing young ladies, “but when I tell you that Miss Reginald and I are engaged to be married, I think you’ll agree that some latitude can be granted us.”
“Engaged!” This was Amelia, wide-eyed with shock.
James looked down at me, and the question in his eyes stood side by side with the most steadfast love and devotion. “Yes?” he whispered.
I beamed up at him. Papa would have to give his consent, of course, but there was only one possible answer.
“Yes,” I said softly.
Chapter 7
The next day, during the convivial commotion of exchanging gifts, I found a small blue velvet box whose label bore my name in unfamiliar script. When I opened it, I found Lady Garnet’s brooch nestled against white satin. It was as whole and beautiful as it had been when I first wore it, and I could not restrain a gasp.
“Felicity? Is anything amiss?”
My betrothed husband was at my side at once, slipping an arm around me.
“I thought you burnt it,” I whispered, holding up the brooch, and his eyes widened.
“So I did… but it doesn’t look as if it took. What does it mean?”
I found that there was a note tucked into the box, and I unfolded it with hands that shook just a little.
Felicitations on your engagement, my dear. I trust that you will live to the fullest the joyous life that lies before you.
“I think Lady Garnet is giving us her blessing,” I exclaimed.
“Does this mean she is at peace now?” James mused aloud, turning the brooch in his hand so that the garnets winked in the light.
“I believe so,” I said, remembering the feeling of the lonely bedchamber’s atmosphere of gloom and resentment lifting, dissolving into nothingness. “Now that she is no longer trapped by that sense of a life unfinished, she must be free to pass on to her eternal rest.”
“It is extraordinarily fortunate that all she needed was a day’s holiday in your shoes to set her to rights,” said James in sober tones. “It chills my very marrow to think of her permanently setting up house in your body.”
Touched, I rested my hand against his cheek, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the soft bristles of his beard under my palm. “It is a frightening prospect to me as well,” I admitted, “but I have to admit she treated her temporary dwelling with reasonable care.”
Such care, in fact, that it made me reconsider all that I thought I knew about her. Had she truly been a dangerous spirit? After all, she had not harmed me, and although it had frightened me to lose control of my tongue and limbs and be driven by her will, she had inarguably done me a good turn. I remembered the exhilarating race across the snowy ground
s on Pomona’s back and the high-spirited evening of dancing. Too, I remembered her goading me into kissing James. Had that been deliberate?
Now that she had made this additional, unexpected gesture of goodwill I was forced to wonder if she had planned all along merely to open my eyes to how passively I was conducting my life—to teach me a lesson about making the most of my time on earth.
You slyboots, I thought, smiling at the brooch with its coy little note. Whether or not she had meant things to work out as they had, she had evidently found the outcome satisfactory. I hoped she found the happiness in heaven that she had not found on earth.
I looked up to discover Amelia watching us. Her intent scrutiny reminded me with a little jolt that this piece of jewelry was, as far as she knew, her family’s property. Or had Lady Garnet’s ghost found a way to include her in this beau geste?
“Is this lovely gift from you?” I asked. I felt a bit awkward addressing her, considering the tongue-lashing Lady Garnet and I had administered the previous morning, but I had to make the effort.
Her face was impossible to read. She said slowly, “I hope you will consider it a gift from the entire Tregonne family—and that you will accept it in the spirit of forgiveness.”
Freddie whistled in wonder. “But that’s one of our family heirlooms, isn’t it?” he asked.
“It was,” Amelia said, and offered me a tentative smile. “Now I hope it shall be a Darrington family heirloom.”
“Amelia,” I exclaimed, touched. “How dear of you.”
James took my hand in his and smiled at me, although his next words were directed to Amelia. “I promise we will cherish it and all that it stands for,” he vowed.
“I say, that is very generous of you, Miss Tregonne,” Theodore Gibb told Amelia admiringly. “A mighty handsome engagement present.”
She blushed. “I must admit the idea was not my own,” she said, but Mr. Gibb leaned closer.
“Perhaps you’d do me the honor of giving me the first waltz tonight,” he said in a voice not meant for my ears, and Amelia’s answering expression of delighted surprise made me hide a smile. An Amelia with a suitor would be a happier and pleasanter person, I suspected, and far less likely to spend her time concocting mean-spirited schemes.
Then Marian appeared at my elbow and broke into my train of thought. “Felicity, Sir James, do come join us in the library,” she said eagerly. Evidently my new status as James’s fiancée had won me inclusion among her friends… or perhaps by standing up to Amelia I had endeared myself to her. “We’re going to gather ’round the fire and tell ghost stories, and you must come too.”
James and I exchanged speaking looks. “Oddly enough,” he said, “I am not the least bit inclined for a ghost story.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport,” I said, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm. “You know that Christmas is the season for spooks and haunts.”
He drew me close to speak into my ear as we followed our friends into the library. “As far as I’m concerned,” he murmured, “Christmas is the season of Felicity… in every sense of the word.”
The End
About the Author
Amanda DeWees wrote her doctoral dissertation on 19th-century British vampire literature—the perfect training, although she didn’t know it at the time, for writing Victorian gothic romance novels. Among these are Sea of Secrets, which won the 2012 RONE award in mystery, and With This Curse, which won the 2015 Daphne du Maurier Award in historical suspense/mystery. Amanda is also the author of the Ash Grove Chronicles, a young adult paranormal romance trilogy.
To learn more about her, visit with the author at http://www.amandadewees.com. She also loves to hear from her readers. Email her at [email protected].
More books by this author can be found on her author page at Amazon.
Saving Laurel
Raine English
Copyright © 2015 by:
Raine English
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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Chapter 1
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Miss Todd, but this situation is out of my control. You don’t mess around with mold.”
An inconvenience was putting it mildly. Laurel had to find somewhere to live, and seeing as it was a week before Christmas, that wasn’t going to be easy. She mustered up a faint smile for her landlord. He was a sweet man—unusual to find in New York City. Besides, this mess wasn’t his fault. How was he to know the pipe in the wall between her bedroom and bath had sprung a leak? Why, she hadn’t even known herself until she noticed the suspicious-looking dark spots on her floor and wall.
“It’s okay, Charlie. I’ll figure something out.”
The relief was visible on his wrinkled face. “We’ll have this all taken care of as soon as possible, and when you come back, your apartment will be good as new.”
That was something positive, at least, to come out of this nightmare. The building dated back to the mid-eighteen hundreds and was in need of updating. She just hadn’t envisioned having it done in this way.
“I can put you up at one of my other buildings. The one on the west side has a vacancy. It’s just the neighborhood isn’t quite like yours and the tenants can be a little noisy,” he went on to say.
She shook her head. That wouldn’t do at all. What she needed was peace and quiet. She’d finally landed her first big role in two years. After Forever Young ended its twenty-five-year run, she’d thought playing Sophie on the popular soap opera would make her a shoo-in for any of the “bad girl” roles she’d auditioned for. However, that hadn’t been the case. It wasn’t easy transitioning from daytime television… All she’d gotten were a few commercials. They paid the bills and kept her from tapping into her inheritance but did nothing to further her career. And then lightning struck. She got the part she wanted more than any of the others, and it was sure to put her on the map, making her a household name. But this part required intense concentration if she was to master it and learn her lines by the time filming began in January, and the area Charlie was referring to housed many families with young children. Just what she didn’t need right now. Screaming and crying wouldn’t bring her the solitude she required.
“I’ll pack up my things and be out of your way soon.”
“That’s fine. Again, I’m very sorry about this.”
She shrugged. “Things happen. Merry Christmas, Charlie.”
“Same to you.”
After he left, she pulled her suitcase out of the closet. It didn’t take her long to decide what to pack. After all, she didn’t plan on socializing while she was gone. She just needed a place to hole up and work. It would’ve been nice if she could’ve stayed with her best friend, Suzie Ellwood, who’d played her nemesis on Forever Young and was another displaced soap star. But Suzie had family coming for the holiday, making her apartment way too festive for Laurel. Looked like she’d be staying at a hotel, at least until she could think of somewhere better suited to her needs.
Once she filled her train case with her toiletries and cosmetics, she was nearly ready to go. All that was left to bring was her jewelry. She took a black velvet pouch out of her dresser drawer and filled it with some necklaces and bangle bracelets. As she searched for her favorite gold hoop earrings, she came across a key at the bottom of her jewelry box. Her heart thundered against her chest as she picked it up and held it in the palm of her hand. It had been over two years since her parents’ deaths, and she hadn’t been to Bronson Manor since their funeral; then the house had been filled with people, so she’d been somewhat able to tolerate being there. She knew she had to make a decision as to what to do with the place. Selling it was the only real option. It did her no good sitting vacant and it wasn’t as if she was ever going to live there, yet
every time she was about to put it on the market, something stopped her.
Maybe now was the time to do it? She hadn’t considered leaving New York over the holiday, but the remote Vermont mansion might be the perfect quiet getaway she was hoping for. If she could just get past her memories…
An image came to mind of a young man, just sixteen, handsome and charming, his brown hair, kissed by the sun with golden highlights. She blinked quickly, trying to keep her tears from spilling onto her cheeks. His face was still as vivid today as it had been the last time she’d seen him—twelve years ago.
Fighting the pain that threatened to suffocate her every time she thought of Ashley, Laurel pushed him from her mind. She had to move on. Being stuck in the past had kept her from having any kind of meaningful relationship with a man. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t let go. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe if she faced the past head-on by staying at Bronson Manor at Christmas, she’d accomplish that…
As she struggled to make a decision, her inner voice whispered in her head, If you don’t do it now, you never will.
Laurel dropped the key into her pant pocket, slipped on her down jacket, grabbed her luggage, and then headed out the door.
* * *
The drive to Clearwater, Vermont had been faster than she’d anticipated. Traffic wasn’t bad once she got out of the city, and with the radio blasting her favorite tunes, Laurel had been able to keep her thoughts focused on the present during the five-and-a-half-hour trip. As she glanced over the gorgeous countryside, all the stress that came with city living evaporated. She’d forgotten how beautiful it was there at this time of year, and with the sun setting behind the trees, it looked like something out of a Currier and Ives Christmas card. Then, as if on cue to further add to its charm, a light snow began to fall.
Spirits of the Season: Eight Haunting Holiday Romances Page 6