Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series)

by RainyKirkland

  Sarah snatched the golden bell out of reach and placed it on the dresser. “I’ll save Luther the trip,” she stammered. “You just rest a moment and I’ll be right back.”

  Agatha watched in amusement as Sarah fled the room. This is going to be even easier than I thought, she giggled with satisfaction. And with her hands folded meekly on her lap and an angelic smile on her wrinkled face, Agatha patiently waited for Sarah to reappear.

  * * *

  Sarah stared down at the folded invitation in confusion. Her afternoon with Agatha was slowly turning into a nightmare. First, the woman had gone on for ages about Nick and his virtues until Sarah thought she might go crazy from the images that sprang to mind, and now there was an invitation from people she had never met. “But, Mrs. Beaumont, why should the Bellinghams want me to dine with them?”

  “Because they are important friends of mine,” Agatha stated calmly. She took in Sarah’s confused look and continued. “And since you are the granddaughter of my oldest friend from the North, 'tis only proper that they should invite us to dine. But I am incapacitated, so the invitation is for you and Nicholas.”

  “Mrs. Beaumont, I’m nobody’s granddaughter. My grandparents died before I was born.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed as she noted the contented smile on Agatha’s pale face. “Do you even have a friend in the North?”

  Agatha’s grin grew wider still. “Not that I’d lay claim to.”

  “Then they are inviting me under false pretenses.”

  Agatha shrugged. “It matters not. They want to meet you.”

  Sarah shook her head and set the folded note back on the bed within Agatha’s reach. “It matters to me,” she said quietly. “You want me to lie, and I cannot do that.”

  Agatha’s smile faded as she snatched back the invitation. “No one is asking you to lie, dear.” She struggled to keep the impatience from her words. “Just be a little creative with the truth.”

  Again Sarah shook her head. “I can’t do that.” Her voice held disappointment. “You spoke a falsehood to say that you knew my family, and I can’t allow it to continue.”

  “You mean to tell me that you wouldn’t enjoy spending a social evening in the company of my grandson? Why, you’d be treated like visiting royalty – a queen. You’d have a romantic carriage ride, the finest food, and company I can guarantee will amuse you.” Agatha’s sense of anxiety set her stomach to churning again. She had never thought of Sarah as being anything but agreeable. “I’m sure you’ll have a glamorous evening,” she said, giving an exaggerated wink. “Especially in the company of Nick. He’s so handsome. Don’t you agree?”

  Sarah felt her bracelet caress the sensitive skin of her wrist, and her resolve frayed even more. “Mr. Beaumont is indeed a most handsome man,” she stammered, “as you well know.” Sarah took a deep breath to strengthen her convictions. “But to lie for the sake of gaining an evening’s entertainment would be a travesty.”

  “Then perhaps it is time for you to leave, since you won’t do this simple favor for me.” Agatha shifted on her bed, suddenly uncomfortable with the situation.

  Sarah gathered the unfinished embroidery. “I would do most anything for you,” she said quietly. “But you ask too much when you ask me to lie and deceive for your pleasure.”

  “Just take the wool and go then.” Agatha scowled, looking pointedly toward the door. “I don’t need friends who can’t be depended on.”

  Sarah left the room with a heavy heart. Declining Luther’s offer to fetch a carriage, she chose to walk home. The afternoon was clear and breezy, and the fresh air felt cool against the warmth of her face.

  You really know how to tempt me, don’t you, Lord? she thought as she slowly made her way alongside the road. She had only to close her eyes to feel Nick’s arms about her. He had held her so tenderly when she had cried for her family. But tenderness gave way to passion as Sarah relived their kiss in the garden. “What am I going to do?” she cried to the gathering clouds. “In just another few weeks I shall be on my way back home.”

  “Hey, Miss Sarah, you lost or something?”

  Startled from her thoughts, Sarah looked up to find young Jimmy Richardson, hoop in hand, directly before her. Her eyes darted about only to realize that she must have walked well past the road to Nick’s house.

  “Well, if it isn’t Master Richardson.”

  Jimmy scuffed the dirt with his bare foot and peeked up at her through the sun-streaked hair that hung in his face. “Aww, you can just call me Jimmy. What’s you doing out this way? You didn’t change your mind and decide to tell my ma that I knocked you down, did you?”

  Sarah smiled, and shook her head. “I was taking a walk and I guess I just wasn’t watching where I was going. Pretty silly, don’t you think?”

  Jimmy gave her an appraising look. “It sure is, but then you’re a funny lady. You want me to take you back?”

  Sarah looked at the shanty that stood off to the side of the road. Smaller than the cookhouse behind Nick’s mansion, the door of the shack hung ajar and the boards were in desperate need of paint. A thriving garden filled the side yard. Sarah turned back to Jimmy. “Is that your garden?” she asked, walking toward the rickety fence.

  Jimmy climbed on the gate and let his weight swing it open. “Yep, I keep the weeds out myself.” A wide-eyed young child with a rag doll hesitantly made her way through the well-tended rows. “Jessie, you get out of those beans.”

  Before Sarah even registered the mishap, Jimmy Richardson flew from his perch on the gate to rescue the beans from the child.

  “This here’s Jessie,” he said, holding the squirming child for Sarah’s approval. “She's almost two years old.”

  Sarah held out her hand. “How do you do, Miss Jessie?” At the sound of Sarah’s voice, Jessie stopped her struggles to get down and allowed her brother to hold her.

  “Hey, she likes you,” Jimmy declared. “Jessie don’t stand still for no one, not even Ma.”

  Sarah took in the dirt-covered clothing worn by both children and wondered if either child had ever been bathed. Jessie had her brother’s bright eyes, but her hair, like her brother’s, was grimy with dirt.

  “Jimmy, is your mother home?” Sarah asked softly, offering her finger for Jessie to grab.

  Jimmy’s brow pulled into a frown. “I thought you said you wasn’t going to tell her.”

  “Oh, but I’m not,” Sarah said quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s just that it would be terribly rude of me to stand at your gate and talk with you and your sister and then completely ignore your mother.”

  “Well, I don’t know . . ."

  Jimmy’s decision was made for him midstride when Mrs. Richardson stepped from the house. “Jimmy, who’s that at the gate? I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.”

  Sarah watched a woman not much older than herself walk wearily from the house. Her hair hung in limp strands about her pale face, her gray eyes were flat and lifeless, and her shoulders hunched as if she bore the weight of the world.

  “I’m sorry, miss, for whatever he’s done. He’s a good boy, but sometimes he’s just a little too full of life.”

  Sarah smiled and extended her hand. “No, no,” she reassured the woman. “Jimmy hasn’t done anything. We met yesterday in town and he was most polite.”

  Jimmy beamed with relief and turned an innocent smile to his mother.

  Mrs. Richardson’s look clearly showed she didn’t believe a word Sarah said, but she was grateful there was no trouble. “You must be from the North,” she said slowly, taking the baby from her son.

  Sarah’s eyes widened with surprise. “How ever did you guess?”

  “‘Cause you talk funny,” Jimmy answered.

  “James!” Mrs. Richardson shifted the baby to her other hip and glared at her son. “Sometimes he says things before he thinks.”

  Jimmy looked at this mother with confusion. He knew he was in trouble from the tone of her voice, but he wasn’t sure why. “But sh
e does, Ma, just listen to her. Go on, Miss Sarah, say something.”

  “Actually, Jimmy,” Sarah gave him a wink.” 'Tis not I who speaks strangely but you.” This sent Jimmy into gales of laughter. “My name is Sarah Townsend,” she introduced herself, smiling at the woman, “and I think you most fortunate to have two such beautiful children.”

  Gracie Richardson’s eyes grew wide and heat filled her face. No one had ever complimented her before. She wiped her hand on her dirty apron before hesitantly extending it toward her guest. “I’m Gracie,” she stammered. “This here’s Jessie. She’s my youngest.”

  Sarah let her finger trace down the child’s round cheek and wished for a damp rag to wash it clean. “She’s going to be quite a beauty when she grows up.”

  Gracie studied her daughter thoughtfully. “She’ll do fine. But Catherine – now she’s the real beauty in the family.”

  Jessie had discovered Sarah’s bracelet and contented herself with trying to untie the links. “And how old is Catherine?” Sarah asked.

  “She just turned ten and three.” Grace Richardson again shifted the hefty toddler. “Would you like to come in for a cup of cider?” she asked in a hesitant tone. “It’s fresh; we just drew it this morning.”

  Pleased at the invitation, Sarah allowed Jimmy to swing the gate wide so she might enter. She followed Gracie Richardson and her children through the yard and into the house. The inside of the shanty was in the same disrepair as the outside, but obvious attempts had been made there to keep what little the family owned neat and tidy. One large bed filled the corner of the room and, even from a distance, Sarah could see that the coverlets were threadbare. A young girl sat patiently working a butter churn.

  “Catherine, this is Miss Townsend.” Gracie looked about the room with embarrassment and wondered what she had been thinking of to invite someone inside. “Will you fetch us some fresh cider?” The girl nodded and Grace turned back to her guest. “Here, you take the chair,” she stammered. “I’m used to the stool.” She set the baby down and Jimmy plopped on the floor between them.

  Sarah placed her bag behind the offered chair and took a seat. “That’s quite a garden you have outside,” she said, smiling at Gracie. “Jimmy tells me that he helps with the weeding.”

  Gracie nodded nervously. What was she supposed to say? As long as she could remember, she’d never had anyone in the house except the kids and their father. Was she supposed to offer something from the garden?

  “Jimmy’s a good boy,” she said finally, “when he’s not getting himself into trouble.”

  Sarah accepted the wooden cup the young girl offered and took a deep drink of the tart cider. “This is delicious. Thank you, Catherine.” The girl blushed and immediately returned to her churning. “Do you make this yourself?” Sarah asked, taking another drink.

  Gracie nodded her head and her hands began to twist in her lap. “We have our own trees down in the far pasture.”

  “They’re not really ours,” Jimmy piped in. “Mr. Blanchard really owns them, but we like to pretend they’re ours.”

  “We rent this place and the land from Mr. Blanchard,” Gracie added quickly, lest the woman think they were not better than common thieves who stole apples from other folks.

  “Well, I think your recipe is delicious,” Sarah said firmly, setting her cup on the rickety table that stood to her left.

  “Jessie, no!” Jimmy screamed. Both women turned to find the baby sitting at their feet completely tangled in yarn.

  “Oh, my God,” Gracie gasped, falling to her knees and trying to save the threads from the destructive hands of her daughter.

  Sarah, too, went to her knees. “I don’t think she’s hurt.” She lifted the child, who immediately wailed at being separated from her new colorful toy.

  “Jessie’s fine,” Gracie gulped, close to tears. “But look, the yarn is so tangled.”

  Sarah exchanged the screaming child for the tangled skeins of yarn. “I’m sure they can be salvaged. Besides, 'twas my fault for setting my bag on the floor where she could get at it.”

  “May I help?”

  Sarah turned at the soft-spoken words to find Catherine standing just behind her. The girl stared at the tangled yarns as if Sarah held a mound of jewels in her hands. “Are you handy with a needle, Catherine?” she asked.

  Gracie handed Jessie to her son. “Jimmy, take her outside for a few minutes so we can hear ourselves think.” She prayed desperately that Sarah would not demand restitution for the damage.

  Catherine took the threads from Sarah and returned to her churning stool. Placing the strands on her lap, she carefully began to untangle Jessie’s creation.

  “I’m sure Catherine will be able to put them to rights again,” Gracie stammered, cursing herself for inviting Sarah inside. “And if some are damaged,” she took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her stomach, “I’ll pay for them somehow.”

  Sarah shook her head. “They look fine. And if Catherine does not mind the chore of untangling them, then I shall be forever grateful. But now I’m afraid I must leave you.”

  Anxiously, Catherine looked up from her task. “It will take me more than a few minutes.”

  “Take whatever time you need,” Sarah smiled. “Would you bring them to me at Mr. Beaumont’s house when you’re finished?”

  Gracie’s hand flew to her heart. “You’re a guest of Mr. Beaumont?”

  Sarah gathered the linen squares back into her bag. “I work for Mr. Beaumont,” she said gently. “Do you know him?”

  Color flared in Gracie’s pale face. “Everyone in Middle Plantation knows Mr. Beaumont and his grandmother.”

  “Why, those threads were Mrs. Beaumont’s,” Sarah said brightly.

  Gracie paled even more. “Then Mrs. Beaumont will be the one to collect for the damages.”

  Sarah shook her head. “No, Mrs. Beaumont gave the threads to me to do with what I wished. And I seek no damages. You gave me a delicious cup of cider, and for that I am grateful. But now I must be off.”

  “I’ll have these untangled by sunup tomorrow,” Catherine called softly.

  Sarah waved from the doorway. “That will be lovely. And Grace, may I call again?”

  Before her better judgment could take over, Grace found herself nodding yes, and then Sarah was out the door. Grace turned to her daughter on shaking legs. “Are many damaged?”

  Catherine looked up her mother with concern. “I can probably save most of them, but look at these.” She held up a clump, hopelessly knotted.

  Gracie reached for the vivid threads and shook her head. “No wonder Jessie went right to these. I’ve never seen such pretty colors before, not even in Mr. Jacobs’s shop.”

  Catherine let her fingers run lovingly through the bright strands. “Ma,” she said with sudden excitement, “what if I was to take some of the pieces that are too knotted to use and make a gift for Miss Townsend? She could hardly be mad if we gave her a present.”

  Gracie felt a ray of hope. “I don’t know, Catherine. She might not like you using her threads no matter what.”

  Catherine shook her head, the pattern already forming in her mind. “I don’t think she was mad when she left, and she doesn’t seem like the others.” Her fingers deftly untangled several more strands. “I’m going to do it, Ma,” she said with growing excitement. “I’m going to take these ruined threads and make her a gift.”

  Gracie pressed her hands against the back rungs of their only chair. “Oh, Catherine, what will your father say if he finds out what happened?”

  “Ma,” Catherine said, looking up from her work. “Pa hasn’t been home in more than two months. You don’t know where he is or even if he’s coming home this time.”

  Gracie flopped down on the chair and tried to keep the tears of hopelessness from her eyes. “He’s got to come home, Catherine. I don’t know what will become of us if he don’t.”

  “You did what?”

  Agatha cringed from the anger in Nick’s
voice, but held her ground. “Don’t you take that tone with me, young man,” she snapped. “Disagree with me if you must, but I will be respected in my own home or you’ll be out searching for a hickory switch.”

  “Gran, what were you thinking of?” Nick sat at the foot of her bed and leaned back against the tester.

  Agatha folded her arms across her chest. My grandchild, she thought. “Sarah’s reputation,” she answered. “Nicky, have you given one minute of thought as to what people will say when they learn that Sarah, a young, beautiful, unmarried woman is living as a guest in your home?”

  Nick folded his arms and stared back at her, unwilling to admit his grandmother’s scheme had once been his own. “She’s my housekeeper,” he said defiantly.

  “And pigs can fly,” Agatha snorted. “She’s your mistress.”

  Nick jerked to his feet and began to pace. “She’s as pure as new-fallen snow, Gran, and I’d challenge any man or woman who said differently.”

  Agatha gave her grandson a patient smile. “And how long before you wear down her virtue, Nick?” she asked quietly.

  “Whom I bed is not your concern, Gran.” He scowled. “It never has been and it never will be.”

  “It is when it concerns Sarah. Nick, that girl has been gently raised. For the sake of her reputation alone, you must allow her to come and live here.” Agatha watched Nick’s frown grow deeper and pressed her advantage. “What good is it to return her to her home if you’ve taken her virtue? No man would take her to wife knowing she’d been used and discarded. And how can you, a ripe-blooded man, look at a creature as beautiful as Sarah and not want to bed her?”

  Nick moved to the dresser and poured himself a brandy. The liquid burned a path down his throat but did little to melt the knot that was forming in his stomach. Gran was right, as usual. It was only a matter of time before someone realized Sarah lived beneath his roof. And once that fact was out, the damage would be done.

  Reluctantly, he turned back to his grandmother. “What makes you think that Sarah has a reputation worth saving?” he challenged stubbornly.