Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series)

by RainyKirkland

  Nick shook his head and drained his glass. "Where are they now?"

  "I secured rooms at the tavern and then dumped them both. I told them I was sure they wouldn't want you to see them looking like such hags from the travel," he said with a wink. "Julie immediately opted to take a nap. I think she's convinced herself that sleep will cure any ailment from a hangnail to crow's-feet."

  Chris noted the way Nick's smile never reached his eyes and he downed the last of his brandy. "So, I hear that you and Sarah have married?"

  Nick pulled up short. "How long have you been in town?"

  Chris shrugged. "I can't say I'm surprised. Not after seeing you with her at Julie's wedding. But what does surprise me is that you're allowing her to live in a different house. I thought that the advantage of marriage," he teased, "was a permanent bed partner."

  Nick rose and stood at the window, keeping his back to his friend. "I don't want to talk about her, I believed in her and she turned out to be no different from all the rest."

  "The rest of what?" Chris questioned, suddenly afraid of where the conversation was going. "Sarah wasn't like anyone I'd ever met."

  Nick turned back. His eyes were full of anger and regret. "She had Agatha rewrite her will. Gran left all her shares of Beaumont Shipping to Sarah."

  "She did what?" Chris shot out of his chair.

  "She persuaded Gran to leave everything to her," Nick said quietly, for the idea still gnawed at him. "While we were falling for Sarah's story, she was manipulating my grandmother."

  "Damn . . ." Chris expelled a long breath. "I can't believe it. I was so taken by her."

  "We all were." Nick's voice was tight. "I thought her the most generous, caring woman I had ever met."

  "And instead she turns into a calculating bitch. Damn, I need another drink."

  Nick turned back to gaze out the window. "Ruthless and selfish, just like my mother. Isn't that how the story goes? A man always wants a wife who's just like his mother. Well, I sure got one and I didn't even see it coming."

  Christopher's eyes grew wide, for never had he heard Nick refer to his parents. He had no idea how to respond.

  Nick turned from the window. His smile was ironic. "Have I rendered you speechless?"

  Chris took another swallow of brandy. "You've never spoken of your parents before."

  Nick shrugged. "They were never worthy of a memory. They still aren't."

  "Then, damn it all, there must be a way to have your marriage dissolved."

  Nick sat back at his desk and propped his chin on his hands. "And what would I say to the magistrate? Oh, excuse me, Your Excellency, but I married this girl to obtain the property she owns, and now that it belongs to me again, I'd like to return her. Well, yes, she is slightly used, but who's to know?"

  Chris shook his head. "That makes you sound as calculating as Sarah."

  Nick rose and began to pace. As calculating as Sarah, he thought. The words did not ring true. "There is something wrong here, Chris." His eyes darkened with painful memories. "When I think of my mother, even now I remember how utterly clever and vindictive she was. I can't call forth a single time with her that was pleasant. I can't remember one time when she put my needs before her own, or even remembered I existed."

  Fascinated, Chris nodded and refilled his glass. "Go on."

  "Well . . ." Nick paused and his expression grew lighter. "When I think of Sarah, the only memories I have are good ones. Just to look at her made your day brighter. She always had a smile or a kind word. And not just for me. Even Luther noticed it. He called her 'joyful.' "

  "What are you trying to say?"

  Nick continued to pace. "Chris, Sarah wasn't calculating. She couldn't even bring herself to tell that absurd story Gran made up about her being a friend of the family."

  "Maybe that was when she was at her best. Maybe she was just pretending to be uncomfortable."

  Nick shook his head. "I don't think so. Something's been there gnawing at the back of my mind since the beginning of this farce, but I've been too wrapped up in my own grief to think it through."

  "What are you trying to say?" he asked again. "Do you think her innocent?"

  Nick rubbed at his temples. "If Sarah had been living a lie all this time, there would have been some sign, no matter how small. There would still be some little thing that I could look back on and say, yes I should have noticed that." Nick's eyes were haunted when he turned back to his friend. "I can't find a single reason to call Sarah guilty."

  Chris sipped the amber liquid and tried to puzzle through the facts. "Then you believe the kidnapping story? You don't think it was merely a hoax meant to gain your sympathy?"

  Nick returned to sit behind his desk. "That's the one thing I'm sure of. She was half frozen and scared to death when Beckett found her. And I've seen her longing for her family in those private moments when she thought no one was about. No, Sarah Townsend was kidnapped from her home in Salem, of that I am sure."

  Chris briskly rubbed his hands together. "I think we'd better get to the bottom of this, Nick, and soon." He paused in thought. "Something's very wrong here, and if what you think is true, there is going to be hell to pay."

  The knock at the door made both men turn, Wadsworth stood in the doorway. "Sir, excuse me for interrupting," he said. "But Luther is here and insists on speaking with you. Also Peter Beckett has arrived. The Lady May has just returned from Salem."

  Nick turned to Chris. "Now we'll get some answers, I trust. Wadsworth, send Beckett in and ask Luther to wait."

  The butler nodded and left, but it was Luther who immediately entered the study.

  "You have to excuse me, Mr. Beaumont, he said, his voice vibrating with anger. "I know you ain't interested in what's going on over at your grandmother's house and I ain't come to tell you anyway." He paused to take a breath. "I just thought since you've always claimed to be a fair man, you might be interested in this." He flipped a gray envelope onto Nick's desk.

  Nick recoiled, recognizing it as the one Danvers had given to Sarah. "I don't appreciate your attitude, Luther," Nick snapped.

  Luther's meaty fist crashed down on the desk. "I don't give a damn, sir. You hurt Miss Sarah more than a body's got a right to. But if there's any justice in this world, you'll hurt just as bad once you read this." He shoved the envelope forward on the desk.

  "Did Sarah send you with this?" Nick reached for the paper and felt his heartbeat quicken.

  "No, sir," Luther said with quiet dignity. "I don't even think Miss Sarah has had time to read it. She's been too busy looking out for other folks. Now if you'll excuse me, I know you're a busy man." Luther turned and left the room.

  Chris looked back at Nick. "She has certainly won him over. In all the years I've known Luther, I don't think I've ever heard him raise his voice."

  Nick's fingers ran the length of the stiff paper. It still carried the water stains and mud from that fateful night. Slowly, he extracted the folded letter. He recognized the handwriting instantly and, as the words burned into his brain, he felt his heart constrict in agony.

  "Dear God, Chris, what have I done?"

  Chris pulled the letter from Nick's limp fingers and scanned the contents. "You've just tossed away the best woman in the county."

  Nick's head dropped forward to rest in his hands. "Why didn't I see it? Gran was always trying to manipulate things to suit her moods. Why did I never question her part in this? Why was I so ready to blame Sarah?"

  Chris tossed the note back on the desk. "If Agatha were alive, hers would have been the first name on your lips. But with death, we try to remember only the good."

  Nick straightened, his eyes filled with reproach for himself. "I hurt her, Chris. You heard what Luther said. She'll never forgive me."

  "Are you going to just give up? If you are, I'll tell you plain here and now that I'll be on her doorstep with ring in hand before the sun sets."

  The despair in Nick's eyes turned dangerous. "Tread gently, friend," his v
oice was cold. "That is my wife you speak of."

  Chris grinned. "Then just what are you going to do to win her back?"

  Nick rose and went to the study door. "First I am going to get my answers from Beckett and then I am going to see my wife. You are welcome to join me for the first, but not the latter.

  The two men sat in stunned silence as Beckett stood before them and told of the happenings in Salem. "The entire village is in chaos," he said. "Neighbors feeding off the fear of neighbors . . . never have I seen such madness."

  "Then you think there really is something to this witchcraft?" Chris gasped.

  Beckett shook his head. His hands twisted his knit cap as he searched to find the words to describe the horror he had witnessed. "Have ye ever seen a woman go hysterical, sir?" he asked finally. "One that's been so taken with grief or fear that she can't even think anymore, and much as ye don't want to, ye need to slap her to bring her round again? Well, Salem Village is like that, so consumed with its fear about witches that it's hysterical.

  "I could believe it of a few," Nick said slowly. "But an entire village? Surely there is someone there with common sense."

  Beckett nodded. "I met a well-learned man from Topsfield. Being from the next town over, he came out of curiosity to see the trials. For, like yourselves, he couldn't believe an entire village could be so taken in."

  "And . . . ?" Chris prompted.

  Beckett looked down at his feet. "We sat together at the hearings, and like I said, he was a real learned gentleman. He saw the trials for the mockery they were, and later that night he voiced his opinion at the tavern where we stayed. Said that those girls weren't bewitched, just in need of a good paddling."

  "Did anyone listen?"

  "Aye, sir, they listened, and good. Arrested him the next day and put him in jail."

  "But why?" Chris gasped, unable to comprehend the full meaning of what he was hearing.

  Beckett took a deep breath. "In Salem, sir, if you speak against witchcraft trials, then ye must be a supporter of witchcraft, and therefore ye are accused and found guilty by yer own words. For they believe that only those in league with the devil would try to deny it exists."

  "This is madness," Nick snapped in anger.

  "Aye, sir, but there's more. Miss Sarah's been accused."

  "Of witchcraft?" Nick and Chris spoke in unison.

  Beckett nodded slowly. "Aye, sir. Seems that some old biddy in town claims to have seen her turn into a cat. They think that's why she's not there anymore, that she's off roaming the countryside looking for mischief to do for the devil."

  "But surely her family doesn't believe such a ridiculous tale." Nick jerked to his feet and began to pace. "Did you give them Sarah's letter?"

  Beckett's face grew sad and his eyes pleaded for understanding as he pulled Sarah's letter from the leather pouch at his side. "I know what ye told me to do, sir." He handed the unopened letter back to Nick. "But when I seen how things was up there, well I just think ye should know that the old woman isn't alone with her accusation. Miss Sarah's sister-in-law also claims to have witnessed the transformation. They've burned her house to the ground and her stepbrother, Samuel Wittfield, has reclaimed his family land."

  "I don't believe it. Her own family?"

  Beckett nodded. "Aye. When I seen how the winds were blowing, I grew afeared for Miss Sarah. Not knowing what her letter said, I feared she might have said exactly where she was living. Sir, I think it was Samuel that sold her to Riggins in the first place. I didn't think ye would want the man to know where Miss Sarah was."

  "Did you tell them anything?" Nick's voice contained the anger he was holding onto by threads.

  Beckett shifted nervously. "Only that I knew she was safe and in Virginia. I thought if I was wrong, her family would be grateful for the information. But, sir, I don't think I be wrong."

  "My God," Chris flopped back in his chair.

  "Beckett, were you able to get any information on Sarah's friend, Rebecca Nurse?"

  Nick watched the man's ruddy face go pale. "They found her guilty of witchcraft, sir. I watched as they hung her."

  Nick braced his arms against the mantel and stared at the cold ashes. "This news is going to break her completely. After what I've done to her, to hear that her old friend is dead and her family has used and abandoned her – I just don't know how much more she can bear."

  "Sir?" Beckett pulled another letter from his pocket. "When I spoke to Samuel Wittfield and told him I was going to travel south again, he gave me this letter to take to Miss Sarah. But I think you should have it."

  Nick turned and reached for the folded paper. "There's no seal." He sat at his desk and looked up at his agent. "He gave it to you like this?"

  Beckett nodded. "I think the man wanted it to be read, and not just by Miss Sarah. Read it, sir, and ye will see what I mean."

  Nick's eyes ran down the paper. When he looked up, his face was filled with rage.

  "What is it?" Chris demanded. "Do they tell her her friend had been killed?"

  Nick shook his head, wishing he could plant his fist in the face of Samuel Wittfield. "Her brother expresses his sorrow that Sarah was the victim of such a hideous crime. He states how relieved he and his wife are to learn that she is safe, and then the son of a bitch begs her to return home with great haste, for they miss her dearly."

  "What?" Chris gasped. "And he doesn’t mention that she's been accused of witchcraft?"

  Nick tossed the letter to his desk. "Not a damn word – "

  "Begging pardon, sir," Beckett interrupted. "I know the letter asks Miss Sarah to come home. But, sir, I'd lay a year's wages that she'd be in jail before the sun could set."

  Nick rested his hand on Beckett's shoulder "You've done a good job, Peter, and I thank you for it. But I need your silence in this matter until I can see it settled."

  Beckett straightened. "Ain't nobody should have to go through what Miss Sarah did – being sold in the dead of night, and by the very ones ye hold dear. Ye have my word none shall hear of this by my lips. But the crew was in Salem, too. They witnessed the madness and are sure to talk."

  "Did they know you inquired after Sarah?"

  "No, sir, I was very discreet."

  Nick nodded. "Then the crew would have no reason to place Sarah in connection with the madness."

  Beckett smiled for the first time. "No, sir, they surely wouldn't."

  "Good. Now I want you to stop out back and see Mrs. Killingham. If my nose hasn't betrayed me, she's been baking cherry pies today and I know they're your favorite."

  Beckett's face beamed with pleasure. "Thank ye, sir."

  Nick held a tight rein on his anger until the study door closed. "That son of a bitch," he snarled, snatching the letter from his desk. "What man would sell his own sister into bondage and then beg her to come home where he knows she could be killed?"

  Chris shook his head sadly. "Sarah spoke about her friend Rebecca. And for the life of me I cannot fathom how a village of God-fearing people could stand by and watch a frail old woman be hung." He looked at Nick through eyes filled with confusion. "What are you going to do?"

  Nick tossed Samuel's letter back onto his desk with disgust. "I need to go down to Jamestown for a few hours and see to the Lady May. Then I shall pay an overdue visit to my wife."

  "Mother and Julie will expect to come for dinner this evening," Chris reminded him.

  Nick picked up his gloves. "You are all welcome. Do you wish to join me in Jamestown?"

  Chris smiled and rose from his chair. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. That will be give me an hour down and an hour back to question you on how you plan to win Sarah back."

  Despite his foul temper, a smile tugged at the corners of Nick's mouth. "You think I will share that with you?"

  Chris gave Nick an exaggerated wink. "I know you're legendary with the ladies. And now that you are an old married man, it seems only fitting that you should pass on the secret of your success."

&nb
sp; Nick chuckled and shook his head, amazed at the contentment he found in being labeled an old married man. "Let's go," he admonished. "Time is fleeing, and I would have my business done so I can reclaim my wife."

  "Then why not see Sarah first?" Chris asked as they reached the front door.

  Nick shook his head. "I would still need to go to Jamestown. No, I'll have the business over and done with and then I can turn all my attentions where they really matter."

  "To Sarah?"

  Nick smiled. "To my wife."

  Chapter Twenty –Two

  Julie Morgan dismissed the carriage driver and gazed longingly at the grand white house that stood before her. You should have chosen me, Nick, she thought, walking slowly up the brick path. Pausing at the entrance, she patted her long blond curls and pinched color into her cheeks before raising the knocker. Her most dazzling smile was firmly in place when Wadsworth opened the door.

  "Mrs. Morgan to see Mr. Beaumont," she stated formally, brushing past the butler to step into the foyer.

  "Why, Miss Julie, is that you?" Wadsworth's face lit with recognition. "Why, I haven't seen you since you were just a little thing."

  Julie gave the butler a withering stare. "It's Mrs. Clarence Morgan now, Wadsworth. Would you please tell Mr. Beaumont that I'm here."

  Unruffled, Wadsworth continued to smile. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Mrs. Morgan. Mr. Beaumont has gone with your brother down to the docks in Jamestown."

  Julie's face mirrored her disappointment. "Then tell Mrs. Beau . . . Beaumont," she stumbled over the name, "tell Sarah that I am here and wish to see her."

  Wadsworth shook his head. "Can't do that, either, Miss Julie. She's over at Mrs. Beaumont's old house. We had a bad storm a few days back and lots of folks were left without a place to live. Miss Sarah's been helping them out a bit."

  Julie rolled her eyes. "How very noble." She glanced about the sonny foyer. How she loved this house, with its crisp white walls, bright airy windows, and sinfully expensive paintings. She sighed wistfully at the opulence of it all. "Wadsworth, I've decided I'll wait. Would you bring me a julep, please?"