by Kate Pearce
Misled? What was the man talking about?
“I don’t understand.” Devon took a seat opposite the earl. He had spent all of yesterday trying to get an engagement ring for Jane to properly propose to her. Some of his friends had insisted that he pay a visit to the gypsies with them, and he’d gone along. Although he had tried to see Jane during the trip, Lady Marjorie had practically pinned herself to Jane’s side. There was never any moment to get her alone.
The earl cleared his throat. “Mr. Hunt made it seem as if Jane was to receive a large inheritance from the late Lord Banfield. I understand you learned the truth, that she was his illegitimate daughter. But since we have recently learned that Lady Banfield is not, in fact, dead, the portion Jane was meant to receive may not be hers anymore. It would likely be part of Lady Banfield’s dower property.”
Devon stared at the earl and realized that Bronson had known all along that Lady Banfield was still alive. The footman had been desperate to keep her from learning about Jane, and his own madness had nearly cost Jane her life.
“Was it Lady Banfield that Jane heard screaming that day?”
“It must have been,” the earl agreed. He shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t understand why the servants tried to keep it a secret. It might be they were afraid she would leave her rooms and try to hurt the guests. Or even herself, in a fit of madness.”
“And Bronson was trying to protect her.”
The earl nodded. “Indeed.”
“Then why did Mr. Hunt say nothing to you? Didn’t he know that the dowager countess was still alive?”
“He did. But he was ordered to say nothing until the will reading. The late earl did not want anyone to know of his wife’s madness.” Lord Banfield folded his arms across his chest. “I am sorry if this alters your plans, but you must not rely upon any sort of inheritance from Jane. She is the adopted daughter of a vicar, and that is all.”
Instead of feeling disappointment, Devon wasn’t at all deterred. “I need to speak with her.”
“I am certain you do. But I ask you to be aware that Jane has a tender heart. She does not deserve to be cast aside as her mother was.”
Devon stood and faced the earl. “Lord Banfield, I apologize if you believed I had less than honorable intentions toward Miss Hawkins. I know she is like another daughter to you.”
“She is. And for that reason, I will not let any man break her heart. Especially a man whose only interest is in an inheritance.”
Devon stiffened at the accusation. Though he supposed the earl had every reason to believe this, it wasn’t true at all. “I asked your permission because her adopted father, the vicar, is not here. But even without your approval, I intend to ask her to wed me.” It felt like the right decision, and in this, he would not waver.
“Even if she inherits nothing but a few pounds?” the earl asked.
“Even then.” Devon gave the man a nod of acknowledgment. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to find Miss Hawkins.”
“She was walking in the gardens with Marjorie, so I heard.” The earl’s expression warmed, and he added, “I am glad to hear that you have not changed your mind, despite her penniless state. Jane deserves to be happy.”
“If she will marry me, I vow that she will be.”
Jane walked through the gardens with Marjorie, feeling like a prisoner while her best friend never stopped talking. She had confided her secret, needing to share her dilemma, and the young woman had sworn not to tell anyone. Even so, she had promised that she would protect Jane—no matter what happened.
They had reached the steps leading back to the house when a sudden gust of frigid air whipped at her shawl. Jane tried to catch it, but the wind drew it out of her grasp.
It landed at the feet of Devon Lancaster. He picked it up and held it out, smiling at her. “Would you take a walk with me, Miss Hawkins?”
Her heart pounded at the sight of him. She had seen him briefly when they had traveled with the others to the gypsy camp, but Marjorie had refused to let her speak to him then. Now, she realized that even a single day apart had made her miss him more.
But Marjorie had other ideas. “She would rather walk with the devil than walk with you,” her friend shot back.
“Some have called me that,” Devon admitted. But he extended his arm and asked, “May I speak with you alone, Miss Hawkins?”
Her face was troubled, and she glanced at Marjorie. Her friend shook her head. “Absolutely not. Jane and I were—” Her words were cut off when a gust of air shoved her sideways. Marjorie yelped, and Jane was stunned to see the Tudor ghost beaming with mischief.
“Marjorie, I think you’d better go. I will be fine.”
And protected by a ghost, no less. From the look on Devon’s face, he, too, had seen the spirit.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Her friend started to walk toward them, but the wind picked up again, blowing her bonnet toward the door.
“Only for a moment,” Jane insisted. And with any luck, the ghost would leave her friend alone. She sent him a pointed look, but the bearded ghost smiled.
Jane adjusted her shawl and put her hand in the crook of Devon’s arm. He led her toward the arbor, which was covered in climbing pink roses. When they were out of earshot, she whispered, “Did you see the…ghost?”
“I did. He is Benedict, and I must confess I asked him for his help with Marjorie. I wanted to speak to you yesterday, but she was rather adamant about protecting you. I needed spiritual intervention today.”
“She is my dearest friend,” Jane said. And after she’d confessed her ruin, Marjorie would have battled an army of ghosts to help her.
Devon drew her to sit upon a stone bench beside the hedge maze. “I spoke with Lord Banfield this morning, and he did not grant me permission to marry you.”
Her heart pounded with a sudden burst of anxiety. It seemed as if the blood had stopped flowing from her heart, and a numbness settled over her. Did this mean he was giving up on her?
“I also learned that there is no ghost in the turret. Lady Banfield was the one screaming, and it alters the will. Only a few people had any idea she was still alive, though Lady Banfield is…incapable of being mistress of Castle Keyvnor.” He had turned serious now, and she lowered her gaze. She didn’t want to hear his next words, and she had a feeling that the worst had come to pass. Her inheritance was worth nothing at all, and he was going to leave her.
A ringing noise sounded in her ears, and she felt faint. Her hands were freezing, and when he took her palm in his, she hardly felt anything at all.
“I know what this means,” she whispered.
“Do you?” His voice held kindness, and the last thing she wanted was to see pity in his eyes. “Look at me, Jane.”
She hesitated, but a petal blew into her face. The breeze swelled, and before she knew what was happening, more rose petals drifted around her. She finally lifted her gaze to Devon’s and it seemed that a thousand flowers were filling up the air, like snowflakes. The soft aroma of roses surrounded her, and the sight filled her with wonder. She also heard the sound of lute music, and noticed Benedict standing nearby, playing a song for them.
“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Devon asked. From his waistcoat pocket, he withdrew a small gold ring with a ruby and two smaller diamonds. The gold was engraved in a twisting band, and he slid it on her finger.
She stared at it in disbelief, hardly able to speak. When she did open her mouth, a flower petal stuck to her lips.
At that, she began to laugh. The Tudor ghost continued to play, and she nearly got a mouthful of flowers. “I cannot answer because there are roses everywhere.”
The ghost waved his hand and the flower petals drifted to the ground. Devon brushed the flowers away from her face, and she took his hand. “Are you certain this is what you want, Devon? I may not have anything at all, once the will is read. I don’t ever want to come between you and your family.”
“You wil
l not. But I need you with me, Jane.” He stroked her hair, cupping her face. “If I have to gain the help of a hundred ghosts to make you marry me, I will ask it.” His thumb brushed over her lips, and this time, her quickening pulse had nothing to do with fear—and everything to do with joy.
“I want to love you, Jane. For each day of the rest of my life, if you will have me.”
She felt the answering love in her own heart, for this man who had stood by her in danger. “I would like that, Devon.” As soon as she spoke the words, there were no doubts in her mind. This man had never made her feel like less of a woman. He had made her feel more, like a helpmate and a partner who would stand by him always.
He drew her closer into a more lingering kiss. Above them, the sun shone brightly, and the sound of lute music echoed in the wind.
And when she drew back from his embrace, more flower petals drifted toward them. She laughed and turned back to the ghost. “You had better stop, Benedict, or there will be no flowers left.”
The ghost smiled broadly, and she thought she heard the rumbling of laughter before he disappeared into the sunlight.
Epilogue
During the will-reading of the late Jonathan Hambly, Lord Banfield
Mr. Hunt cleared his voice and read from the will. “To Jane Hawkins, Lord Banfield bequeaths the estate of Kirkbourne. He regrets that he could never acknowledge you as his daughter, but he hopes that the land will compensate for his indiscretion.”
Jane blinked a moment, unable to believe what she had just heard. “An estate?” She stared at Devon as if surely she had misheard the bequest.
Devon took Jane’s hand in his while Mr. Hunt finished reading Lord Banfield’s will. In a low voice he murmured in her ear. “I am happy for you, Jane. But know that it doesn’t matter to me; I would marry you if you had nothing at all.”
Jane’s hand clenched his, until her engagement ring dug into his flesh. He had never seen her this agitated before. In a hushed whisper, she insisted, “But Lord Banfield said I would inherit very little, since Lady Banfield is still alive.”
“He wanted us to believe that because he feared I was a fortune hunter. But Lady Banfield already had her dower portion and yours was protected. Only Lord Banfield and Mr. Hunt knew about it.” He caressed her knuckles. “I think he was being protective for your sake, Jane. No one else knew, save Mr. Hunt.”
“I can’t breathe.” She sat down, fanning herself. “I feel as if I’ve just inherited a kingdom.”
Devon didn’t tell her that it might as well be that. The Kirkbourne estate had over a thousand acres, and there were sheep, horses, and even mines along the coast. It lay near Bideford, and Jane would never need to worry about money for the rest of her life. It was large enough to bring her adopted parents, the Engelmeyers, to live there, which was important to her. He had already made the decision to settle in Kirkbourne, and he would visit his own property from time to time, leaving it in the hands of his land steward to manage.
“I am happy for you,” he murmured. “And I think this was your father’s way of atoning for what he did.”
She squeezed his hand, and her engagement ring gleamed in the light. “I suppose. But I am sorry that my birth had to cause so much sorrow for anyone.” Lady Banfield had learned of her existence and had gone silent for days within the turret.
“You are not at fault,” Devon whispered. “And I, for one, am very glad of your birth. Whether you were born of a vicar or an earl.” He traced the edge of her ring with his thumb. “I love you, Jane Hawkins.”
“And I love you.” She smiled at him, covering his hand with her own.
Devon leaned in to whisper. “Will you dance with me in the library later?”
“Later,” she promised with a secretive smile. “And every night, for the rest of our lives.”
About Michelle Willingham
Bestselling author Michelle Willingham has published over thirty-five romance novels, novellas, and short stories. Currently, she lives in southeastern Virginia with her husband and children and is working on more historical romances.
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Lady Tamsyn and the Pixie’s Curse
Deb Marlowe
Dedication
For my two boys, who embraced the fun of Halloween with me and always kept the costume/prop box busy all year long.
Prologue
Castle Keyvnor
1803
She’d been told not to wander. But the sun shone warm out here and the sky echoed blue against the sea and Castle Keyvnor was such a brooding, gloomy place. Tamsyn’s papa said it was their duty to visit, however, as he stood to inherit the Banfield earldom—and the castle came with it.
Such an odd, heavy sort of home. It sometimes felt as if the walls pressed down on her shoulders. The gardens were lovely, though, and as Tamsyn had just reached her fifteenth birthday, Nanny had agreed to allow her some time to spend outdoors and away from the schoolrooms and her four younger sisters.
Never would the nurse have allowed it had she known it was more than a bit of freedom that had lifted Tamsyn’s chin and set her heart to beating.
Gryff.
Mr. Gryffyn Cardew, to give him his due. She sighed. Tall and broad even at just three years older than she, he’d set her pulse to fluttering the first time they met. Apparently his family was important in local society and their land shared a narrow border with the old earl’s. They’d had a quick introduction when his father brought him along to the castle on a bit of business, and there had been an exchange of interested, lingering glances between them.
And then—an encounter in the local village of Bocka Morrow. Nanny had been in a tizzy that day, trying to get her errands accomplished with all five girls underfoot. Gryff, encountering them in the street, had offered to give the girls a tour—and Nanny had gladly accepted.
He’d taken them rambling all over the little hamlet, from the docks where the fishing boats were unloading, to the shops and even to the dimly lit apothecary where he spooked the younger girls with tales of the wizened proprietress and the odd, blue symbols etched on her fingers.
They’d met all manner of people that day, but Tamsyn never worried a moment. Gryff was as tall and sturdy as a young bull. He listened more than he spoke, although he had a dry wit. He showed a font of patience with her chattering sisters and she liked the way he greeted all and sundry with familiarity and ease.
She liked that he spent a great deal of time watching her, too. And that he answered her questions with attentive speed, and shared several more lingering glances and shy smiles as the day wore on.
“We’re to see a bit of Lord Banfield’s tin mine tomorrow,” she’d told him before they exchanged farewells—and thank heavens, he’d heard the invitation that she didn’t dare speak outright. For when they’d left the mine, there he’d come, riding along the coastal track when they headed home. He’d climbed down and walked with them, and if Nanny had glanced askance when they dropped back behind the girls, she hadn’t objected. Tamsyn was mad for horses and had greatly admired his mount. They’d spoken of the local hunt, of racing and purebreds for all the remaining twenty minutes of the walk.
But today—today was the most thrilling of all. A note had been left at her plate at breakfast. An invitation. He wished to show her a pretty spot in the woods, an ancient barrow where it was rumored the pixies danced on the night of the full moon.
She’d shivered. Was it odd to find the thought of a raised earthen burial mound romantic? She didn’t care. Tamsyn had tucked the note away before anyone saw and had spent the morning aquiver with excitement. Even now, moving through the formal gardens toward the distant path he’d indicated, the structured elegance was lost on her. She could only think of his broad shoulders, his large hands, those dark eyes and the wa
y the sun shadowed his angled jaw and got lost in the depths of his dark hair.
She had to pay attention, however, as she moved farther away from the main grounds. Only a narrow strip of Cardew lands bordered the earl’s, and her destination lay on that edge.
* * *
Take the path by the gnarled oak
* * *
Tamsyn had seen it once before, in her wanderings. She’d caught a glimpse of a young boy a few days ago, and followed his enchanting giggle through the gardens. She’d called to him, but he’d merely laughed and ran on. She’d lost him near just such a tree, but had feared following him and getting turned around in the forest beyond.
She felt only anticipation now, though. And there was no sign of the boy or anyone else when she reached the tree. She took the chance, therefore, to stop and adjust her bodice.
Her walking dress was new—and marvelous. A bit lower cut than her usual gowns, it made her feel quite grown up. Which was why she’d worn it, even though the special stays she’d had made for it had somehow been left behind in Truro. She’d just made a few modifications—with the help of a couple of old lace-trimmed handkerchiefs she’d found in her bedchamber. As long as she kept to a careful and sedate pace, no one would ever know. And if there was a bit of a padded effect to that which had nature endowed her in that area—then so much the better.
With a final tug, she touched a twisted branch as she ducked past the tree and stepped into the dappled beauty of the forest beyond.
How lovely it was. Wild in comparison to the well-groomed paths she’d left and full of birdsong and the hum of insects. Everything shone in varied shades of green, lit by an occasional golden shaft of sun.