Fair Maiden

by Cheri Schmidt

  “No, not again,” Christian muttered as he took pursuit. “Please don’t be frightened! She is gentle. I must know her name.”

  Tabitha halted at his words and spun to face him. “I will not speak her name!”

  “Then you must know it! I’ll double your fee. Please—”

  Jackson made a gurgling choking sound, but when she glanced toward him, he looked all right.

  Silencing Christian with one palm shoved in his direction, Tabitha spoke, ignoring his questions about her name all together, “And I am not frightened of her, I know she is harmless, but she is in danger! You do not need my aid! Faeries would be of more use to you than me. Good day, my lord!”

  “How is she in danger? Please, Tabitha!”

  “I must leave.” And with that, the witch jumped into a run for the door. In her haste, her shawl slipped from her shoulders just before she quickly tugged it back into place.

  “But don’t you want your fee?” Christian called out, running after the woman who was moving rather quickly for an elderly lady.

  “Pay me when you marry,” she threw back.

  “Excuse me?” But she left without another reply. “What did she mean by that?” Christian asked as he skidded to a halt in front of his door just as it was slammed shut. He wrenched it open and continued to look for the woman, but she’d vanished.

  As Christian reentered, Jackson stepped forward. “Was she suggesting that you two would wed?” Jackson asked. “Or just in general?”

  “I…” Christian looked at her, and she knew her efforts to hide the sadness overtaking her was not working. “I don’t know. And what was that bit about faeries?”

  “I do not believe they exist. Chris, you’ve exhausted enough of your time and funds for this folly—”

  “Jackson!”

  When she began to back away, Christian leapt toward her and attempted to capture her arm, then spoke abruptly when that failed, “No, please, princess, do not flee. Please.”

  But her thoughts would not stop so she could not either. She’d realized she would have accepted a proposal from him even though she had not known him for very long. Was that because she was a complete fool? Or was it because things in her day were done that way? She really wished the witch had not put the idea in her head at all! She could never have him! A dead girl could never wed a living man! Yet she wanted it. Desperately. And hated herself for it.

  He stepped toward her again; she drifted back in equal measure.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “We came so close to finding out who you are. She knew your name, yet would not tell us. It’s just so infuriating!”

  Staying here and looking at his handsome face was simply too much, and she continued to drift backward watching his expression change.

  “Don’t go. Stay,” he whispered.

  Shaking her head, she dropped her gaze and did not stop until after she’d drifted through the wall. She was unable to help the tears that stood in her eyes and remained unwilling to face him for fear of letting him see what she was feeling, what she was wishing….

  The next morning she noticed him seated on the grass under the big willow tree situated at the far corner of the garden. Reading. His face turned up suddenly, he looked directly at her, and smiled. She had no clue how he’d been able to sense her presence already.

  “Come, darling, sit with me.”

  She found herself moving toward him without first giving herself permission to do so. It seemed she could not resist him, even against her better judgment.

  Any willpower she might have had further weakened because he looked particularly dashing this morning. His hair looked rather mussed as though he’d been worrying his fingers through it for hours, and his clothes were partially undone. He wore a white shirt and a gray…what had he called it? A tie? But the top three buttons of the shirt were open and the tie hung untied around his neck slanting down either side of his chest. It seemed he’d slept in his attire from the previous day.

  “I’ve been up all night researching faeries,” he said as she hovered above him. “Darling, do they exist?”

  Hmm, she thought, apparently he had slept in that, or rather, spent the wee hours of the night in those rumpled black leggings and that odd tunic.

  “I-I do not know,” she replied unwilling to meet his gaze.

  He patted the grass next to him, and whilst nibbling her lip, she lowered to the spot of green there.

  Still keeping her eyes from his, she considered his book, which he’d closed but kept his thumb in it to hold his place.

  One word sprawled across the cover. Faeries.

  “Have you found anything?”

  With a crackling sound from the spine, Christian tossed the book back open. “We came so close to solving this mystery. Yet this was the only lead she’d offered. These little sprites must be dripping with magic. I’m certain they could help you, if only we could find them.”

  She stared at the illustrations of little people with butterfly wings sprouting from their backs, and little antenna protruding from the tops of their tiny heads. “I truly do not expect you to labor so diligently for me, or spend your gold on me. I can see it is hopeless.”

  “I don’t think it’s hopeless.”

  “How? Or rather, why do you care?”

  He stammered before responding and reached for her hand again, watching as his fingers drifted through hers. “I care. Isn’t that enough?”

  She suspected he did not share all he was thinking, mainly because of the tone of his voice that said as much. And the foolish hopes from last night slammed into her again. Was he hoping for the same? The idea really did not help to smother her unattainable fantasies.

  “Princess?”

  She lifted her eyes to his and wished she had not done so, because she was instantly lost in the rich brown flecks of those warm orbs. Her gaze slid over his smiling lips and that dimple she so loved before returning to his eyes.

  “Rest your lovely head here, on my lap.” He shoved the book to the ground, clearing a spot. Not that it would have mattered, either way she would not be able to feel what lay beneath her.

  Whilst she did as he’d instructed she troubled over the fact that she would most likely regret this. Getting closer to him, getting to know him better.

  She barely stifled a gasp when she looked up at the earl and saw him peering down at her with his mouth cocked into a smile that reached right through her and twisted her soul. His hand was moving over her hair and he looked as though he wished to feel it. To distract herself, she lifted her gaze to the willow swaying in the breeze above him. A cloudy sky peeked through the many branches and leaves.

  “What time of year is it? What is the weather like?” she asked, wondering if it was warm or cool.

  “It’s early June, and a little muggy, but a bit nippy here in the shade. I like to be cold, but you’d have goose bumps along your arms and I’d feel the need to warm you.” The tips of his fingers traveled the length of one arm as he spoke.

  His brows pulled together. “Why are you warm? I feel heat when I touch your image, but I thought—”

  “I do not know the answer to that,” she mumbled, distracted by the way the wind toyed with his brown curls and how the light seemed to join in by bouncing from the burnished strands back at her. She’d give almost anything to be able to touch it and know if it was as soft as it looked.

  “What happens when you touch me?” he asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

  She reached up still imagining the texture of his hair and ran her fingers through it, literally, then trailed them down along the side of his cheek. He closed his eyes and drew in a breath.

  “Could you feel that?” she asked, because she could not feel much more than that faint spark-like sensation she’d experienced before.

  “I feel the heat, and energy, but nothing solid. It’s almost like being kissed by a hot breeze.”

  Christian lifted his hand to her lips and traced over the outline with a fing
ertip. “Do you feel that?” he asked.

  “I do not get to feel the heat you describe, but there is a sense of energy, though nothing more.”

  “Where do you go when you retire?”

  She hesitated before she said, “My chamber. Well, I believe it is my chamber. I feel as though I belong there, even considering the fact that it does not seem familiar. I wonder sometimes if I have simply been sleeping for so long I cannot remember.”

  “Perhaps.” He measured her expression for a moment longer whilst he continued to caress her face and then asked, “Would you show it to me?”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, my lord, but there is a solicitor calling.”

  She jumped at the sound of the butler’s voice, and watched Christian’s dimple disappear from his cheek. “Might we continue this later, my darling?” he said to her.

  “Yes, of course,” she replied. Sitting upright, she watched them enter the castle.

  Her gaze shifted to the cover of the book he’d left behind. It followed her mental command, opening to reveal the page Christian had been studying.

  A word that was not printed here came to mind. Fey. With her eyebrows pulling together, she puzzled over where the idea had come from. Were fey a sort of faerie? Without knowing why she thought so, her eyes shifted to the flowers in the garden. Is that where they dwell? Rising from the grass, she moved to the blooms.

  There were no winged creatures there except for insects, and she decided now was as good a time as any to further explore the grounds.

  Chapter 6

  Conflict of Interest

  “I believe it is about your allowance,” said Jackson as he reached for the door handle to the study.

  “Finally I’ll be able to afford more servants and be able to properly maintain this castle.”

  Jackson said nothing more as he swung the door open and they entered the room.

  “Lord Krestly,” the black-haired solicitor said as he stood to greet them. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Leeraby. Pray I hope you come with good news,” Christian said, settling into his favorite, overstuffed chair. He motioned for Leeraby to retake his seat.

  “I do. I think you will be quite pleased, indeed,” replied Leeraby as he sat and slid papers from a leather case. “I’ve gained the conditions your father set for you to receive a goodly portion of your allowance.”

  A goodly portion? thought Christian. He’d been under the impression he would regain all of his allowance with an increase when he reached twenty-six.

  Leeraby dropped the papers onto the desk in front of Christian. “Your parents are quite keen on seeing their grandchildren. So to motivate you to hurry things along, they would like you to marry, at which point, you will receive the considerable sum that is noted here.” He tapped his index finger on the amount scripted on the bottom of the first page. “Then when you beget an heir, you will receive the increase.”

  Christian couldn’t get his brain to un-seize. Yes, he had wanted to marry, but now, with her, he wasn’t so fond of the idea. “Married? Please tell me you’re joking. I have not been courting anyone as of late. It will take time for me to find,” he paused, “a suitable wife. And I’m in need of the funds now.”

  It was as if he’d said absolutely nothing. “Oh, and before I forget, your mother sent along some invitations to the upcoming balls.” Which Leeraby deposited next to the paperwork. “There are many fine young ladies coming out for the Season. I hear the prospects are absolutely delightful for the new countess.”

  “You look like a fish with your mouth gaping like that, my lord,” Jackson said.

  Christian snapped his lips together. But he couldn’t stop the images of her from consuming him. The very thought of marriage brought her to the forefront, and he couldn’t picture himself with anyone else. Certainly not one of the snotty little chits that he’d met the last time he waded through the haute ton.

  Yet…the lovely ghost was not truly available. His eyes landed on the pile of invitations and he knew that a sneer of disgust had taken to his mouth with simply the thought of attending those soirées.

  He launched from his chair and began an angry path to the window. One fist landed on the frame as he looked out onto the landscape. How could his parents do this to him? They knew he was in need, that he didn’t have the funds necessary to run Krestly Castle. And now this! This foul manipulation of his rights! It was likely another one of his father’s tests, meant to distress him, and force him to prove himself. Blast that man!

  “Well, I see you’re feeling overwhelmed. I will be on my way,” Leeraby said, as he gave Christian a hardy pat on the back and then his footfalls were heard retreating to the door.

  “I’ll see you out, Mr. Leeraby,” said Jackson.

  When Jackson returned, Christian listened to the old man sift through the invitations. He didn’t look up until the man said, “Ah, there is to be a ball at the Brenton’s Manor. That should be a lovely evening.”

  Christian couldn’t hold back his irritation with this injustice any longer. “I could never be so cruel! Do you not see what this means?”

  “This means you will have the funds you need, and please your parents with an heir.”

  “No, it quite simply does not! She’ll be forced to witness all of the things she cannot have. Jackson, she’ll be devastated. I can’t do that to her.”

  “Perhaps we could help send her to Heaven—”

  “No, Jackson!” Christian left the window, stomped back to the desk, and while emitting a low growl, shot out his hand and knocked the colorful missives to the floor. He didn’t want her to leave, but said, “She is trapped here, she cannot move on. I believe she would have gone to Heaven by now if she could have. She is not a haunted soul. I do not know what keeps her here.”

  “But you must try—”

  “Stop!”

  “I’m sorry, Chris, but this is what’s best for you. You must find a bride to resume collecting an allowance, and you know that you cannot marry the specter. If you wait for what you can never have you will lose the castle!”

  “Leave me, Jackson, I wish to speak of this no longer.”

  “Might I bring you some tea, or warmed milk?”

  “No!” Christian snapped and then struggled to calm his tone. “Please, leave me be,” he muttered softly.

  Jackson moaned, rolled his eyes, and shuffled from the room as fast as his geriatric legs could carry him.

  A few minutes after that, Christian sensed her when she entered his study. He looked up.

  “How do you do that?” she asked, with a charming look of surprise rounding her enchanting green eyes. “I know I did not make any noise, yet you knew whence I came.”

  “I suppose I could feel your presence.”

  “Did all go well with the solicitor?”

  He knew his nod was sharp and hoped that she couldn’t sense the tension that innocent question stirred within him.

  “What is a solicitor? It sounds familiar.”

  “A lawyer who deals with legal papers. Land and such.” Christian ignored the fact that she still looked confused and endeavored to change the subject, “Did you have a good time in the gardens?”

  “Yes, the wildflowers where the horses graze are lovely.” She hesitated, then added, “I only wish I could smell them, or pluck them and experience the texture. And,” she tipped her chin up, “I looked for faeries, but I saw naught.”

  He could not miss the note of hope in her tone, but his had faltered with this new development, this new demand from his father. It would crush her if she knew, so he decided that he would not share it.

  Unable to face her, he rubbed his throbbing temples and closed his eyes, then choked when he looked up again and saw her reading one of the ball invitations. She’d lifted it from the floor telepathically and had opened it. The lavender paper hovered about two feet away from her face as she perused the words.

  “Tell me about the balls in London. Wh
at are they like?”

  He swallowed. “Surely you had balls in your day.”

  “Aye, I believe so, but I would think they are different now than they were then.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “And I would guess the dances are different, too?”

  “I would deduce the same.”

  “Would you show me?”

  Was there not anything he could deny her? Well, besides this distressing expectation from his father—apparently not, because he found himself moving automatically to the gramophone to put on some music, and give it a few cranks. While he did that, he determined he would fight this marriage demand for as long as he could.

  As the intricate melody of a Viennese Waltz began to fill the room he reached for her hand, and then drew back when he saw the look on her face.

  “What manner of sorcery is that?” she asked, staring at the gramophone with rounded green eyes.

  He laughed, surprised at himself for taking this luxury for granted. “There is no magic to it. Here, let me show you.” He stopped the music to demonstrate more slowly how it worked. He lifted the record and then set it back down, cranked the handle a few more times, and then let it start up again.

  She was hovering at the end of the horn where the sound comes out, listening with a mystified look touching every aspect of her expression. She reached out and tried to feel the vibrations of the melody, then turned her face to peer into the horn. “But where are the minstrels? There is not enough room for normal sized men. Are they tiny? Like faeries?”

  Another laugh burst past his lips, louder this time. She stood upright, looking, for all the world, confused as to why he found it humorous. “It’s a recording of minstrel’s music. They aren’t actually inside the box.”

  The way her brows drew together, and the way her lips tipped down at the corners, he could see she still had no idea what he meant. He stopped the music again and lifted the record for her to look at it, pointing out the grooves circling the round, flat surface. “Musicians play their music and then the sound is transferred to this.”

  “How do they do that?” she asked airily and slowly, annunciating each word.