All Hallows' Eve Collection

by Sarah M. Eden

  Her mind reeled. She had a father. She’d had a mother. She’d had grandparents.

  “When your mother died giving birth to you, I hadn’t considered another possibility to join the families.” Belrose leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. “But now we can break the curse.”

  Joan simply stared at him.

  “Tonight you will marry Simon Rousseau,” he said in a low, urgent tone, “for tomorrow is All Hallows’ Eve.”

  Chapter Six

  Simon reined his horse to a slow canter as he approached his stables. The sun had set, and he’d stayed out far longer than he’d intended. He could blame Joan for that— they’d only spoken for a few moments, if that— but thoughts of her had continued long after she left.

  Perhaps in the light of the morning, he would come to his senses. She had looked like some sort of ethereal being, and, if he hadn’t known she was real, he might have thought he’d completely imagined meeting her.

  Simon entered the stable, where the groomsman waited. “Jacques, there you are.”

  “There you are,” Jacques said. If their relationship was more formal, Jacques would have sounded cheeky. But the old man had worked at the estate for as long as Simon could remember.

  The other horses in the stable went on alert as Simon approached. He was proud of his growing collection and had been breeding the horses for the past couple of years. He hoped to restore his ancestors’ former prestige in fine horse breeding. So Jacques had never been busier, and he’d even hired on more stable boys.

  “Out late today?” Jacques asked.

  “I rode longer than expected.” Simon’s stomach felt small and tight. “And now I’m starving.”

  Jacques gave a rumbling laugh. “I’m sure ol’ Mrs. Mauriac is already reheating your supper, counting the moments it will take for you to walk from the stables to the main house.”

  “That she is,” Simon agreed. Madame Mauriac had also been working at the Rousseau estate since before Simon could remember.

  “She’s been a bit on edge this evening,” Jacques said.

  “Oh?” Simon asked. And, for a moment, Simon wondered how Jacques could know so much about what went on at the house. But that was the way of servants: they always seemed to know everything.

  “Tomorrow is All Hallows’ Eve, you know,” Jacques said, his tone ominous.

  Five years before, Simon’s uncle had passed away on All Hallows’ Eve. And by the look in Jacques’s eyes, Simon could see that the servants had spent the day, if not weeks and months, speculating on who would be next.

  “I’m healthier than any horse in this stable,” Simon declared. “Don’t you worry about me. If anyone will die, it’ll be old man Belrose.” He gave a dry laugh, but it didn’t sound right, or feel right, to joke about the curse.

  Jacques looked down at the dirt-packed floor.

  They both knew that if tomorrow Simon was fine and Belrose was fine, the curse would reach someone else. Perhaps Jacques, who was getting on in years, or even Madame Mauriac, who’d complained recently of mysterious pains.

  The sound of an approaching carriage drew Simon’s attention. He exited the stables to see a bulky black carriage lumbering toward his house. Before Simon could reach the house, the carriage came to a stop. A tall man stepped out, his shoulders narrowed with age, but Simon would know him anywhere.

  Belrose.

  Simon’s heart quickened as he strode toward Belrose, whose cool blue eyes studied him as he approached. Simon had heard of Belrose’s accident and was surprised that the man was out and about.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Simon asked, although he could very well guess that the man’s unexpected visit had something to do with the impending All Hallows’ Eve.

  “There’s no time to waste,” Belrose said, his voice low and scratchy with age. “Tonight, we will break the curse.”

  Simon couldn’t help but stare at him. He’d only crossed paths with Belrose a handful of times, and it hadn’t been for many years now. Was this just another of his rumored eccentric episodes?

  “And how are we to do that?” Simon asked, folding his arms.

  Belrose stepped closer and pointed a long finger at him. “You will marry my daughter.”

  “Your what?”

  “Sophia Rousseau said the curse would only be broken when our two estates are joined by marriage,” Belrose said in a flat tone. “My solicitor is drawing up the papers now, and the special license for the marriage should arrive any moment.” He narrowed his piercing gaze. “Surely, you didn’t think you’d marry for love.”

  Simon shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts. “You have a daughter?”

  It was only then that Belrose looked away, and Simon saw something flit across his face— was it doubt? Or regret?

  “She has been... away for many years. Since the death of my wife.”

  Simon exhaled. “And what does your daughter think of marrying me to break the family curse?”

  Belrose’s hard gaze shot to Simon. “She will do as I ask.”

  For some reason, the image of Joan flitted through Simon’s mind. He thought of their simple conversation that afternoon and how the sun’s rays had danced across her pale skin. Of how her cheeks had flushed when he teased her. Of how his aunt would be mortified that he’d entertained any thoughts whatsoever about an orphaned peasant girl.

  But now, he looked into the icy blue of Belrose’s eyes, and knew... knew that family members had died prematurely because of the curse. Physicians might be able to explain away their causes of death. But, when Simon’s uncle had died by choking on a piece of meat nearly five years ago to the day, Simon had felt that his days were numbered and that he couldn’t possibly subject an innocent woman to the curse from marrying into his family. Her very life would be in peril.

  If he but married Belrose’s daughter, the curse could be stopped once and for all. It would only take the sacrifice of two members of the families... then come what may. Simon let out a slow breath. “I’ll do it, Monsieur Belrose. I’ll marry your daughter to break the curse.”

  A smile crossed Belrose’s face, and Simon suspected that it was a rare thing for the old man to smile. But just as quickly, the man’s face straightened. “You will travel with me in my carriage. We cannot waste another moment, and I do not want to risk you changing your mind.”

  Simon then realized that he was looking into the face of a man who was afraid of his own mortality. How much grief this man must have faced when his wife died on All Hallows’ Eve so many years before. Then, with each passing year, he must have wondered if he would be struck down next. Perhaps Belrose was not so eccentric after all.

  Simon glanced down at his clothes. He supposed that any young woman who was willing to marry a stranger sight unseen would probably forgive him for not donning wedding clothes. Not that he had any wedding clothing available per se, but he’d have to arrive at the Belrose place in his riding clothes.

  He climbed into the Belrose carriage and sat upon the dark velvet cushions. As the carriage traveled, Simon closed his eyes. What if the curse couldn’t be broken? What if there wasn’t a curse at all, but just horrible ironic coincidences of people dying every five years?

  But Simon was already on his way, and the fear in Belrose’s eyes had been the same fear in Simon’s heart. Something had to be done; something had to be tried. And Simon was willing. He just hoped that Belrose’s daughter wouldn’t be disappointed in him. Perhaps someday Simon and his wife would grow to be friends, or at least two people with a common purpose. And, if it would save lives, then what did it matter that a dream or two would be crushed?

  As they crossed the border into the Belrose estate, Simon sat straighter, gazing out the window. This land would all be his someday. The combination of the two estates would make it the largest property in the county and ideal property for raising horses. He could imagine it now— barns neatly lined up, immaculate stables, people coming from all over Europe to purchase h
is fine horses.

  The carriage rumbled to a stop, and Simon sat forward on the bench, curious about the woman he was about to meet and soon marry. Was she a good rider? Would she make a good companion?

  Monsieur Belrose exited the carriage first and led the way into his home. Simon followed, stepping into the cooling night. He passed through the front doors and gazed about. The home had seen better days. It fit every bit of Simon’s imagination of what the home of a recluse might look like. The main hall was dim and drafty, and massive tapestries of hunting scenes and shipyards adorned the walls.

  Belrose crossed the hall and opened a heavy door to the right. Simon followed and stepped into an exquisite library filled with books. A fire flickered in the grate on the opposite side of the room. Several books sat upon the credenza in the center of the room, some open, others marked with a ribbon.

  “Ah, you’ve arrived,” Belrose said to a man, who was sitting in a chair by the fire. The man rose and offered a deep bow, displaying the thinning hair atop his head. “May I introduce Monsieur Simon Rousseau.” Belrose turned to Simon. “This is Monsieur Carriveaux. He has brought the special license and will act as witness to the marriage between you and my daughter.”

  Simon grasped the man’s hand and shook it. The feel of the other man’s palm brought a sharp sense of reality of what he had committed to. As if all the men felt another presence at the same time, they turned toward the door and found a woman standing there. The shadows in the room couldn’t conceal the fairness of her skin or the lightness of her hair, nor did the shadows hide the tears in her eyes.

  “Joan?” Simon said. He didn’t realize he’d spoken her name aloud until Belrose gave him a sharp look.

  “You know my daughter?” Belrose asked.

  She was Belrose’s daughter? But she was an orphan who lived at the abbey. He looked from Belrose to Joan. The family resemblance was now unmistakable. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “I can explain,” Joan said, stepping into the room, her voice low. She cast a furtive look at her father. “I met Simon only this afternoon.” Now she was looking at Simon. “I’ve only known about my parentage for a few hours.”

  Simon tried to understand, but his thoughts were too convoluted. Belrose interjected, telling him of how the curse had taken his wife’s life and how he had been too grief-stricken to raise his daughter. Instead, he allowed the villagers to believe Joan had died as well.

  “And your name is truly Joan?” Simon asked in a quiet voice.

  “Joan Victoria Belrose,” she answered.

  Her tears had dried, but Simon could see the emotion splashed across her face. She had agreed to marry him... knowing his identity. “And you have agreed to your father’s plan?”

  She blinked rapidly. “I have, for it is the only way.”

  He barely knew the woman standing before him, but he was impressed with her willingness to sacrifice. She had just discovered her true parentage, and now she would be marrying a practical stranger.

  Simon looked over at Belrose. “I don’t have a ring.”

  Belrose gave a slight nod and crossed the room, stopping at a large cabinet. From within one of its drawers, he removed a small box. He returned with a heavy gold ring inlaid with what looked to be emeralds. “This was my wife’s,” Belrose said, handing the ring to Simon.

  Simon gazed down at the ring, feeling its weight in his hand. Then he looked up at Joan. Her expression was calm, serene. He wondered if she was truly ready to take this step. They would be married for life, and they could only hope that it would break the curse.

  Keeping his gaze on her, he sank to one knee and held out the ring. “Joan Victoria Belrose, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Joan’s eyes widened, then her face softened into the smallest of smiles. “I will.”

  He grasped her delicate hand and slid the ring onto her finger. Then he stood, still holding her hand.

  “Are you ready?” Monsieur Carriveaux asked.

  Joan nodded, so Simon answered, “Yes. Marry us, please.”

  Chapter Seven

  In any imaginings Joan had ever had of her wedding day or wedding night, she’d never imagined this. Curled up alone on a massive bed in a dark, cold room, while her new husband slept in the adjoining room on a couch.

  The fire in the Rousseau bedroom had gone out hours ago, and Joan hadn’t the heart to get up and stir it back to life. Instead, she stared at the fading embers, thinking over the events of the past day. Everything in her life had changed so suddenly after she’d met and spoken to Simon for the first time.

  She discovered she had a living father. She learned she was an heiress to the Belrose estate. And she’d married Simon Rousseau, a man who was handsome, kind, and self-sacrificing, yet a stranger in every way. The one thing she knew they had in common was their loyalty to breaking the curse.

  Joan turned on her side and saw the gray light peeking through the slivered opening of the heavy curtains. Dawn was approaching at last. The next hours would certainly be fraught with tension... as the Belrose and Rousseau families wondered if their lives would be spared after all and if the curse had truly been broken.

  She kept her gaze on the opening between the curtains. She had no idea which direction this room faced or what lay beyond the windows. Stables? Fields? A road leading to the village? But whatever was out there was her new home now. She was Mademoiselle Joan Rousseau. And once her father died and his property transferred to Simon, she would be the wealthiest woman in the village.

  And perhaps the most lonely.

  She already missed the sisters at the abbey and hoped to visit them soon. She also hoped that the curse was well and done and there would be no funerals to plan and attend. Finally, she climbed off the massive bed and crossed to the windows. Pulling one curtain open, then the other, her breath caught as she gazed out at the estate.

  She could see the abbey in the distance beyond the copse of trees she used to hide in. To the right was a series of stables that looked like they were in various states of repair, and there, not far from the stables, walked Simon, leading a horse to what looked like a fenced-in arena.

  Joan leaned her forehead against the cool glass and looked down at her husband. He walked with surety and confidence, not like a man who’d just entered into a marriage of convenience. So he wasn’t curled up on a couch, fretting and worrying about the change in direction his life had just taken.

  Yes, Joan decided, she would be his wife in name and in contract, but would he ever see her as anything more? Or did he have other women in his life, set up somewhere in Paris? Joan released a sigh, realizing again how little she truly knew about the man she’d married.

  The piercing blue eyes of her father came to her mind, and she realized that she had no idea how their relationship would be from here on out. She’d done his bidding, so now what? Would she become his beloved daughter— or a daughter he’d only reclaimed for a single purpose?

  Her eyes burned, and she blinked back the impending tears. Exhaustion swept through her body, but she wondered if she’d ever sleep a peaceful sleep again. Turning from the rising sun, she climbed back onto the bed and pulled the covers over her.

  Closing her eyes, she found herself whispering a prayer for life, for happiness, for new friendship. Were these too much to ask for?

  “Joan,” a voice said, floating through her mind. It took her a moment to realize someone was speaking to her. She must have fallen asleep at last.

  Opening her eyes, she was startled to see Simon standing next to the bed, peering down at her.

  “Joan, are you well?” he asked in a gentle tone.

  She pushed up on an elbow. The sun was high in the sky— she must have slept for hours. “I— I didn’t sleep last night. I suppose my body finally gave out.”

  He sat next to her on the bed, offering a slight smile.

  Instinctively, she drew the covers closer. A man was sitting next to her on her be
d— her husband, no less, but it was still a strange thing.

  He seemed to sense her unease, and he stood. She immediately regretted her modesty. They had not discussed consummating the marriage— did a man and woman even discuss such things?— but Joan couldn’t help wondering what his intentions were. He had every right to exercise his husbandly privileges.

  “I saw you out with the horses,” she said, then regretted it for her face immediately felt hot.

  He had turned toward the window though. Perhaps he was a man of propriety after all.

  “Training them is my indulgence.” Simon stepped closer to the windows. “With both of our properties, we can create a bit of an empire. Attract horse buyers from all over Europe.” He stopped, then turned toward her, regret on his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put our union in that light.”

  Joan drew her knees up, keeping herself completely covered. “It’s all right,” she said, knowing that this type of open communication with her husband was a good thing, even if they were speaking about hard issues, like why they had married in the first place. She met his dark eyes and felt a warm shiver travel through her. He looked exceedingly handsome this morning. He hadn’t yet shaved, and his shirt gaped at his throat, showing his tanned skin.

  “Well, here we are, both alive,” Simon said, folding his arms, his eyes questioning. “Should we check on your father?”

  Joan rested her chin on her knees. “It’s odd to hear the word father in relation to me.”

  Simon was quiet for a moment. “Do you feel cheated? I mean, you discover that you’ve had a parent all along, and now... you’re married to someone not of your choosing.”

  Joan looked away from him, knowing that her emotions would show freely upon her face. “I’ve gone over it all in my head. Why my own father would send me away, an innocent and helpless babe, and never once claim me as his own. Then we met by chance on the road... What if we hadn’t met? Would he have died today?” Her throat thickened as she said the next words. “Would you have?”