by Kate Pearce
Oh, if only Westbury would find true love then Holly could relax and seek someone for herself, and Redgrave was the exact person she’d want to attract. Not that he’d ever hold any true interest in her. After all, he was a viscount, whereas she was the orphan of a baron, the title extinguished with the death of her brother. Perhaps the attraction existed. Perhaps that was the reason he always sought her out at balls. But he’d never allow himself to seriously pursue someone so far beneath him.
As much as she wished to hear what they were saying, Holly couldn’t understand one word. With an inward sigh, she turned away from the vardo and stepped out to look beyond the Gypsy camp. The taste and smell of the sea was on her lips and it only made her long for her manor even more. In warmer weather, she often walked down to the beach where she could dip her toes in the water. Perhaps next summer she’d be free to do so again.
The talisman must work, because once Westbury was settled, she’d then prevail upon him to let her return to her home where she might live in peace and design gowns.
How was Miss Prescott the interference, and what must Westbury come to on his own? Was the talisman similar to the emerald that had once been given to Charlotte? Was it to help Westbury realize that Miss Prescott was his love?
Those were the questions Anthony wanted to ask, but he wasn’t certain he wished to know the answer.
“Why have you not married?” Madam Boswell asked once they were alone.
Anthony blinked at her. It really was none of her concern.
“Your mother is concerned and it is time.”
Anthony blew out a sigh. “I know it is, but I’ve yet to meet the right miss.” Actually, one miss interested him very much, and she stood just outside of the wagon, but unfortunately, Miss Prescott was in love with someone else—the Duke of Westbury.
The Gypsy grabbed Anthony’s hand and then pressed a dead plant into it. “That is why you will carry this.”
Anthony looked down. The leaves were brown, with white berries, dried and shriveled. “How can dead mistletoe help?” Not that he didn’t trust Madam Boswell, but a dead plant? Was there not a pouch he could wear around his neck or a gem that glowed?
“This will lead you to the path of true love.”
“How, exactly?”
“As you near the path, the berries will ripen and the leaves become supple and green. When you stray from the path, it will return to its dead state.”
“So, I’m to carry a dead plant in my pocket?” Lord, he hoped he wasn’t required to wear it, or something equally embarrassing.
“Yes.”
Anthony studied it, afraid the leaves would crumble before they ever had a chance to turn green. “I didn’t realize you dealt in magic.”
The old woman smiled as she quietly cackled, revealing crooked and darkened teeth. “Your mother came to me after Charlotte and Adam’s wedding. I, in turn, visited the witches for the enchantment.”
Ah, so it wasn’t only Gypsy but Wiccan magic as well. “The path to my true love, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” He carefully placed the sprig in his coat pocket.
“I knew you’d accept it readily, though your mother feared you might not.”
Anthony found himself smiling this time. “It’s not that I’m against finding a wife. I balk at my mother’s matchmaking. However, if this works as well as the emerald you allowed Charlotte to borrow, I have no argument in letting it assist me in my task.”
“You are a wise gentleman, Redgrave.” She began to usher him from the vardo. “Unlike your friend outside.”
Anthony wanted to object as Dallimore was more of an acquaintance than friend.
“Well?” his mother asked as he assisted Madam Boswell down the steps.
“You’ve gotten your wish, Mother,” Anthony answered. “No need to fret any further.”
“What? Have you been given a charm or talisman as well?” Dallimore asked in humor.
Definitely not a friend, and more likely foe if the mistletoe began to ripen around Miss Prescott.
“Something to assist me in a quest.” Was all Anthony would offer. Though he might believe in the magic, it wouldn’t do to have word get out that he was carrying around a dead plant in hopes it would lead him to a wife.
“You.” Madam Boswell pointed to Dallimore. “Into my vardo. Lord Redgrave will see Miss Prescott back to the castle.”
The color drained from Dallimore’s cheeks. He might be dismissive of ghosts and magic, but there was real fear in his eyes when facing Madam Boswell.
“Go on,” Anthony instructed. “It will be my pleasure to escort Miss Prescott.” Especially if such escort did not include his mother or Charlotte.
“We shall see you later on, dear,” his mother said. “Charlotte and I are going to visit for a bit.”
Anthony nearly snorted. So much for a lady always needing an escort. He should have seen through the ruse before he ever left Hollybrook. Yet how could he be angry when he was coming away with something to help him find a wife? Not to mention, he’d now have Miss Prescott to himself for a bit. In fact, matters were taking a most definite turn for the better, even if it required him to enter that damned haunted castle.
Chapter 4
Ever since she spied Redgrave during her first Season, Holly had waited for a time when they could be alone, and not surrounded by others in a ballroom, picnic, or any other gathering they’d both attended. Now he was offering his arm to escort her back to Keyvnor, but she pushed down the giddiness that threatened to erupt from inside. It wasn’t as if he had a choice since he was practically ordered to do so, but she wouldn’t think on that now. Instead, for this short time, Holly had Redgrave all to herself and it was suddenly a beautiful day. Not that it had been dull before, as the sky was clear and the sun shone brightly, but before she’d encountered Lord Redgrave, it had been rather cold. Now she was quite warm and wished the walk back to the castle wasn’t so short.
Except, she couldn’t think of a single word to say.
Well, she could, but she wouldn’t voice the one pressing matter on her mind—what was his quest and what had Madam Boswell given him? Was it similar to the talisman she’d been given for Ethan? All she could decipher was that his mother had arranged for whatever he needed.
Puzzling indeed, and apparently his sister was aware as well since she didn’t seem surprised in the least.
The awkwardness of their silence was beginning to wear on her. Holly had never been very good at making polite conversation, yet she’d never suffered the same difficulty when they talked in London. Perhaps it was because they were so alone and the freedom to say what she wished, without the fear of being overheard, had left her tongue-tied. Oh, why couldn’t she have the same confidence as Ivy, who commanded the attention of those in her presence and could carry a conversation on almost any topic? Then again, Ivy was the sister of a duke and had been raised in a manner to conduct herself with confidence, unlike Holly who’d spent the first sixteen years of her life in a quiet manor by the sea, unaccustomed to gentry, even if her brother was a baron.
As they reached the bend in the road, Redgrave stopped and turned to her. “Forgive me, but I must know what you requested of Madam Boswell.”
“A talisman for protection,” she willingly answered.
Redgrave frowned. “I gathered that it was for someone else. You are not in danger?”
His concern was so heartwarming and she almost wished she were if it meant he’d decide to protect her. “Not at all. It is for my guardian.”
“His Grace is in danger? Has one of the ghosts sought to do him harm?”
Light lit inside. Redgrave believed in the ghosts, which was a definite relief since Oliver had dismissed the possibility all together.
“Not that I’m aware, but I’ve only encountered a few and they seem quite pleasant.”
“A few?” he sputtered. “Pleasant?”
While Redgrave may believe, he seemed to be doubti
ng her at the moment.
“I did not have the same experience when I was at Keyvnor a few months back.”
Alarm shot through her. Were there evil ghosts about as well? Ones that she’d not encountered? “Did they try to harm you?”
“My sister, and it was only one, but I don’t believe he will bother you.”
Holly wasn’t quite certain how to interpret his response. Was it because she wasn’t as beautiful as Lady Lynwood? Or too tall perhaps?
“A Baron Tyrell,” Redgrave explained. “Charlotte is the exact image of a love who rejected him, whom I understood he killed.”
A shiver ran up Holly’s spine.
“Marriage to Lynwood was the only way to save her.”
Holly felt her eyes widen. “Goodness.”
“There were a few harrowing days.”
“I can’t begin to imagine.” Holly brought a hand to her throat
“I’m certain there are friendly spirits within Keyvnor, but do take care.”
Holly gulped. “I promise. I will.”
Redgrave drew his eyebrows together and frowned as he studied her. “If His Grace isn’t in danger, why did you need something to protect him?”
“From untrustworthy and conniving females.”
Anthony nearly choked at her response. It was not what he was expecting.
On second thought, perhaps it was. “I’m not sure I understand.” Was it to repel all females that weren’t her?
Miss Prescott blew out a sigh. “Being a duke, all manner of women are attracted to Westbury in hopes of becoming his duchess.”
It rather was the way of things.
“Without any regard for Ethan, the person,” she finished with irritation. “Just because he is a duke does not mean he doesn’t deserve love as well.”
And there was the crux of the matter. Miss Prescott loved the Duke of Westbury and he either did not return the affection, or hadn’t noticed her regard of him.
“I just don’t understand why I must keep my distance.” She blew out a frustrated breath.
Perhaps it was because she wasn’t meant to be with Westbury, though Anthony wouldn’t voice his thoughts because he had no wish to hurt her.
“I’ve watched over him for the past three years to make sure he wasn’t trapped into a miserable marriage and now I’m supposed to take a step back?”
“Madam Boswell did provide a talisman to protect Westbury,” Anthony reminded her, but he was no longer certain as to the purpose. Was it to protect him from other ladies so that he’d be free to pursue Miss Prescott when he finally did realize that she was the one who loved him, or was it to act as a love charm, similar to the emerald that Charlotte had carried this past autumn? “How is it supposed to work?”
Miss Prescott drew a small leather pouch from her pocket. It looked much like the one Charlotte had carried to keep Baron Tyrell from her person. If the one Miss Prescott now carried was as powerful as the one Charlotte had nestled in her bosom, then it would do the job for which it was intended.
“Ethan will know that he has found his love when his fingers tingle when they touch.” Miss Prescott frowned.
“If his fingers do not tingle then the miss is not for him?”
“Apparently.” She shoved the talisman back in her pocket. “His pulse is supposed to increase as well.”
“You must trust that it will work.” Anthony assured her, and prayed that Westbury’s fingers did not tingle or that his pulse would not race when he touched Miss Prescott, though Anthony did not like to think of them touching at all, under any circumstance.
“I just hope he takes it and keeps it on his person since I must keep my distance from now on.”
“You don’t think he will?”
“I’m not so certain he believes in magic or ghosts.”
Anthony offered his arm once more and they continued on their walk back to the castle. “If he does not believe you, I’ll have a word with him.”
Miss Prescott’s eyes brightened as she smiled. “You would do that for me?”
Anthony would do just about anything for her. “Of course.”
Miss Prescott studied him with her light blue eyes. “I’ve told you why I visited the gypsy. Will you tell me about your quest?”
Anthony fingered the mistletoe in his left pocket, hoping to feel the berries ripen but they felt as dead as they had been when Madam Boswell had given it to him. “Something similar to what you’ve obtained for Westbury,” he answered uncomfortably. “My mother fears my bachelor state and asked Madam Boswell for an enchantment.”
Her eyes widened as a smile pulled at her lips.
“The witches actually enchanted the thing, but I will carry it to make my mother happy.” It made him content as well since he did trust in the magic, but was uncomfortable admitting to such. Doing a mother’s bidding was acceptable to most, especially when it was as simple as carrying a dead plant in one’s pocket.
“What is it?” she asked. “Do you mind showing me?”
Oh, why hadn’t the gypsy given him a pouch like everyone else? Anthony pulled the sprig of mistletoe from his pocket and his heart sank when not one berry had begun to brighten, nor had a leaf started to turn green. No matter how much he may have wished it, Miss Prescott was not for him.
Which was probably for the best, he reminded himself, since she was in love with the duke. No gentleman wanted a wife who was in love with another man.
“What is dead mistletoe supposed to do?” she asked with a frown.
“It’s supposed to come alive when I’m on the path to my true love.”
Miss Prescott gently touched the leaves with a gloved finger, as if she were afraid they would crumble. “It is very dead,” she muttered.
Did he hear disappointment in her tone? Or, did he only wish he heard disappointment?
Chapter 5
Holly should have known that someone like Lord Redgrave was not for the likes of her, but until she studied the dead plant that refused to come alive, she’d held onto a small bit of hope. “I wish you luck in your quest, Lord Redgrave.”
“Thank you.” He slipped the very dead mistletoe back into this pocket.
Why couldn’t she believe that ghosts and magic were nothing but stuff and nonsense like Oliver? Then she’d dismiss the dead plant and still have hope. But she did believe and had been unprepared for the deep ache that developed when the leaves did not respond to her touch.
“The others have gathered in the drawing room for tea,” the housekeeper advised as they entered the castle.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bray,” Lord Redgrave acknowledged as he led Holly down the corridor.
“There are many misses here already, perhaps the mistletoe will ripen this afternoon,” she suggested hopefully, though in her heart she yearned for it to remain dead.
“Perhaps,” Redgrave offered with little enthusiasm. “But, if you will, could we keep the matter of my mistletoe between us for now?”
She blinked up at him. “Of course.” Holly well knew, or at least could assume, the type of reaction most would have. Those, like Oliver, who dismissed the ghosts would consider Redgrave a fool, and others who feared the ghosts might very well flee if they believed other magical elements were at work as well.
“Well, here we are,” she whispered as they paused at the threshold to the drawing room. On one settee was Lady Ivy and her cousin, Miss Frances Dallimore. Beside them in a chair was Lady Faye Bryant. In fact, there were many misses in the room. “Maybe your destined love awaits inside.” Though in her heart of hearts, Holly prayed the mistletoe wouldn’t ripen until Redgrave had returned to his home, or London, so she would not have to witness him falling in love with another woman.
“Yes, well….” Redgrave cleared his throat as if suddenly uncomfortable. “Let’s see, shall we?”
Holly noted that he slipped his hand into his left pocket as they stepped into the drawing room. Oh, please don’t let those berries ripen.
As they took a
turn about the room, stopping to speak with those gathered, she watched for a reaction from Redgrave. Either he’d not noticed a change, or he was careful not to reveal it to her. By the time they returned to where they’d started, they’d been near every single woman in the room.
“Well?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing.” Redgrave frowned.
Her heart gave a flip of useless hope, but Holly schooled her features. “Well, these are only a portion of the guests, many more will be arriving over the next few days so do not lose heart.”
Redgrave turned to her. “I won’t, but the reaction is not what I’d hoped for.”
Of course it wasn’t. If he was truly ready to wed, and if he was like most gentlemen, once the decision was made, he’d be ready for it to be done. However, she hoped the mistletoe never changed and he might focus on her.
Defeated! At least that was the emotion churning in Anthony’s stomach. Perhaps loss, disappointment, and frustration. He should have known that the leaves wouldn’t turn green for Miss Prescott, as she loved someone else, but he had still hoped. However, he wasn’t disappointed that the dead plant didn’t react to any of the other misses either. He was already acquainted with most of the misses taking tea and none had interested him even half as much as the miss who had accompanied him back from the gypsy camp.
Damn and blast! He didn’t wanted anyone else but Miss Prescott. For the past three years Anthony had made it a point to remain open to the idea of love, marriage and a wife. He knew what was required of him, even if there was no rush. In all that time, only one miss drew him back time and time again by her beauty, kind smile and warm blue eyes—Miss Holly Prescott. And no matter how much he tried to forget her, Anthony had not been able to.
Even though she’d not be his, Anthony was determined to make the best of this wedding holiday. With any luck, the mistletoe wouldn’t spring to life, and he’d be able to spend all of his time with Miss Prescott, no matter how futile it might be.