by Cate Lawley
The Goode Witch Matchmaker Collection
Four Novellas
Cate Lawley
Contents
Copyright
Bonus Content
Timely Love
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Ghostly Love
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Deathly Love
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Untitled
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Forgotten Love
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Bonus Content
Also by Cate Lawley
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 Catherine G. Cobb
Cover by www.goonwrite.com
All rights reserved.
Bonus Content
Interested in bonus content for The Goode Witch Matchmaker series? Subscribe to my newsletter to receive the series origin story, some of my Victorian-era research for Timely Love, a bonus chapter for Ghostly Love, Zelda’s favorite drink recipes from Deathly Love, and some bonus tidbits for Forgotten Love. Sign up at http://eepurl.com/bWsqXH.
Timely Love
A Sweet Paranormal Romance
For Mom
Prologue
Math. Gorgeous, fascinating, magical math. Glenda loved the word magic of spells. And working up a nicely complex potion using research, rare ingredients, and chemistry made her toes tingle. But no variety of magic quite compared to the beauty and the power of magical math.
Sparkly numbers hovered in the air, the equation lovely in its elegance and surprising in its conclusion. A man, made prisoner by his own grief, and a woman too caught up in the daily grind to look for love—not so very improbable a match. But when those two lonely souls lived more than a hundred years apart? That was an improbable match and a worthy challenge for Glenda's special matchmaking skills.
Her equation proved these two lonely souls made the perfect match. And with Glenda Goode playing matchmaker, this particular improbable match had every chance of success.
Chapter 1
Beth didn't enjoy shopping. She didn't hate it, just felt that it was a box to be ticked. She tackled grocery shopping with a list and bought most of her clothes online. Her size was always the same, she knew the styles that suited her, and her favorite brands were all available on the internet. Shopping online was efficient.
So why was she standing in a tiny shop, perusing odds and ends that had seen better days? She didn't remember what had drawn her inside, but here she was, window-shopping.
Small trinkets, old but not antique china, costume jewelry, and a feather boa wrapped around a mannequin's neck—the store was a repository for abandoned bits and pieces of people's lives, items that were no longer important or wanted. Beth frowned. She wasn't one to wax poetic, or to wallow in overwrought sentiment. Why was she even in this store? She was about to turn and leave—she really did have several errands to run today—when a bound leather volume caught her eye.
"Twenty dollars, just for you, just today." A blonde woman with an updo that managed to look both stylish and untidy at the same time peered at Beth over a pair of reading glasses. "Very handsome, and perfect for you in every way."
Beth took a discreet step back. Pushy salespeople made her uncomfortable. And handsome? A journal? Beth looked back at the leather book then frowned. It actually was handsome. Brown leather that had remained supple over time, and gold-embossed swirls. Hm. She did love old books. Not at all practical, but every woman had her weakness. Just as she was about to pick it up, the oddness of the woman's other comment hit her. Why just for her? Huh. That was too strange.
"No." Beth shook her head. With a polite smile, she said, "No thank you."
The woman handed her a card. "Just in case you change your mind. But it may not be here tomorrow."
Beth placed the card in her purse without looking at it and took another step back. "All right, then. Thank you." And before the woman could use some other pressure tactic, Beth hurried out of the store. She had errands to run, and she couldn't even remember why she'd gone into the store in the first place. So odd.
Chapter 2
"You won't believe what I bought today."
"Hm?" Beth tucked the phone tighter against her chin and read the email she'd just written. Not quite right. She cut the first sentence, softened the wording at the end…much better.
"Beth! Are you paying attention? If you need to work, we can talk later."
Beth winced. "Sorry, Hill. I'm done, promise." Beth clicked save and closed her laptop. There—now she really was done. "And I was listening. What did you buy?"
"I found this great feather boa. It's the perfect accessory for that flapper costume I have."
Hillary was well into a detailed description of the flapper costume in question and how fabulously the boa complemented it, when Beth had a strange feeling. "Did you say a coppery brown?"
"Uh-huh. It's luscious. Vintage, from the twenties, or that's what the shop lady said. But it was worth every penny, even if it is a modern reproduction. The thing is gorgeous."
"Wait, the shop lady? She didn't have blonde hair and reading glasses?"
"Blonde for sure, but I don't know about the glasses." Hillary laughed. "Why do you ask? You can't tell me you've actually been to The Goode Witch."
"Hang on." Beth swiveled in her chair and grabbed her purse off the filing cabinet behind her desk. As she dug in her purse for the card she'd stuffed into a side pocket, she said, "It's silly, really. It's just that I saw a boa like the one you're describing earlier today, when I was out running er
rands. Ha, here it is." She read off the card. "Glenda Goode, The Goode Witch, vintage costumes, jewelry, and knick-knacks." Beth snorted. "It says at the bottom, 'Where improbable matches are made.' She makes it sound like a dating service."
"Don't you dare mock. Finding the perfect accessory for a favorite outfit or a ravishing gown for a special occasion is a true art. The Goode Witch always has exceptional stock; it's a gem. I only wish there were more shops like it in town."
Hillary's impassioned speech was hardly surprising. She cobbled together a reasonable living buying clothes and accessories for private clients, putting together costumes for special events, and sharing her vast knowledge with the world via her blog and freelancing articles.
"So, you know this Glenda Goode woman?" Beth asked.
"Actually, no. She's got a few assistants that I usually deal with. I always thought she lived out of the country—maybe England? Natasha helped me today, but I did see a blonde woman in the back. I was in a rush, so it's possible she was the owner and Natasha didn't have time to introduce me. Have you developed a sudden passion for the finer things in life, little Beth?"
Hillary's teasing tone just made Beth laugh. "I'd hardly call The Goode Witch's stock 'fine.' But no, I haven't become a shopping fiend overnight. I had a strange experience there earlier today. She tried to pressure-sell me an old book."
"Darling, if that was Glenda Goode and she thought you should buy the book, you should have bought the book. She's the owner and lead buyer for the store, and she has exceptional taste." Hillary paused and Beth heard the tap of Hill's nails in the background. "Don't you think it's practically psychic that the woman recommended an old book, and you're a nut for old books? It's your one weakness. You should go back and pick it up."
"I don't know. Besides, she said it likely wouldn't be there tomorrow."
"It's four thirty; you have plenty of time. Go on, splurge. You deserve it."
"What the heck. I am caught up for the day. All right, I'll go back and give it a look. I’ll reconsider my first impression of the famous Glenda Goode. So far, she doesn't exactly match up with your description of her."
"Uh-huh. And since we both know you're completely full of it, tell Ms. Goode that I have impeccable taste, and only the very best will do."
"Are you kidding?" Beth thought she'd been sneaky. No way she'd go back to some strange store for an old book when she had a special relationship with Mr. French, purveyor of rare and antique books—but she didn't think Hillary would guess that. "Your birthday isn't for two months. Why would you think I'm buying your present, Ms. Egocentric?"
"Because you always plan ahead, and I did just drop a huge birthday-gift-buying hint. But I applaud your good judgment. Go forth, ask for Glenda Goode's advice, and be generous with your wallet. You know you love me enough for a decent gift."
"You are outrageous." Beth shook her head, but she couldn’t help smiling. "And greedy. But I think you might be worth a Glenda Goode approved gift."
She was about to hang up when Hillary said, "Oh—and buy that book."
Beth just laughed and ended the call.
Chapter 3
Beth pulled into a small parking lot across the street from The Goode Witch. As she gathered up her purse, she remembered again how different Hillary's description of the shop was from her own impression.
Beth paused with the car door open, feet already on the pavement. She remembered feeling a little sad, surrounded by so many lost objects. Much like the one time she'd gone to the pound with a girlfriend to help her pick out a puppy. All those lost souls…
Beth shook her head. The shop wasn't filled with lost souls. It was filled with objects that had history. She exited the car and firmly shut the door behind her. But history, by its very definition, was in the past.
She walked briskly through the door, convinced she could get in and out with minimal fuss if only she maintained a businesslike attitude. And if she picked up that book.
"You changed your mind. Lovely. I knew you would." Glenda pulled the leather-bound volume from a shelf as she spoke.
The retrieval of the book and its subsequent presentation to Beth was accomplished with an economy of movement that was surprising in a woman who seemed so…scattered.
Beth accepted the book with a smile of thanks. It was warm and heavy in her hands. She resisted the impulse to open it. It didn't matter what was inside; she was only buying the book as an excuse to pick Glenda's brain. She tucked the book under her arm and said, "While I'm here, I thought I'd also ask your opinion about a birthday gift for a dear friend. She's difficult to shop for—actually she's a professional buyer. Your staff know her. Hillary Barrett?"
"Of course. I just missed her earlier, but I'll have a chat with the ladies and see what I can come up with. There's no rush, is there?"
The question wasn't a question at all. Glenda seemed to already know there was time to spare. Beth plastered a polite smile on her face and shook her head. "So—can I just leave my number, then?"
"That will do for now." Glenda pivoted and hurried to the register, leaving behind the smell of lavender, sunshine, and fresh linens.
Beth drew a deep breath. The scent reminded her of childhood. Building forts and playing in the park. She smoothed away the crease she knew was forming in between her eyes, right at the bridge of her nose. She did not need a migraine today. Why did this woman make her feel more stressed out than her most demanding client? She huffed an annoyed breath, but quietly, then followed Glenda to the register.
"Fifty-four dollars and thirty-four cents." When Beth looked up in surprise, Glenda added, "Well, you did run off rather rudely, didn't you?" She said the words with a charming smile, clearly not the least annoyed.
Beth was too baffled to utter a reply and handed over sixty dollars.
"Worth every penny. I promise. Now, what was your phone number? For your friend's birthday gift recommendation?" Glenda tapped the side of her glasses, her gaze drifting off into the distance. "Although I do believe I already have the perfect item. Yes. Yes, I believe I do. A little more number crunching, and I'll know without a doubt. Well, with very little doubt." Her finger stopped its tapping, and she shifted her gaze to Beth. "Your number, dear?"
Beth's change, a pad of paper, and a pen were on the counter. "How…? Never mind." Beth bent down and scribbled her number in writing that was nothing like her usual tidy script. She picked up her newly acquired book and, with a final thank you, hurried out the door.
Chapter 4
Beth had been tempted to open the book in the parking lot of The Goode Witch. After all, she did love old books. She'd have inspected the book earlier, when she first saw it, if she hadn’t been put off by Glenda's odd manner. But as she sat in the driver's seat holding the book, Beth decided she could wait. If it turned out to be of some value, she would probably want to wear gloves. And a delayed treat would only be that much sweeter.
Later that evening, Beth sat down at her writing desk with the leather-bound volume. Not the modular, ergonomic computer desk she used during the day for work, but her grandmother's old desk. The small wood writing desk felt like an expression of her tastes, rather than a space dedicated to function. It wasn't valuable or even in very good condition, with its beat-up edges and scratched varnish, but it was in front of a window with good light and had a comfortable matching chair. And, more importantly, it reminded Beth of her grandmother.
The feel of the leather under her fingertips as she followed the faded gold design on the cover was comforting. She cracked open the book and inhaled. There was a unique smell that old books had, a mix of decades of dust, damp, and ink. The odor wasn't in itself particularly pleasant, but Beth loved it for the memories it evoked. She turned the first page. She should have stopped right then and donned her cotton gloves, but she just blinked in surprise and carefully turned a second page and then another.
"Oh, my." Beth couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her leather-bound volume wasn't a book at al
l. It was a diary, an old diary. Judging from the handwriting, likely a man's diary. And even though it was almost certainly valuable, she started to read it right away, handling the pages with her ungloved hands.
Only when the light streaming through the window had dimmed so much that she could no longer read the elegant script on the page did she realize how much time had passed. She'd only deciphered a few pages in that time, because the ink had faded, making the otherwise clean script difficult to read. She started to turn on a lamp, but reconsidered when she happened to see the time. Her lower back had grown stiff from the time she'd sat unmoving at her desk, so she took a moment to stretch before she got up.
While she puttered around the house tidying the day's mess, and then still as she prepared for bed, Beth couldn't help but return over and over again to the passages she'd read. A man with no close family, of independent means, going about what was probably a very typical Victorian life. There were no deep emotions conveyed, no special events described, no personal revelations disclosed in those first few passages, and yet she had a sense of the man—kind, dutiful, sad. How was that possible? How was it possible that she felt as if she'd just had a long conversation with him, a man whose name she didn't know and who had most likely died more than a hundred years ago?
Those questions quickly faded, because Beth fell asleep almost as soon as she laid her head down on the pillow. But then…then she had the most peculiar dreams.
A cool spring afternoon in a lush green park…
"Women's lives are different in my time. There's more independence, more choice." Beth inhaled, planning to continue her argument, but the pinch of her corset cut off her breath. "And the clothing is much less restrictive, and chosen more for comfort and functionality." High heels quickly sprang to mind, but she didn’t want to dilute her argument.