Oh, how ridiculous. Edwina had already noticed that different artists had painted the two portraits—Sir Joshua’s no doubt in the lifetime of his first wife, whose portrait he had probably destroyed. Upon close inspection, however, she realized that an alteration had been made in his portrait. Judging by the differences in style, the second artist had painted over the one square of the knot garden which had changed between one wife and the next. Now both paintings showed the bench with the monument to Sir Joshua’s firstborn son.
While she understood the motivation for the memorial, the new version of that square didn’t go at all well with the rest of the garden. It destroyed the integrity of both the garden as a whole and the knot design in that particular square.
She sighed. What a foolish alteration in both garden and painting, but hardly surprising. “You’ll never relent, will you?” she asked his portrait. “I’m glad you’re not the one haunting the Grange. At least your first wife is trying to mend matters.”
CHAPTER TEN
Christmas Eve, and still nothing. Richard dragged himself to his bedchamber in despair. He’d never felt so proud of his young son, who had comforted his weeping sister and done his best to reassure her that the curse need not take effect this Christmas or for many more years to come. Richard had found himself holding back tears at John’s courageous display of unconcern.
Both children had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep—perhaps John’s last.
Richard shucked his coat and shirt and sat on the bed to pull off his stockings. “I’m so tired, Lady Ballister,” he told the darkness. “I’ve tried my damnedest. John doesn’t deserve this fate. Lizzie doesn’t deserve to lose her brother. And Edwina—dear Edwina is working herself to the bone to help my family. She has not only searched everywhere, but she delivered Christmas baskets to all the villagers. The house is decorated with holly and ivy, evergreens and mistletoe. The villagers love her. My children adore her. You approve of her too, don’t you?” No response, but he didn’t need one. “She deserves the security of a home and family, and I can give that to her. Even though she doesn’t love me, even though it will be a marriage as uncomfortable as my first, I understand what must be done. I’ll marry her for her own sake as well as to save my son.”
Still the darkness didn’t answer—no surprise. Edwina had given no indication that she thought of marriage. Her demeanor remained entirely proper and respectful toward him. She saved her true warmth for his children and her formidable housewifely talents for the entire village. She’d consented to have a gown made of the dark blue wool, but that was no more than a valued servant might expect at Christmastide. If he found the necklace, she might agree to marry him for John’s sake. Even without love, surely marriage to him was preferable to a life of drudgery.
He put his head in his hands. “What’s the use if we can’t find the damned necklace?” Yes, they would celebrate Christmas—but without any true Christmas cheer.
A weight seemed to have settled over the whole house, heavy and ominous, that even the Christmas greenery couldn’t dispel. “I want some happiness for my family,” Richard said. “Some light. It’s Christmastide, for God’s sake.”
He rose, lit a whole branch of candles, and set them on the mantel. They sent a splash of light upward, illuminating the strapwork on the overmantel, but did little to dispel the gloom in the rest of the room and in his heart. He longed for love, for comfort, for…
He raised his fist to the unresponsive ghost. “Since you’re so fond of talking to Edwina, why don’t you tell her something useful for once?”
~ * ~
Go to his chamber. Go now!
Edwina was dropping into sleep through utter weariness when the ghost’s shriek sent her leaping out of bed. Whose chamber? But she knew the answer already. Richard’s chamber? Why? She couldn’t just barge into his bedchamber, particularly after what had happened last time. He had grown to tolerate her. That had to be enough.
All these thoughts ran through her head as she scurried down the passageway and tapped on Richard’s door.
Immediately, he pulled it open. Like the first time, he was naked to the waist. She should turn her face away, but she couldn’t.
His eyes widened. After a brief hush of silence, he whispered, “Edwina.”
She didn’t know what to say. She had to have a reason for coming here. Not just, ‘the ghost sent me.’ That would be absurd. “Richard, I—”
He tugged her inside his bedchamber and shut the door. He pulled her into his arms with a groan, and automatically hers went around him. “Oh, my darling,” he said. “I’m so tired. So afraid.”
She nodded, tears on her lashes. She laid her head on his bare chest and they clung together, at one in their worries and fears. His heart beat hard beneath her cheek. He caressed her hair, kissed it, and gave a soft sound of contentment.
She’d wanted to hug him, to make him feel better, and now she had her wish. Never mind that desire was swarming up inside her, that her heart’s frantic beat matched his. A little comfort was all he needed. She raised her head to push away, to—
He took her face in his hands and kissed her. With a helpless little moan she kissed him back. Oh, God, how she’d wanted this, missed it so much. She put her arms about his neck and clung to him, instantly a slave to the same passion she’d given in to twelve years before.
His hands roamed her from her waist to her buttocks, pulling her tight against him. He ground his erection against her, and heat spread through her nether regions in a hot, wet flood. He broke the kiss only long enough to pull the nightdress over her head and peruse her nakedness with dark, lust-filled eyes. Her knees trembled. She thought she might collapse with desire, but he clasped her to him and kissed her again.
Still without a word, he swept her off her feet and carried her to his bed. He laid her on the cold sheets and stripped off his breeches. His erection jutted forward, sending a pulse of lust to her loins. She’d never seen his cock before, had only felt his long, hard heat inside her, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
He climbed up beside her and thrust his knee between her legs. His eyes glittered in the candlelight, hard and feral, like a beast released from a cage. He bent his head to suckle her breasts, propping himself on one hand while the other moved purposefully from her waist to her hips and between her legs, caressing deeply. She moaned and arched against him, mad with pleasure.
She pulled herself together enough to take his cock in her hand. So velvet-smooth and hot. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers over its firm length, up and down, and he bucked in her hand and kissed her hard. I want you inside me, but she didn’t say it, didn’t want to break the magic of their silent surrender to desire.
She needn’t have worried. Eyes closed, lashes dark on his gaunt cheeks, he poised himself at her entrance. She writhed toward him, and he growled, still wild like an animal, and thrust hard, pushing himself to the hilt. She heard her own low moan, and then they were moving in unison, thrust for thrust, utterly lost in pleasure.
Afterward, they lay clasped together for a long moment. A wave of tenderness washed over her. She loved him; she would always love him. She pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.
He pulled away to lie next to her. “Thank you, Edwina,” he said and then was silent.
Thank you? What had just happened…was shared pleasure between lovers, not a gift or a service performed…wasn’t it? As the remnants of desire died away, sadness took its place. He’d probably just needed comfort, as had she, and matters had progressed too far. Nothing to do with love. Did he already regret giving in to his lust?
She gazed bleakly across the room at the fireplace, unwilling to turn to Richard, afraid of what she might see in his eyes.
This was the one room in the house she hadn’t inspected from top to bottom. She’d wondered about asking to do so and hadn’t been able to form the words. She couldn’t encroach on his domain, and he had surely inspected the room carefully himself.
But now she was here, and rather than let maudlin thoughts overcome her, she would make one last attempt to do what the ghost had insisted upon—that she look about herself.
The banked fire gave off little light, but a branch of candles above it illumined the carving on the overmantel. A large mirror reflected the plaster strapwork on the ceiling.
As was common in Jacobean houses, the carving and the plaster were facets of the same design. Often the design would be repeated in fabric wall coverings, in embroidered bed hangings or upholstered chairs. Any fabrics that might have existed over two hundred years ago were long gone, except for the one piece of embroidery that showed the knot garden.
Edwina sat up.
~ * ~
Richard rolled over as his darling Edwina slid off the bed. He’d acted like a wild beast, ravaging her. She’d seemed to want him, but… “Edwina. Sweetheart, I—”
But instead of leaving in a huff, she padded barefoot, naked and glorious, to the fireplace, lifted the branch of candles, and looked up at the ceiling, then at the strapwork carving of the overmantel.
“Both of these are original to the house, aren’t they? The carving and the plaster work on the ceiling.”
He joined her. “I believe so.”
“I wonder if the same motifs are repeated elsewhere.”
“A simpler version is on the front doors.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I saw that, but hardly noticed at the time.”
“They’re variations of the design that was used for the knot garden,” he said, wondering where this was headed.
“There’s something important about this,” she said. “I don’t know what it is, but I think this is what the ghost wanted me to see. I should have noticed it days ago. I wonder when the embroidery was done—before or after the garden was planted.”
“It could have been either way,” he said, “but…” The truth descended upon him like a shaft of brilliant light, and everything fell into place.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Edwina gaped at Richard. Was he shaking? “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, his fists clenched, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “It must have been afterward, because we know that when Sir Joshua married Louisa, the garden was already there.”
“We do? I thought the garden was her pride and joy, not his.”
“That’s what the old story says, but listen! His portrait was painted a month before their wedding, and hers shortly afterward. It’s in the archives. What if the story is wrong, and it was his project?”
“Then why,” Edwina demanded, “did he attack his own creation in a fit of rage?” She answered her own question with another. “Because Eros had betrayed him?” She made a face. “I don’t think so. Have you seen his eyes? They’re cold and calculating, not the eyes of a hotheaded lover.”
“That’s a very womanly thing to notice,” Richard said with a twisted smile. “In any event, if it was hers, why didn’t he destroy the whole garden rather than just one square? If he’d truly meant to erase all trace of her, wouldn’t his portrait show a new and different garden in the background rather than just one altered square?”
“Come to think of it, wouldn’t he have destroyed her needlework, too, rather than allowing a story to persist that the garden was her pride and joy?” She paused. “Oh. Oh! He made that story up!”
Their gazes met in mutual comprehension. “Sir Joshua destroyed that one square of the garden to hide his crime,” Richard said. “He replanted it himself to appear contrite, but the real reason was to keep the gardeners away from it.”
“While the earth settled over the lover’s grave.” A shudder passed through Edwina and was gone.
“He invented a new story for posterity: the garden was hers, proven by both his fit of rage and her needlework. To top it off, he graced that one garden square with a monument to make it sacred and untouchable for quite a distance into the future.”
“How horridly clever of him,” Edwina said. It served him right, she thought; it must have been painful to ruin the design of his pride and joy, but better than hanging for murder.
“I would never have made the connection myself, Edwina. Thank God the ghost spoke to you.” Richard hugged her hard. “Let’s go outdoors.”
~ * ~
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in their warmest clothes, they tramped over the frosty ground to the knot garden, each carrying a lantern in the pitch darkness. Edwina also carried a shovel, while Richard toted a pick, a hatchet, and two spades. The dog Felix padded behind them, eagerly snuffling, pleased with the unexpected jaunt.
They set the tools and lanterns down. First Richard tried to tip the heavy bench over backward, but it was firmly embedded in the earth.
He gave Edwina a spade, and she worked at one end of the bench while he took the other. It was slow work, the ground hard and full of stones and roots. The dog became bored and wandered away. Before long, Edwina’s fingers were numb in spite of her gloves, and soon she would have a crop of blisters.
Richard must have noticed, for he said, “You don’t have to dig anymore, Edwina.”
“Yes, I do.” She glanced up at the house and thought she saw a pale face shimmer at one of the windows… It vanished. Was the ghost watching them?
Grimly, she carried on, and after a while Richard changed ends of the bench with her. After what seemed like hours, he said, “Out of the way, sweetheart, while I tip it over.”
The bench fell to the ground with a thud.
“Hold!” came a voice. “What’s going on there?”
Felix bounded into sight, followed by Sam Teas and Joseph from the inn. Freddy the erstwhile gardener lurked uneasily behind them. “Oh, it’s you, Sir Richard,” Mr. Teas said. “Your dog wandered into the inn yard, and I came up to see if aught was amiss.”
“Afraid more of them treasure seekers had sneaked past us,” Joseph said.
“Mrs. White and I are the treasure seekers this time.” Richard stood his shovel in the ground and leaned on it.
“You think it’s under there?” Teas scratched his head.
“I fervently hope so,” Richard said.
“You oughtn’t to be doing that sort of work, Mrs. White,” Freddy said, still hovering behind the others.
“Tell me, Freddy,” said Richard. “Where were you digging when the ghost chased you away?”
“Why…right here, Sir Richard, planting bulbs to make the bench prettier-like.”
Richard and Edwina shared a grin. “The last treasure hunters were standing here when the ghost ran them off,” Richard said.
“That’s right,” Mr. Teas said. “Remember, Joseph?”
“Aye,” Joseph said, “our ghost was fine leaving things to Sir Richard until one of them hit the bench with his spade.”
“Well, I’ll be,” the innkeeper said. “Don’t just stand there, fellas. Give the lady and gentleman a hand.”
Joseph took the spare spade immediately. Freddy glanced fearfully up at the house.
“I don’t think you need worry,” Edwina said, handing him her spade. “As long as Sir Richard is here to find the necklace, she won’t drive the rest of us away.”
With three men digging—four when the landlord took a hand after fetching warm ale from the inn—the work went much faster, but the suspense was appalling until at last, amongst a tangle of roots in the rocky soil, they found the first bones.
“The lover,” Richard said.
Edwina glanced up at the house again: yes, the ghost was watching them. “Handle his remains with care,” she said. “We don’t want to upset the ghost. This must be difficult for her to watch.”
But the necklace mattered more than the bones, and now the suspense became intolerable. Richard stepped down into the hole they had dug, worked carefully with the hatchet and trowel, and removed bones one by one. “Fetch something from the stables,” he said. “An old gate, perhaps—something to carry him to the gravey
ard. We’ll have the vicar give him a proper burial in consecrated ground. That should comfort Lady Ballister’s ghost.”
Bits of rotted fabric still clung here and there to the lover’s ribs. One by one, Sam Teas laid the bones on an old door. Remnants of a boot surfaced, followed by the jeweled clasp of a cloak. At last, Richard handed out the skull. It still possessed wisps of dark hair.
No necklace? Edwina’s heart beat painfully. It must be there.
Richard grunted. “Pass me a lantern, will you? I can’t see with all your heads blocking the light.”
One of the men obliged. Richard set the lantern on the ground and squatted, digging now with his gloved hands. He passed up several smaller bones. “If there are any more, we’ll get the rest in daylight.”
Edwina’s heart plummeted…and Richard rocked back on his heels, a small metal box in his hand. “I need a knife.”
One was duly handed to him. He pried the box open and tipped something into his hand. He let out a long, low whistle and tossed up the empty box. “Give me a hand,” he said, and the others helped him out.
Edwina couldn’t contain herself anymore. “Did you find it?”
“I believe so.” Something dangled from Richard’s fingers. No glisten, no shine; it was tarnished and dull and smelled of the earth, but it was definitely a necklace. “I surely hope so.” He spat on one of the jewels, rubbed it clean, and held it close to the light. Was that a dull red? One by one, he cleaned the jewels. It would take more than spit to polish the tarnished silver setting.
Richard turned toward the house, gazing up at the windows where the ghost had been. She wasn’t there anymore. He held the necklace aloft. “Here it is, Louisa Ballister. It’s time to set my son free.”
There was utter silence. Edwina stared at the window, certain the ghost wasn’t appeased. That’s not enough, she wanted to say. This won’t be over until you give it to your wife. She shivered suddenly, wondering if those words were hers or the ghost’s.
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