Gerald reached out and snagged something he’d placed on the chair at his side. It wafted delicately as he whipped it around and held it out. “Why don’t you put this on, Miss Abernathy? I think you’d look right purty in it.”
“Viola’s wrapper,” Eve whispered.
“Yeah. I hate to part with the keepsake, but since you’ve stirred up the town with talk of murder, I guess we’d better be rid of it.” He shook his head. “What a shame. Miss Justina, she does like to put it on, now and then.” He grinned. “Just so I can take it off of her.”
Even from this distance, Lucien could see the stains. Viola’s blood and mud from Gerald’s hands. The wrapper had been washed and mended, but some stains never washed away.
“Come on,” Gerald said, shaking the wrapper at Eve. “Take this thing and put it on.”
“No,” Eve whispered.
“We’ll put it on her after she’s dead,” Justina said tightly. “Just get this over with!”
Gerald took aim, and tried to wave Lucien out of the way. Apparently Eve was to be the first target. Murder and suicide. She would be shot from a distance. Lucien’s wound would have to be close enough to be judged self-inflicted. Or would he end up with a knife in his heart?
“No,” Lucien said softly, and then he lunged. The walking stick swung up and out, knocking the knife from Justina’s hand. She cried out as her wrist cracked.
Gerald squeezed the trigger, but something… someone… forced his hand up so the shot went off harmlessly. “What the hell…” he muttered as he regained control of the gun and took aim at Eve once again. An invisible force again shifted the weapon aside.
And then the force was not invisible. Alistair took shape and form, and so did Viola. They bracketed Gerald on either side, as Lucien picked up the heaviest object within his reach and swung it at Gerald’s head.
Gerald went down with a thud, and the gun skidded away from his fallen hand.
Justina was silent and still, as she stared at the ghosts who now moved toward her. She grasped her wounded wrist delicately. Her face went white, her eyelids fluttered. The ghosts stood over her, hands clasped, eyes clear and smiling, and Viola leaned toward the woman who had once been her dearest friend. “No more secrets, now. Nothing to hide.” Viola’s hand reached out, as if to touch Justina’s cheek. “We forgive you.” Before that ghostly hand came in contact with a very real, very pale cheek, Viola and Alistair faded away.
“They’re gone,” Lucien said. “For good, this time.”
Eve watched as Justina Markham’s eyelids fluttered once again and she fainted dead away.
*
Lucien sat on the parlor floor with the badly damaged specter-o-meter in front of him. The sheriff had taken Gerald and Justina away, and there would be no problem with evidence, even after all this time. Gerald, still shaken by the appearance of the ghosts, had eagerly confessed.
Eve walked into the room and sat on the floor beside him. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
“You hit Gerald over the head with your specter-o-meter,” Eve said as she touched the dented device.
“I know. He was going to shoot you, Evie. A stick as a weapon simply would not suffice.”
She caressed his cheek. “You didn’t even think twice.”
“I can fix this contraption. And if I can’t, then I can build another one.” He touched her as she touched him. “You, on the other hand, are irreplaceable.”
She rested her head on his arm. “People are so blind, sometimes.”
He mumbled an assent as he fiddled with the needle on the damaged specter-o-meter.
“Justina was jealous of Viola, thinking the woman didn’t know pain, when Viola knew more pain than any woman I’ve ever known.”
“She hid her pain well, even from Alistair.”
Evie brushed her cheek against his arm. “Lucien?”
She sounded so tentative, he set the specter-o-meter aside so he could wrap his arm around her. “What is it, love?”
“You were right. Honesty is best, even when the truth is ugly. I will never lie to you.”
“Of course you won’t.”
She snuggled against him, a little closer. “Do you think they’re content now? Alistair and Viola. Do you think they’re happy?”
Two very imperfect people who had fallen truly in love. All the secrets were gone, unimportant. Trivial, even. “I know they are,” he said confidently.
Knowing that, Evie relaxed. He felt it, down the length of her body. “So, should we keep this house or should I sell it back to Hunt?”
“We will need someplace to stay, when we’re not on the road.”
“True,” she said. “And at least this place has been cleared of ghosts, so we won’t have that worry.”
Lucien cleared his throat and looked to the corner, where a pale light danced. “Not cleared, exactly,” he said.
Eve sighed. “Who is it?”
“A soldier who fought for the Confederacy in the War Between the States,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “He won’t talk to me because he doesn’t like me. Seems even though the war’s been over twenty years, I’m still a damn Yankee.”
“Darling,” she said, deepening her own southern drawl, “you will always be a damn Yankee. Is he dangerous?”
“No.”
“What does he need to move on?”
“I don’t know,” Lucien said, shoving the broken contraption aside and taking Eve into his arms properly. “But I’ll find out.”
“After the wedding,” Eve said as she placed her lips against his.
“Of course.”
“And you’ll be on time,” she added with a smile.
“I’ll arrive at the church early,” he said. “Just to be safe.” He nuzzled her neck. “Evie?”
“Yes, darling?”
He held her close, tight, gentle. Never before had he ever felt as if he belonged in this world more than he did the next one. “You want a home. Something… normal. I swear, until I loved you I didn’t even know what home meant. It was a room here, a hotel there, but now I know better.”
“Does this place feel like home to you?” she whispered.
“You’re my home, Evie. Wherever you are, that’s home. You’re mine to love, to protect, and we will share everything good and everything not so good that life brings us.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
He kissed her properly, and when the kiss was finished—for the moment—he rested his forehead against hers.
“Evie?”
“Yes, darling?” she asked breathlessly and with a heart-wrenching smile.
“Do I now have the right to be proprietary?”
“We’re engaged. I love you. I suppose you do.”
“And you have just promised me the same honesty I have always offered you.”
“Of course, darling.”
“Good.” Lucien smiled. “Where’s O’Hara?”
The End
Page forward for an excerpt from
Shades of Winter
Shades Of Winter
by
Linda Winstead Jones
writing as
Linda Fallon
New York Times Bestselling Author
Plummerville,
Georgia January 1886
Eve perched on the edge of the wing chair by the window and clasped her hands in her lap. On occasion she watched her fingers tapping against the skirt of her new dress as if the simple motion were fascinating. The simply cut day dress was blue, flecked with pale yellow flowers. The dressmaker, Laverne, said this shade of blue suited her. Lucien liked it well enough. Earlier in the day it had seemed a suitable choice for the occasion. Oh, she should have worn something brown! Something plain and muted that would help her to fade into the woodwork.
She had seen many frightening things, in her years as a ghost researcher, but nothing had ever terrified her this way.
Uncle Harold and Aunt Constance sat side by side on the parlor sofa.
Constance Phillips was Eve’s mother’s younger sister. Eve didn’t remember her departed mother well enough to know if she had ever been this sour. The loving way her father had spoken of the wife he’d buried too soon… she thought not.
Constance’s daughters, Eve’s cousins, stood behind the sofa with their backs straight and their eyes wide as they stared at Lucien. Both girls were dark-haired and green-eyed and well-dressed in matching shades of moss green. Penelope was eighteen, and pretty in a delicate way. Millicent was twenty, shorter and rounder in shape but still very attractive. The girls had a tendency to whisper in high-pitched voices and giggle until Eve wanted to throttle them both.
Lucien, the object of their attention at the moment, stood before the fireplace, a roaring fire blazing brightly behind him. If anything about this situation calmed Eve, it was watching Lucien. He had dressed nicely for the arrival of her relatives, in a new white shirt and his second best black suit. He had not cut his hair, but he had combed the longish dark strands. Six foot two, lean and handsome, he looked very dignified.
“I don’t understand, Mr. Thorpe,” Uncle Harold said crisply. “You make your living… how?”
“Lucien is a scientist,” Eve said brightly. Informing her staid aunt and uncle that she was marrying a man who spoke to the dead on a regular basis would send them into a tizzy. Explaining to them that he made his living ridding houses of unwanted ghosts would not go over well. And she did want her wedding to be perfect!
“A scientist specializing in studies of…” Lucien began.
“It’s all very boring,” Eve said, standing quickly and stepping toward Lucien. “Physics and mathematics and mechanics and that sort of thing. I don’t understand most of it myself.” She put her arm through Lucien’s, but when Constance gave her a disapproving glare Eve dropped her arm and clasped her hands together once again.
Lucien fought back a smile. Eve caught the twitch at the corner of his fine lips, the twinkle in his blue eyes. “Very boring,” he said.
The last time she and Lucien had planned to marry, her only family and the man she loved had not met. Her aunt and uncle and cousins had arrived the day before the wedding, not several days ahead of time as they had for this ceremony, and Lucien… Lucien hadn’t shown up at all.
That disaster of a wedding was behind them, now. He’d explained what had happened, and while she didn’t like the idea that she’d been forgotten in favor of an interesting ghost, she had forgiven Lucien. It was just as well. She loved him so much more now than she had then. Their wedding would be all the more special, since their love had grown.
Aunt Constance shook her head. Her brown hair streaked with white had been piled atop her head, and tight curls bobbed. “Eve, what were you thinking to plan a January wedding! Spring is a much better time for such an event. There are more flowers to choose from, and travel is much easier for your guests, and personally I much prefer the fashions which suit warmer weather. Early summer would have been ideal.”
How to explain to a prim woman that waiting was impossible? She and Lucien were already lovers. Hiding their closeness, sneaking about so no one would suspect the nature of their relationship, had been horrid. She wanted the world to know that Lucien was hers and she was his. She wanted to wake every morning to see his face beside her, not usher him out before dawn so he could sneak into his rented room in the Plummerville boarding house.
While Eve searched for an explanation, Lucien took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I must admit,” he said as he lowered her hand, keeping it clasped easily in his, “the rather hasty timing of the wedding was my idea.”
Aunt Constance’s lips pursed tightly.
“I could not take the chance that such a wonderful woman might come to her senses and decide not to become my wife, when she could have any man in the world as her husband,” he said. “I don’t deserve Evie, and I want her to marry me before she realizes that for herself.”
Aunt Constance seemed slightly mollified, Penelope and Millicent sighed in unison, and Uncle Harold rolled his eyes.
Harold Phillips was a reserved, quiet, decidedly difficult man. He wasn’t at all mollified. “You will show up this time, won’t you?”
Until now, no one had dared to mention aloud that Lucien had left Eve waiting at the altar, more than two years ago.
“Of course I’ll be there,” Lucien said, unsmiling. “Nothing could keep me away.”
“Because if you embarrass my niece again,” Uncle Harold continued, “I will kill you.”
“Daddy!” Millicent gasped.
Aunt Constance patted her husband on the knee. “Now, now, Harold,” she said calmly. “Eve is my dearly departed sister’s child. If anyone kills Mr. Thorpe, it will be me.”
“Please!” Eve said, growing concerned for the safety of her groom.
“It’s all right, Evie,” Lucien said with a smile. “Your aunt and uncle are being protective of you. I can understand that. And I don’t fear for my life because I will be there. On time.”
“You’d better be,” Uncle Harold murmured.
“I really should be going,” Lucien said. “My landlady gets concerned for me when I’m out too late.”
His landlady was Miss Gertrude, the biggest busybody in town. She never got concerned, but she was always curious.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Eve said. “Let me fetch your coat.”
“Don’t be long, Eve,” Aunt Constance called after them, censure in her tight voice.
Eve collected Lucien’s long, black overcoat from the entryway coat rack, and mouthed I’m sorry as she offered it to him. Aunt Constance had particularly sharp ears, so she didn’t dare speak aloud.
Lucien grinned as he took the coat and slipped it on. Oh, she wished he were going to be here with her tonight! Instead of holding him close as she fell asleep, she’d be crowded into her bed with Penelope and Millicent. And she was quite certain they giggled in their sleep.
Lucien took her hand, opened the front door, and hauled her onto the small sheltered front porch of her cottage. “I must love you very much,” he said softly, as he pulled her into his arms and the red door of her cottage closed behind them. The night was cold, but it was very warm here with Lucien’s arms around her.
“You must,” she whispered. “I imagine most men would have run hours ago.”
“Immediately upon the arrival of your relatives.”
“Yes.”
He tilted her head back and kissed her quickly. “I will miss you tonight,” he said, his wonderful mouth close to hers. “And tomorrow night, and the next. But on the night after that you will be my wife, and there will be no more slinking off to a rented room I don’t want or need. No pretending that I don’t crave you to distraction. No pretending that your bed isn’t my bed.”
“Soon,” she said.
“Not soon enough to suit me.” He lowered his head and kissed the side of her neck. That quick caress sent shivers up and down her spine. “You could sneak out tonight,” he whispered. “Come to my room. I promise to have you back here well before sunrise.”
“I can’t,” she answered softly. “If my aunt didn’t catch me sneaking out, Miss Gertrude would surely catch me sneaking in.”
Lucien groaned. “You’re right. I know you’re right. Dammit, Evie, I am a very patient man, under most circumstances. But where you’re concerned I have no patience at all.”
“Our wedding day will be here soon enough,” she promised.
“Soon enough?” Lucien asked with raised eyebrows.
Eve smiled. “Soon, then. In just a few days I’ll be Mrs. Lucien Thorpe, and no one will be able to run you out of this house. Not ever. I love you, Lucien,” she said gently.
“And I…”
The door behind them flew open, and Aunt Constance appeared there, the light of the brightly lit entryway behind her. Eve and Lucien jumped apart.
“Eve Abernathy,” the persimmon-mouthed woman snapped. “Get into the house this instant.
You’ll catch your death of cold out there.”
“Good night, Lucien,” Eve said as she backed toward the open door.
“Good night, Evie,” he said with a soft smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Not likely,” Aunt Constance said as she drew Eve into the warmth of the house. “We have so much to do tomorrow, I feel quite sure Eve won’t have time for visitors.”
“But…” Eve began.
“Good night, Mr. Thorpe.” Aunt Constance slammed the door in Lucien’s face.
“You needn’t have closed the door so violently,” Eve chastised gently.
“It’s cold outside,” Aunt Constance explained.
“And tomorrow…”
“Have you allowed that man to kiss you, Eve?” Constance interrupted.
“Well…”
“Don’t say a word,” Constance said with a raised palm. “I see the way you two look at each other. You have allowed him to kiss you.” She tsked loudly, and then leaned in close. “Tomorrow afternoon, when Harold and the girls are busy with wedding preparations, you and I will have a little chat. Woman to woman. Since your mother isn’t here, I suppose I must stand in.”
“That’s really…” Not necessary? A frightening concept? At twenty-seven, Eve hardly needed instruction on marital relations. “Very sweet, but…”
“It’s my duty,” Constance said, patting Eve on the arm. “You mustn’t be afraid, dear.”
“I’m not…”
Constance spun around. “Harold, I’m quite exhausted from the day’s travel. I’m off to bed. We have so much to do tomorrow!”
Eve watched her aunt and cousins climb the stairs and head for their bedrooms. Her heart was heavy, and she missed Lucien already!
Blast him, he’d been right all along. They should’ve eloped two months ago.
*
On his walk to town, Lucien stopped in front of the Cassidy house. He didn’t knock on the door, not at this late hour, but he did stand there on the roadway and study the place for a few minutes. It was a pleasant little one-story house, not as nice as Eve’s cottage, perhaps, but cozy and well kept. Katherine took good care of the home her husband had left to her upon his death.
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