Garden of Shadows (Dark Gardens Series Book 1)

by Meara Platt

  Charlie frowned. “He knows everything.”

  “There is no gentleman,” she muttered, more to herself in dismissing the notion. “Just a local hunter or fisherman on his way home. It’s ridiculous to think that anyone would stroll into the woods knowing there’s a storm about to break and–”

  The knock at the door froze her in mid-sentence.

  “Let him in,” Charlie said in an eager whisper.

  “I…” The inhabitants of Borrowdale always took in strays. It wasn’t a law, just a neighborly tradition that rarely inconvenienced anyone, since this was a very quiet village, and the only outsiders were fashionable gentlemen who occasionally lost their way while hiking in these beautiful surroundings. Despite her hesitation, she knew common decency required her to welcome the visitor in for a cup of tea and a fortifying meal before pointing him back in the direction of town.

  “King Cadeyrn promises to protect us,” Charlie said. “That ought to make you feel better.”

  “How can a make-believe elf–”

  “He’s real and he’s king of the faeries,” Charlie scolded.

  She rolled her eyes. “I know. And he lives among the bluebells, or so you’ve told me.”

  “That’s why they thrive all year around. Do you have a better explanation for it? He’s very disappointed that you don’t believe in him, but has assured me he’ll protect you anyway.”

  “Why would I need his protection when I have you, my headstrong little love?” She took his hand and squeezed it.

  Charlie laughed. “Now your hands will be as sticky as mine.”

  The knock came again, this time more insistently. “Let him in, Julia. The poor man must be soaked. What if he’s the new vicar?”

  “Oh, Charlie! I’m a fool!” Shaking her head in embarrassment, she decided against greeting the stranger with a weapon in her hand. In any event, there was a sturdy cane by the door to use for protection if necessary. “Why didn’t he send word of his arrival? We could have thrown him a lovely party.”

  As the vicar’s daughter, she’d often served as her father’s hostess and knew how to properly entertain. She had hoped to show off her skills to this new vicar, for she and Charlie depended on his approval to remain in residence, in a housekeeping capacity, of course.

  But what if he came with his own housekeeper?

  Julia refused to think about it.

  He simply had to let them stay, for they had no place else to go.

  She hurried to the door, her mind awhirl how to charm this important man.

  “Come in, sir!” she cried above a rush of wind that almost ripped the door off its hinges as she opened it. “Welcome. Let me take your wet cloak.”

  As she reached out, another gust of wind blew the violet ribbon from her hair and carried it across the entry. “Oh, dear!”

  The visitor caught the ribbon, regarding her oddly as she struggled to put order back into her wildly whipping curls. She stepped aside to allow him entrance, then quickly shut the door. “Goodness, what a storm!”

  “Indeed,” the visitor said, handing back the length of velvet that perfectly matched the pale violet of her gown. He casually studied her appearance. By the slight downturn of his lips, he seemed to find her lacking.

  It couldn’t be the gown, Julia decided, for the quality was decent enough. It was a soft wool with a white lace collar secured to her bodice by a cameo brooch, and sprigs of white lace adorned the cuffs of the elbow-length sleeves. Her sturdy, brown boots did not match the gown, but they were very practical for walking these wooded paths.

  Oh, this isn’t going well at all.

  Julia quickly brushed back her long hair. Her hands were shaking too severely to tie the ribbon in a bow at the nape of her neck, so she simply tucked the ribbon up her sleeve and resolved to bind her hair later. “Please, sir. Make yourself comfortable.”

  At her second prompting, he shrugged out of his black cloak and handed it to her.

  A decidedly warm sensation ran up Julia’s spine when their fingers grazed, for the gentleman was well-muscled and appeared surprisingly rugged for a scholar. They studied each other in silence for another brief moment. “This is just the cottage,” Julia said finally. “The church is on the other side of the high stone wall. Did you wander off the path and not see it? It happens, particularly in foul weather.”

  He appeared momentarily confused. “The church? I was looking for this vicarage.”

  She managed a small smile. “Yes, of course. I just assumed you’d be eager to see the church first. I’ll show it to you after the storm breaks, unless you wish to browse through it alone. You seem surprised to find me here. Surely, you’re aware the old vicar’s family is still in residence. I wrote and told you so. We were hoping to settle the matter of lodgings before you arrived, Vicar. But I see that–”

  One dark eyebrow arched as he frowned.

  “Er… aren’t you the new vicar?” In truth, he looked like a warrior and not at all the devout, retiring sort Julia decided as she took in the rest of his appearance. He was tall, broad shouldered, and he possessed an air of refinement. No, not quite refinement, but power. That was it.

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not the new vicar.”

  “Oh.” She wondered who he was and thought it curious that despite his obvious aura of command, his hair curled about his ears in just the same quirky way Charlie’s did whenever it grew too long. Of course, this stranger’s hair was darker than Charlie’s… then again, his hair was wet so one could not tell exactly how light or dark a shade of brown it was.

  She studied him a moment longer than was proper, for he was decidedly handsome. But there was something hard in his gaze, an intense disillusionment in his green eyes that warned he was not a man of peace, nor was he at peace with himself.

  “I’m Miss Marsden. Julia Marsden.” She wondered whether to seize the cane for protection, then dismissed the notion. This stranger was a man of obvious wealth and stature. His watch fob appeared more valuable than the entire contents of the cottage.

  He did not look cruel or dangerous, just intimidating. Perhaps unhappy. Well, no one ever said a vicar had to be jovial or bubbling with good nature. Sometimes, the quiet, thoughtful ones were the most effective.

  Except he wasn’t the vicar.

  “Miss Marsden,” he acknowledged with a frowning nod.

  “Please, call me Julia.” The request might have been considered brazen in Polite Society, but friendliness and good intentions were more important in this quiet haven.

  Winters were harsh out here and neighbors, from the highest ranking lord to the meanest pig farmer, were expected to help each other out whenever necessary. Little fuss was made if one forgot the proper etiquette, which amounted to little here anyway since most residents of Borrowdale were practical and forgiving by nature.

  “Hello, sir! I’m Charlie!”

  The stranger turned toward the voice coming from the sitting room. “Your brother?” he asked with more interest than he’d shown in her.

  “My cousin’s child, but I’ve raised him as though he were my own,” she said, feeling her face heat. In truth, she had raised Charlie since the day he was born.

  “Ah, I see.” There was a slight softening in his gaze, as though he understood that her cousin, Laura, had died during childbirth. “That’s quite a responsibility. You don’t appear much older than the boy.”

  “I’m twenty-two,” she blurted before she could stop herself. Goodness, he’d been here less than a moment and had already found out her name, her age, and her circumstances. There was something compelling in his manner. “Forgive my rudeness, sir. You’re soaked and must be chilled to the bone. The weather is deceptive in these parts, one moment sunny and the next cold and raining. Indeed, this October has been unusually cold. Dry yourself by the fire while I make you a cup of hot tea.”

  He returned a small smile at the offer. “Much appreciated.”

  “I’ll
have it ready in no time. Er, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Sir, I’ve saved you a sweet bun!” Charlie called out, just as the man opened his mouth to respond. “Won’t you join me?”

  The visitor’s eyebrow quirked. “I believe I’ve just been summoned. Indeed, I’m eager to meet the boy and the sweet bun he seems to have saved for me.”

  He entered the sitting room before Julia could stop him.

  She decided to follow him in rather than put the kettle on for tea, and was glad that she did, for the man came to an abrupt halt as his gaze fell on Charlie, or more precisely, on the boy’s chair.

  Charlie stared back. “Is something wrong, sir?”

  Julia held her breath and balled her hands into fists. She’d toss the blackguard out on his ear if he dared toss an unkind remark at the child. Charlie was a wonderful boy and anyone who couldn’t see beyond his infirmity was a fool.

  In the next moment, she realized that she needn’t have worried.

  The visitor knelt beside Charlie and ever so gently took his hand. “Delighted to meet you, lad. I’m–”

  “King Cadeyrn told me who you are!” Charlie began to squirm like an excited pup. “He said you’d come today! I’ve been waiting for you for the longest time. Welcome to Borrowdale, Uncle Douglas. You took the longest time to find me!”

  *

  The smile froze on Douglas’ face. How had the boy guessed his true identity? Not that he’d meant to hide it, but he would have liked a little time to quietly assess the situation before introducing himself.

  Julia Marsden gasped behind him. “You’re Eastbourne? Eastbourne!”

  Douglas turned to her, unaware she’d followed him in. Then he noticed the cane in her hand almost hidden within the folds of her gown. He was about to command her to put it down when it slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. In the next moment, the blood drained from her face and she faltered.

  Charlie let out a cry. “Julia! Are you all right? Please help her, Uncle Douglas. Please!”

  Douglas didn’t particularly wish to, but neither did he wish to make an enemy of the lad, so he rose and strode to her side. “Come, sit down Miss Marsden.”

  She tried to push him away. “No, I–”

  “You must sit down,” he insisted, for she showed all the signs of a woman about to faint. Her eyes were glazed and skin was ashen. Her complexion had been peaches and cream only moments ago, but was now a ghostly white. Her legs seemed about to buckle.

  Despite her obvious fear, she curled her hands into fists. “Get out!”

  Douglas caught her arm as she drew it back. What did she intend to do? Slap him?

  “Let go of me!” She struggled against him, but he maintained his grip, knowing she’d grab that cane and crack it over his head the moment he released her.

  He kicked the infernal cane aside and regarded her with a frown. “Will you calm down?”

  “Not while you’re here! Why have you come, Lord Eastbourne? To mock us?”

  She cast him a defiant glower.

  Her eyes, he noted with some surprise, were an exquisite mix of lilac and blue, almost violet in hue. He’d never met a woman with eyes quite so fine.

  He quickly released her. “Will you calm down and let me explain?”

  “Oh, your family explained it all quite well,” she shot back, her expression one of murder.

  Douglas stifled an oath. Julia Marsden was not quite the sweet vicar’s daughter described by Homer Barrow.

  She appeared younger than her twenty-two years. At first glance, Douglas had considered her pretty, but unexceptional. Her country aspect, though charming to such men as Homer Barrow, could not match the unstudied elegance of the ladies of the ton. He would have dismissed her had he come upon her among the crush of young hopefuls assembled at Almack’s. Nor would he have bothered with her had he encountered her among the quieter Society at Bath taking the cure at the Pump Rooms.

  Yet, there was something about her… she wasn’t at all what he’d expected.

  “Julia, don’t be angry,” Charlie said, his young voice quaking. “It’s all my fault. I should have told you. I knew he was coming, but promised to keep it a secret.”

  “Oh, Charlie,” she said in a ragged breath, the fight seemingly drained from her, “you couldn’t have known.”

  “I did,” he insisted. “I’m sorry, Julia. He didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Indeed, not,” Douglas said. “I’m a reasonable man, Miss Marsden. Surely, we can reach an accommodation.”

  “I didn’t mean you, Uncle Douglas,” the boy said, his voice still quaking.

  “You didn’t?” Douglas shook his head and frowned. Then who had frightened Julia?

  Charlie shook his head. “I was talking about–”

  “Get out!” Julia ordered, raising her chin in defiance. “I’m not afraid of any Eastbourne. You’re not welcome here.”

  Douglas had little patience for her distress, whether feigned or real. He was the wronged party, not she. He had greater cause to be angry for the deception played on him. “Save your indignation, Miss Marsden. I’m not leaving.”

  “Oh, you are.”

  Charlie let out a sniffle, then another. “I shouldn’t have said anything. He warned me that you two would fight and break my heart.”

  Douglas frowned lightly. “Who are you talking about?”

  Julia moved to stand protectively by the boy’s side, gripping the back of his chair for support since she was obviously a little unsteady still. “Don’t say anything more, Charlie. Please, don’t–”

  “King Cadeyrn. He’s king of the faeries and he lives in the bluebell garden just outside my window.”

  “Ah… um… Cadeyrn, you say.” Well, he’d asked and the boy had answered with a ridiculous explanation, no doubt prompted by Julia’s warning. Mr. Barrow had mentioned this was an unusual household, but hadn’t explained in any detail.

  “You don’t believe me,” the boy said, sounding utterly dejected.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Julia doesn’t believe in faeries either.”

  He wasn’t surprised. She’d struck him as the practical sort. Yet, there was something in her appearance that seemed quite delicate, almost ethereal. Perhaps it was the magical way her golden curls cascaded over her shoulders in soft, dazzling waves. Perhaps it was the slenderness of her form, for she was small and light-boned. Her smile, when she’d first greeted him, had been genuinely enchanting.

  Of course, there would be no more smiles for him tonight.

  Not that he wanted any from her.

  Still, Douglas realized he had been mistaken. The girl, given a little polish, would stun even the most jaded of his peers. “I see you’re feeling better, Miss Marsden. I’ll have the cup of tea you offered earlier.”

  Her eyes now glistened as cold as amethysts trapped in ice. “Are you mad? Get out of my home, Lord Eastbourne.”

  “No, Julia!”

  “I’m sorry, Charlie. He’s no friend to us and isn’t welcome here.”

  The boy gripped her hand. “Please! Don’t make him go.”

  “He must. You don’t understand. He can’t be trusted.”

  “If anyone has been dishonest, it’s you,” Douglas blurted. Damn the girl, she wasn’t going to win this battle.

  “How dare you!” She released the boy’s hand and started toward him. “Out!”

  She put her small hands on his shoulders in a vain attempt to push him toward the door, a pitiful gesture since he was almost twice her size, far stronger, and a lot angrier. Suddenly, as she shoved at him, the room filled with a high-pitched scream.

  Julia froze.

  So did he.

  Both turned to the source of the noise.

  “I want Uncle Douglas to stay!” Charlie cried, now gaining their attention as he struggled to rise from his chair.

  Julia gasped. “Don’t!”

  Charlie ignored her and continued to his feet. “He mus
t stay!”

  Julia’s hands left a trail of heat on Douglas’ body as they slipped from his chest. She rushed to the boy who was now straining to keep his balance. “Please, sweetling! Sit down.”

  “I won’t! I want Uncle Douglas to stay!”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying!”

  “I do! You can’t send him away!”

  “Please!” She sounded worried rather than angry. “Charlie, don’t take another step!”

  “I will. I don’t care if I die on the spot!”

  She inhaled sharply. “Don’t ever say that!”

  “I will! I will! I will! I don’t care if I die! I don’t care at all!”

  Douglas watched in horror as the boy’s eyes suddenly rolled backward into his head and his breathing became alarmingly shallow.

  “Charlie!” Julia cried out, catching the boy as he fell.

  “Let him stay,” the lad whispered, now lying in her arms and gasping for air. “Please, Julia. He… must. I… need him to stay.”

  She broke into quiet sobs, turning away so the lad wouldn’t see her tears.

  Douglas knelt beside the pair, uncertain what to do, and more than willing to allow Julia to take command, to cradle the boy in her arms and soothe him. He took his cues from her this once, gaining confidence of the boy’s recovery from this terrifying episode as Julia’s own panic, and her tears, seemed to subside.

  “It’s all right, my little love,” she said over and over until the boy won his desperate fight for breath. “Lord Eastbourne can stay. He can stay. He can stay.”

  “The night?”

  “Yes.”

  “And tomorrow?”

  He saw the pain in her eyes as she reluctantly whispered, “Yes.”

  Chapter 3

  Julia’s stomach roiled and her hands were still shaking as she stood in the kitchen waiting for the tea to boil. She gazed so hard at the kettle, lost in thought and fear, that she didn’t hear Lord Eastbourne enter.

  “May I be of help?” he asked in a voice that resonated like the quiet rumble of thunder.

  “You Eastbournes have helped quite enough.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and sighed. “We’ll discuss Charlie’s situation later, when the boy is asleep. But know this, Miss Marsden, he is my nephew and I will decide what is best for him.”