by Meara Platt
“No,” he said with a giggle. “He’s walking beside us.”
Douglas paused, his heart suddenly skipping a beat as something feather-soft brushed against his fingers. Damn, this little game was unsettling. However, he refused to reveal his concern to the boy. “Is he? I don’t see him.”
“That’s because you don’t believe in him. I didn’t either, at first. Julia still doesn’t, but she will soon.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Oh, the church looks so pretty from up here! I’ll show you the view from the bell tower after our chat with King Cadeyrn. Julia used to carry me up there when I was younger, but I’m too big for her to manage now. I haven’t been up there in ever so long! Will you please take me there later?”
Douglas understood the poor boy’s plight. Were he in Charlie’s situation, he would have sorely missed gazing upon the countryside, across woods and meadows to the river below and crags soaring above. “If time permits and Julia doesn’t object.”
“We don’t need her permission.”
“It is common courtesy,” he said, overlooking the fact that he’d shown the girl little courtesy so far. “Besides, I must be sure the steps are safe.”
“King Cadeyrn says they are.”
Douglas craned his neck to glance up at Charlie. “Did he suggest climbing to the bell tower?”
Charlie pursed his lips and frowned. “No, it is something I wish to do. I can think for myself. Quite well, I believe. I trounced you thoroughly at chess and didn’t require anyone’s help for that.”
“Indeed.” Douglas silently berated himself for making more of the boy’s fanciful imagination than was warranted. And last night with Julia, those odd lights. He’d heard of something similar in the Scottish Highlands. Northern lights, the locals called them.
He set Charlie down on a bench near the bluebells and took a seat beside him. The garden suddenly seemed to come alive, the sun melting the last of the clouds away. Its golden rays now beat down on them and chased the chill from their bones.
“Look at those birds, Uncle Douglas!”
Douglas glanced up and studied the family of white doves flitting above them, framed against the expansive azure backdrop. “They look like angels in the sky.”
Charlie nodded. “I wish I could fly like that, don’t you?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” he admitted, but he felt a pang in his heart for the boy and understood his wish to soar. After a moment, the birds disappeared and Douglas returned his attention to the garden. A light breeze rustled through the honeysuckle, filling the air with a familiar honey scent.
Just like last night, Douglas realized and instantly tensed.
“Something wrong, Uncle Douglas?”
A pair of golden butterflies flitted over the bluebells and settled in Charlie’s hand. A rabbit also stopped by to pay its respect to the lad. “No, nothing wrong.”
Charlie bent down to stroke the animal’s fur. “Sorry, I haven’t any carrots for you today.”
The rabbit wiggled its nose and hopped off.
Douglas shook his head and chuckled. No wonder the boy loved this garden and its assortment of creatures, real and imagined. King Cadeyrn didn’t appear quite so fearsome in these idyllic surroundings. “Is the king here?”
Charlie nodded. “He’s seated between us. Your Majesty, may I introduce my uncle, Lord Eastbourne.”
Douglas tamped down the urge to leap out of his seat when he felt a whisper soft touch against his shoulder. “I’m honored,” he said with a bow, playing along and ignoring that his heart was now firmly lodged in his throat.
“So is he,” Charlie said, then bent forward as though listening to a conversation. “Is that so? King Cadeyrn knows you can’t see him or hear him right now, but he says you will again soon, just as you did last night. Oh, he says the lights you saw in the garden last night were his faerie court and not the northern lights.”
“Charlie–”
“Don’t be frightened, Uncle Douglas. King Cadeyrn will never hurt us. He wants to protect us, for we’re his kinsmen. He says Fae blood runs through the Eastbourne bloodline. He’s going to make me a faerie prince when I die and teach me to fly as high as those birds we saw earlier.”
“Charlie!”
“It’s the truth. I will die soon. Everyone dies.”
Had Julia been drumming the morbid notion into his head? If so, he’d wring her slender neck. She had no right to instill such thoughts in the boy. “You mustn’t believe everything Julia tells you.”
“King Cadeyrn told me. That’s why Julia doesn’t like him. She says he puts wicked ideas inside my head, but he doesn’t. The last time I was sick he came to my bedside and sang beautiful songs to me until my fever went away. What’s wrong, Uncle Douglas? Why are you looking at me that way?”
“Oh, Charlie,” he whispered, struggling to maintain his composure. The boy, in his delirium, must have mistaken Julia’s beautiful voice which was sweetly melodic – he couldn’t deny it, but that didn’t mean he liked her any better – for that of the mythical king.
“You don’t believe me, but it’s true.”
He wasn’t about to argue with the boy or belittle his dreams of belonging to a Fae royal lineage or flying across the sky like a bird, for he would have felt the same way were he a cripple and bound to his chair. “Come on, Charlie,” he said, putting the lad back on his shoulders for the walk back to the house. “I promised I’d have you home within the hour.”
*
Julia watched from the sitting room window as Lord Eastbourne settled Charlie on a bench in the center of the garden. He then sat down beside the boy and began to chat into the bluebells. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but her heart sank upon noticing how beautifully he and Charlie got along.
The pair laughed, talked excitedly between themselves and she knew, oh, she knew by the way Lord Eastbourne nodded and bowed toward the bluebells, that he was also holding a conversation with the imaginary King Cadeyrn.
She considered joining them in the garden for it was a beautiful day and she did wish to take a stroll. But Lord Eastbourne turned to her at that moment and she saw something in the intensity of his eyes that gave her pause.
Trembling, she turned from the window. He’d cast her that same gleam last night, just before he’d kissed her.
That kiss.
Unbidden, her hand moved upward to softly graze her lips.
Even now, she tasted Lord Eastbourne’s mouth on hers.
She shuddered.
Lord Eastbourne frightened her.
No, it wasn’t quite that.
It was her response to his sensual kiss, her awakened desire, that she feared. Even now, she had only to think of his warm lips on her mouth, gently possessive as they slanted across hers, of his strong arms holding her close, his hands caressing the length of her body. Mercy! Little bursts of heat shot through her blood, turning it to flame.
A sharp triplet of knocks against the window pane brought her back to her senses. “Miss Marsden!”
She pretended not to hear.
“Miss Marsden!”
She didn’t wish to acknowledge the earl’s presence, but he had Charlie and therefore could not be ignored. “Yes, my lord,” she said, turning back to the window and hoping the flush to her cheeks did not give her away. She delayed a moment before opening it, allowing time to recover her composure.
“The lad wishes to see the bell tower. Is it safe to climb the stairs?”
About to say no, she changed her mind and nodded. The steps were safe, and she didn’t wish to seem an ogre for denying the boy a simple pleasure. Still, it was very high up and there wasn’t much room to walk around. The large bell took up most of the space.
“Join us, Julia,” Charlie said, poking his head through the open window and simply beaming with joy.
“Very well.” She swallowed her pang of jealousy.<
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Goodness, the two males seemed to be enjoying their time together. Now it was her turn to remind Lord Eastbourne of Charlie’s attachment to her. Though wary of the earl, she was pleased the boy had thought to invite her along.
She grabbed her shawl, marched through the kitchen and out the door. The pair was waiting for her by the stone fence that ran alongside the church, Charlie contentedly perched on Lord Eastbourne’s shoulders.
She and the earl walked side by side, she taking the lead as they entered St. Lodore’s through its sturdy wooden door.
“I expected this place to be dark inside,” Lord Eastbourne muttered, glancing about the simple interior. “But it’s quite bright.”
Julia pointed upward. “Sunlight filters in through those stained glass windows throughout the day.”
“The oak pews have recently been dusted and polished to a shine,” he continued, seemingly more to himself than to her. “And the brass-trimmed altar appears well maintained.”
“Julia’s putting it in shape for the new vicar,” Charlie said.
“Ah, yes. You mistook me for him yesterday.” He cast her a grudging nod of approval which halted the tart retort she had at the ready.
“This way, Uncle Douglas.” Charlie tugged on his hair to motion him away from the altar and toward a small doorway beyond the nave. “Vicar Marsden’s office is through there, and beyond it is the stairway to the tower.”
“Charlie, hold tightly to Lord Eastbourne. The stairs are very steep and the tower is quite narrow.”
“I will, Julia. Are you climbing with us?”
“Of course.”
“Can you manage it, Miss Marsden?”
She tossed the earl an impatient look. “Yes, my lord. I’ve managed quite well without your assistance all these years.”
He said nothing, merely arched one eyebrow and tossed back a wry glance before marching to the vicar’s sanctuary. He ducked through the doorway to avoid knocking the boy’s head against the low crossbeams, then paused to look around. “Your father was quite the scholar.”
Julia glanced at the shelves cluttered with books on a variety of subjects, all quite well used. She closed her eyes and imagined her father seated at his desk, preparing his sermon while a warming fire burned in the hearth. “He was.”
She missed him terribly.
“Julia’s a scholar, too,” Charlie said with pride. “She’s as clever as any man. That’s what Vicar Marsden used to say.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” he said with such youthful earnestness, Julia couldn’t resist giving his hand a grateful squeeze. Lord Eastbourne would never see the good in her because it didn’t suit his purpose. He wanted to find her lacking, wanted to find fault in everything she said or did.
Well, she felt the same way about him.
Neither his wealth nor his good looks made up for his utter lack of regard for Charlie’s well-being. However, she set aside her concerns while climbing the fifty steps to the top of the bell tower. The climb required her full concentration and she was a little out of breath by the time they reached the cast iron bell.
Lord Eastbourne, to her dismay, didn’t appear in the least bit winded.
“Be careful,” she warned as he walked by the bell that occupied most of the tower. “There’s but a narrow walkway and little room to move about. Charlie! Do stop squirming or you’ll fall.”
“I’ve got him,” Lord Eastbourne assured her before glancing up at the excited boy. “Is it just as you remembered?”
“Yes, Uncle Douglas! The trees and green meadow, the river disappearing into the purple hills. Nothing has changed. Thank you for bringing me up here. I so wanted to see Friar’s Crag one last time before I leave.”
Julia’s heart lurched into her throat and pounded through her ears.
No! No! No!
But she tamped down her dread and responded as calmly as possible. “We’re not leaving here, Charlie.”
“Charlie is,” Lord Eastbourne said, lifting the boy off his shoulders and taking him into his arms as he neared the ledge. “Lad, you’ll like Eastbourne.”
*
“I ought to have pushed you off that bell tower,” Julia muttered, frowning at Lord Eastbourne when they were once more back at the cottage and alone. Charlie had been tucked into bed for his afternoon nap, his outdoor adventure having tired him out. “If you think I’m going to bend like a wilted flower while you trample over me and the boy–”
“You’re the one conjuring devious plots.”
She inhaled sharply. “How dare you! You’re the one who marched in here like a Visigoth, prepared to steal my child away!”
“He isn’t your child.”
“I’m the only mother he’s ever known!”
“But you’re not his real mother and that’s why you will lose your guardianship over the boy when I petition to have you removed.”
Julia drew back several steps until her shoulders pressed against the sitting room window, her back to the bluebell garden. She felt quite trapped, the earl standing tall and primed for battle before her and Charlie’s mythical faerie king sneering – or so she imagined – behind her.
Both men were trying to snatch Charlie from her.
Well, she’d fight both of them if she had to.
“You’re a monster,” she bit out, struggling to suppress her frustration and tears.
“And you are a fraud,” he shot back with an icy calmness.
“A fraud?” Any sorrow she may have felt now turned to seething anger. “For caring for Charlie when your family abandoned him? For seeking medical care for the lad when he became ill and your family refused to help? For loving him? Nursing him? A fraud? Explain that statement, my lord.”
He folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “I do not pretend that the Eastbourne family acted admirably toward the boy, but neither should you pretend that you were not paid for your sacrifice.”
“Paid?” She inhaled sharply once more. “By whom?”
“By my father.”
If blood could truly boil within one’s body, hers was boiling now. “Did he tell you that lie?”
“He never told me anything. He went to his grave hiding the truth from me. I had to pry the details out of our family solicitor after I found your letter among my father’s possessions. Your grandson is dying. I thought you should know.”
A chill ran through her, recalling those awful early years of Charlie’s descent into ill health. He’d been a happy, healthy child until the age of four. Now, he was ten and so fragile that her heart shattered every time she looked at the sweet boy. “I did write that letter, as you well know. But I’ve told you that your family ignored it.”
“My father did not ignore your every demand. Whatever financial arrangement you struck with him is now at an end.”
“I made no arrangements.”
“Then let’s call it what it truly is – blackmail, extortion – whatever fits best, but my father opened an account in your name with our London bankers and regularly deposited funds into it. You,” he said with a growl of indignation, “regularly made withdrawals. I have the proof and will not hesitate to turn it over to the authorities if you give me further trouble.”
Julia balled her hands into fists. Was the earl so depraved that he would lie? “If you have the evidence, then why wait to go to the authorities?”
“To give you the benefit of the doubt. Do not be so foolish as to call my bluff.”
“I will call your bluff. I will force you to lie under oath. Any evidence you produce shall be a lie. I never took so much as a farthing from your family. Nor did my father.”
“You try my patience! The bank manager has all the records, every withdrawal made.”
“Impossible!”
“And he described you to me in every detail. What reason would he have to deceive me?”
“I don’t know, but he has. And how has he described me? Young, blonde, modestly dressed? The same might apply
to a thousand other women. I haven’t left the Lake District since my father passed away. How could I? Charlie’s been too ill to travel. Do you think I would ever leave him, much less leave him on a regular schedule for days at a time to travel down to London?”
The man was mad to believe she would ever part from the helpless boy.
Lord Eastbourne took a menacing step closer. “Must I drag you to London and have the bank manager identify you?”
“You are the Devil! How many people have you bribed to ruin me? I’m certain they all took your blunt quite willingly. After all, you’re Eastbourne, and Charlie and I are nobodies! Why should they stand in your way if you wish to have your sport? Why should they answer truthfully when you’re willing to pay a king’s ransom for their lies?”
“Are you quite through, Julia?”
“Miss Marsden, to you. I’m not in the least finished with you.”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. “If I were a monster, I would have brought soldiers with me to drag you away and lock you in the darkest dungeon to the end of your days. But I took pity on you.”
“Pity!”
“Yes, because of Mr. Barrow’s report.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful for that?”
“I don’t care. I came here in search of the truth and I have found it out.”
She shrugged out of his grasp, but did not move away. It seemed more important to stand her ground and have it out with the arrogant earl, though she could do little to change his mind. Clearly, he had already made her out to be a thief and a liar. “And just what have you found out? That the boy is happy and well cared for? That we live simply, but have a good roof over our heads and sufficient food and clothing? But that doesn’t suit your purpose, so you’ve decided to destroy me, to get me out of the way.”
“Yes, I have found out that Charlie loves you and that you may – though I am not convinced of it yet – that you may love him, too.”
“I do!”
“Quiet!” he commanded when she tried to defend herself. “You’ve taken good care of him, I’ll grant you. Charlie is very attached to you, just as Mr. Barrow reported to me. But there is much that concerns me about the boy. He is not well in body.”