Beautiful Whispers (Ausmor Plantation Book 1 - Romance/Suspense) (2 page)

Can’t believe how much Eva’s changed. She’s thinner than she used to be. Paler. Her curly hair’s longer, but her hazel eyes hide something. Pain? Secrets? What is she running from this time? Or does she finally know the truth?

It’ll be different this time. I won’t let Byron win again. He thinks he’s better than me. Always has. So he’s got the money, the connections and the name. And Eva. I can’t forget that. He always had Eva. But I know what he is.

W
ould Jane Eva Austen even want me? Hell, that reception she gave me told me she hadn’t forgotten me. Would she remember that kiss I stole? She was supposed to meet the idiot, but he bailed. She shoved it off like it was nothing. I saw her tears. I remembered thousands of them from when my mom hid hers.

Eva and I were in the barn. I couldn’t help myself. I kissed her tears then her lips. She’s looking at me. Did she say something?

I wouldn’t make the same mistake. Last time, I had to leave. We couldn’t stay. Not after his father thought I did those things. My mother wouldn’t fight it. She never fought anything. So, we left. I promised I’d never return. Not until she gave me her blessing hours before she died. She told me to be happy. That’s what she always regretted in her own life. She never let herself be happy. I won’t have to clear my name. I won’t even mention why we were chased out of town.

Lillia jiggled the door knob and busted through the door. Stronger than she looks. I’d have to remember not to get on her bad side.

“We are ever so grateful that you are here, Mr. Ravenswirth,” Mrs. Kiness said. “Just in time for the holiday season.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kiness.” I had to remember my place. That’s what mom always said. ‘Remember to call them by their full names. Know your place. Don’t suppose they’re your friends. They’re not.’ “I’m the son of a maid and a gardener. I can’t forget that. I won’t forget that.”

“What?” Eva asked.

“Nothing,” I said, remembering to be more formal.
Just smile. She always liked my smile. “Good to see you again, Miss Austen.” I poured on the accent. I knew she loved it, and Byron didn’t have the southern accent.

Eva flinched as she studied me. It was a game we used to play. We’d switch positions, and I was named Austen from one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Virginia. And I was the one who lived at Ausmor
Plantation and commanded hundreds of servants. She’d bow and announce me and...

“Tourists,” Mrs. Kiness reminded as the clock chimed nine times.

“Cute ones this time I hope.” Lillia smiled and leaned close to Eva. “I’m tired of being a virgin.”

I didn’t know what to say to that or why Lillia stared directly at me, but I’m glad Mrs. Kiness handed me a list of things to fix. I nodded to Eva and then left. Looking at the list, I thanked all the gods in the gardens that Lillia wasn’t something I had to do.

I ran up the stairs into my room expecting to find it ravished by a Hurricane as I’d left it, but, of course, Mrs. Kiness and her minions had already done their magic. The pillows were neatly placed just so on the white comforter. My armoire was closed – don’t know how they did it since I’d grabbed, things had fallen and the door had jammed. My books were marked and closed. My desk straightened. I looked up at my prized alien mobile in the corner above my bed. “Did you see them do it?”

The alien and his ship moved slightly but didn’t provide clues. The trash with the candy bar wrapper evidence had been disposed of. I hoped one of the minions did it. Otherwise, I’d have to endure yet another nutrition lecture. I never understood how Mrs. Kiness wouldn’t be convinced that chocolate provided all the nutrients my body needed.

I rushed to the fireplace to warm my hands. Something about staring into a fire lulled me. Then, I noticed a pile of books on my desk with a note. “What the hell?”

Jane,

I sighed. “It’s Eva. Or Jane Eva. Not just Jane.”

Read these. You do know how to use a computer, don’t you?

“Yes, Karenda. I know how to turn it on and download pics of hot guys.”

You are to be responsible for Ausmor’s website. I expect a daily blog inspired by the writer Jane Austen
using her vernacular. I expect all emails to be answered promptly. I expect the Ausmor Plantation brand to be easily recognizable. I expect the professional looking website to be up and running in 48 hours and fully integrated with our social media presence.

- K

“Well, sometimes I look at you, Karenda, and half expect one of your ginormous tits to ask me how I am in the morning, but it ain’t gonna happen.”

I opened one of the books she wanted me to read. After a few unfamiliar words attacked me, I closed it just as fast and glanced at the title. “Why the hell would I need to know about file system whatevers just to do a website? And what is a widget? And why is it called that?” As my head started to throb at the thoughts of twits and circles and followers and fans, I gathered the books together and fell to my knees to look under the bed.

Fanny Dingo perched on her favorite tasseled purple pillow under my bed. My American Shorthair silver tabby cat with a dark fudge ripple swirl and light blue eyes tossed one of her squeaky yawns as she surveyed a couple of gardener’s gloves and three mismatched mittens a few tourists ‘accidentally’ left.

“Want a new collection, Fanny?”

The cat purred.

I tossed the books under the bed and smiled when I heard pages rip. “Karenda, I think now is the best time to realize you don’t get what you want out of life.”
I know that better than anyone.

I unlocked the door to my private balcony, leaned against one of the chalky pillars and held onto the intricately carved iron railing. Everything was better from the second floor. I couldn’t hear the tourists in the main house. The staff didn’t bother me. My room looked towards a small forest that bordered Bashwells
- Byron’s property.

Down below me in the side garden,
Alexander helped the gardeners.

“And it has the best view.” After watching him toss around bags of whatever they were, I knew how he got his muscles.
“I bet he can do anything.”

I didn’t know what he was doing, but it didn’t matter. Alexander stopped long enough to toss his cowboy hat under the tree. “Much better.” I can see more of him. I let my mind wander a bit through a fantasy. Just then, he glanced up and waved. I waved back, happy to see his crooked smile. “I’m in trouble, Fanny.”

My laptop beeped. I walked back inside and sat down at my desk to open the new email from...Karenda.

Jane, do not flounder on this. Do what I require, Jane. You cannot continue to burden those around you, Jane.

“That’s good. Use the name every five freaking seconds cause that’ll make me want to use it.”

I will not allow you to live here without contributing. So far, you have failed at everything you’ve ever tried to do.

I flinched and reread it. Yep. She used those words. ‘Failed.’

I would like to believe there is one thing you might be adequate at. Try not to be the burden you have been for the past twenty-one years
.

I sat back as I gripped the laptop tighter.

You’re not pretty enough and definitely not smart enough to rely on others forever.

I re-read her words. I used to think Karenda liked me. Sometimes, I pretend I have a sister who genuinely cared if I were bleeding to death in a dirt ditch, but those times usually accompany a mind splitting migraine for some reason. Maybe my brain gets jumbled and memo
ries get outta whack.

Someone cleared her throat behind me, and I jumped up like a spring stabbed my ass.

“I’m sorry, dear.” Mrs. Kiness spied over my shoulder at Karenda’s email.

I quickly deleted it and closed the lid.

Mrs. Kiness removed the tissue she carefully hid in her sleeve and dabbed gently at the corners of her eyes. “I do not understand her. Where did she acquire so much spite?”

“I think it was a two for one sale. Buy two enormous boobs and get a side order of bitch slapping, knee in the crotch spite.”

Mrs. Kiness suppressed a smile. “The things you say, child.” She rushed to the French doors and closed them. “It is much too chilly to venture out there. I have never seen anyone as young as your sister possess so much anger and bitterness. And yet you are so...”

“A delight?” I cocked my head to one side so my sarcasm could flow better. “A true joy to behold? Someone who makes the world a little better?” I tried to say in my most self-degrading way, but I secretly wanted compliments to make Karenda’s words less stingy.

“You are,” Mrs. Kiness said as she grabbed me in a hug. “You are a joy to all who know you. I have been honored all these years to watch you grow.”

“Like a
ficus?”

She held me at arm’s length and ignored my verbal cynic. “And you will accomplish great and amazing things.”

“Okay,” I said, slowly releasing myself from her Vulcan grip. There’s a compliment and then there’s bullshit. “She expects me to learn how to do a website. Why can’t we hire someone to do that?”

Mrs. Kiness shook her head. “You know your sister. She believes it better if one of the family accomplishes the task.”

“What about Evan?” Why didn’t I think of that before? Lillia’s brilliant brother – obviously different from her in every way. He was our tutor ‘back in the day,’ as Lillia would say. “He’s brilliant and...well...everything Lillia isn’t.”

Mrs. Kiness sighed as she caressed the back of her head searching for hair straggles intent on escaping her perfectly coifed bun. “I am sure Mr. Morgan would be honored to help his cousin with her responsibilities.”

Crap. The responsibility lecture again. Worse than the chocolate is evil diatribe. “I know I haven’t been the most hands on, but...”

“Yes, I know, child. You have had...”

I waited to hear how Mrs. Kiness would describe my situation. Migraines. Missing time. Unexplained wounds. Many believed I broke my own leg on purpose or cut my arm intentionally. They thought I wanted attention or was embarrassed about self-inflicting, but I didn’t do it. I swear. I don’t know how I ended up trapped on the third floor in that room no one’s supposed to go into. I don’t know how I ended up at the bottom of the stairs with a broken leg. I don’t know how I got those stab wounds in my arm, but I know I didn’t do it. I couldn’t have. I wouldn’t have.

My stomach churned as it always did when I thought of those things. Fear and doubt grew like a single
summer cloud crowded out by pudgy gray rain clouds. I had to believe myself. Even if doubts crept around the edges of everyone else like kudzu invading a forest. I screw up. I put off. I say things I shouldn’t even think. I irritate and harass and doubt. But I couldn’t. I hope I didn’t.

Someone shook me.

I came to and realized I wasn’t at Ausmor anymore. “What the hell?”

“Exactly.” Charlotte said.

I studied Ausmor’s ageless driver who probably started driving Ausmor’s first car. A cigarette dangled from her bright red lips, and she wore her flimsy pink scarf no matter the weather. I realized we stood downtown in front of the stationary store. “How? What? Where? When? Why?”

“What’s the
'ish?” Charlotte asked as she studied me. “Need me to take you back? Having some problem?” Charlotte, somewhere between eighty and three hundred and twenty, surveyed me while twisting her head back and forth. Then she shrugged. “You’re as fine as a June bug mating a death beetle.”

I didn’t know whether that was good or bad.

“Gotta consult something.” Charlotte dove under the hood of Ausmor’s car and fiddled. “Don’t mind me. Gotta dick around awhile.”

“I won’t panic. I won’t panic,” I whispered to myself as that tingling fear crept over the lines. “Stop.” I couldn’t lose it. “I
t’s no big. I was talking with Mrs. Kiness in my room. I blinked and now I’m downtown. Happens to everyone.” The rising nausea in my stomach boiled over. “Calm down.” I lose it, and my sister would hate me forever and enchant me with lectures about the Austen name, shame and insanity.

A few tourists looked in my direction. I smiled at them and nonchalantly peeked around me. December in Virginia. Cold and crisp. The leaves had already left most of the trees. A few stubborn ones clung to naked branches, but most of the rest had consented to be dropped, strewn across streets, crunched under boots or raked into a pile and dog
mauled.

I pinched my left wrist. The pain focused me. Better to confront physical pain than the emotional baggage of mental
sewery deadends. Downtown, huge colonials on teeny lots shyly hid behind requisite white picket fences as flowers of purple, red and yellow inched across trellises. Across from the courthouse, the lonely Confederate soldier guarded a small park with two hundred year old oak trees. A smathering of snow much like too little butter on toast dusted the town as smoke wafted from chimneys and jacket zippers could be heard busting to be unleashed over layers of clothes.

A bell rang as the door to the bakery opened. Fresh baked cinnamon bread.
“I can have bread, can’t I? Not gluten allergic, am I?” I closed my eyes as the aroma filled my lungs, and I could taste the sugary cinnamon melt against my tongue when a sickening vinegary smell assaulted me. I didn’t want to open my eyes. I knew who belonged to the stench.

He stood there and waited. I wanted to keep my eyes closed to pretend he didn’t exist, but his wheeze gave him away.

“J to my J,” Johnston Stonston spewed like fresh vomit. His rattle bang wheeze sounded like something pneumonia aspired to be. The Stonston clan? Clutch? Cult? Lived next door to Ausmor. They’d slither into Ausmor every other day which most of the family made sure to avoid like a greedy aunt with a questionable cold sore. Unfortunately, Mags Morgan Stonston – Johnston’s mother, was a Morgan. Questionably related to me. I always liked to add the ‘questionably’ part. It helped with digestion.

Johnston, the youngest son, was well into his teens, twenties, thirties or forties. A few more hundred sweat beads formed around Johnston’s receding dirty blond hair and pale, bloated face. Handsome he wasn’t. Interesting he’d never be. Disturbing, disgusting and generally distasteful was Johnston.

I opened my eyes and hoped I’d be back in my room listening to Mrs. Kiness. I wasn’t. “Hello, Johnston.” I spoke to him with the same enthusiasm as speaking to a Hare Krishna, but he never got the hint that I found him as repulsive as a gag rag. Another reason I didn’t want to go by Jane. It would be harder for the maggot to say, ‘E to my J.’

He glanced me up and down and specifically looked back and forth between my breasts as his eyebrows arched.

Charming. Creeped me out. Every vinegar soaked inch of him gave me the willies. Then it hit me. “Oh my god!” I ran to Charlotte still leaning over the car. “Did I black out again?”

She banged her head on the hood. “What?”

“Tell me I didn’t imagine Alexander coming back.”

“Alexander? Why is he back?”

I turned to see Byron standing there. All day people had popped out of nowhere, but I didn’t mind Byron.

Byron Bashley – my schoolgirl crush, first love and dangerous bad boy - waited for his subtle cologne to infuse the space. His cologne always reminded
me of a strange mixture of blossoming dogwoods and winter’s snow: masculine, inviting, risky. The Bashleys lived next door at Bashwells plantation on their remaining 250 acres. Compared with the old blood Bashleys, the Austens and Morgans were considered new blood. “There’s my Jane.”

One of the reasons I didn’t mind being called Jane. To hear Byron call me his made it worth listening to Johnston’s little ditty.

Charlotte slammed the hood closed, wiped some goop from her hands and managed to straighten her already perfect short blonde-gray hair when she spotted Byron. I had to smile. Byron had that affect on everyone.

“Charlotte,” Byron grabbed Charlotte’s hand and gently kissed it as she swooned. I shook my head. He knew his effect. “How’s my favorite, enchanting chauffeur?”