Authors: Jennifer St Giles
"I thought you'd gone," I said.
"I tried, but an odd thing happened."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, almost afraid to ask. "What?"
"You're the woman I want and I can't walk away. If that makes me a fool—"
I pressed my fingers to his lips. "That makes me a fool for you."
He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to my fingers. "I am sorry I hurt you. Had I known you then as I know you now, I would have taken you into my confidences as well as my heart"
"I believe you. I love you."
"Then there is one secret left that I need to tell you, " he said.
I was not sure that I wanted to hear another secret. "What?"
"Actually, it's two secrets. I telegraphed my brother about leasing the land and building a Trevelyan Trading Company port here in New Orleans. He telegraphed me back that he is coming to investigate my excellent idea. I also told him about you, that I'd found the woman for me."
"You are very sure of yourself." I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my breasts to the solid warmth of his chest.
"Marry me, Juliet."
I had no doubts. I was lost in his dark desire forever. "Yes. Kiss me."
He brought his lips to mine and whispered, "My dear, I thought you would never ask."
He kissed me then, sliding his fingers into my hair and loosening the pins, letting my curls fall free. I felt his hunger, his heart, his soul reaching for mine in that kiss, and I gave myself up to the magic of his passion. Pressing tightly to him, I breathed in the scent of sandalwood and spice.
"Love me, Stephen," I whispered.
"As long as God gives life to our souls."
"I mean right this minute." I slid my hands down to his hips and pulled him closer.
He laughed. "My impatient Juliet." Sweeping me into his arms, he carried me inside the house. "Tonight the pleasure is going to last till dawn."
"Dawn? But that's hours! No man could—"
"Just wait," he said, silencing me with a kiss. Then he proceeded to fulfill his promise.
E
PILOGUE
The full moon hung low in the sky, and a starlit path to heaven dotted the blue black night. Jasmine and sweet honeysuckle scented the evening breeze, along with the aroma of lit torches. Shadows darkened the courtyard, but the hearts of those who had gathered there were filled with light and love.
I turned to look at my silver and lace dress in the mirror, but instead of wedding finery, I saw a man more mist than substance. Dressed in worn confederate gray, he stood between the mirror and me, yet I could still see myself. He was familiar and I was unafraid. It was Jean Claude's ghost.
A heavy chill still hit me, but I smiled at him, realizing he had been helping us find his murderer all along, possibly even protecting us. Some miracle had put out the fire in the attic, I was certain. I heard a flutter and looked to my left.
The pages of his journal lying on my bed flew open as if by magic, and the man of mists placed his hand over his heart, gestured good-bye, and disappeared. Tears stung my eyes, but at last I felt peace about the past.
Standing near the French doors, where I could hear the laughter from below, I read the passage from Jean Claude's diary again.
"Finally, my youthful wife, who has brought so much to me when I thought I'd have no joy to fill these years, I must ask you to forgive me. For if you are reading these words, which I pen in a lonely camp amidst a war that has become a folly of death and destruction, then I have failed my mission. My attempt to get the supplies needed for our dying cause must have ended in dishonor. Forgive me. For you must understand, I see ahead and the fields are barren. The South has murdered her sons, her husbands, and fathers, and there are none to plow the field and feed the hungry. I thought by this deed, that I might save us all. So I have commended my heart and the future of my son, Andre, whom I hold ever close to my heart, into St. Catherine's hands and lay all that has been dearly bought at her feet."
I shut the journal. Soon Stephen would be waiting for me in the courtyard below, and I would go to him.
"I must say, this is the most unusual wedding I have ever attended," said Ann Trevelyan, Stephen's sister-in-law, as she slipped into the room. "It is absolutely perfect for you and Stephen. I am so happy for you, and now that I have met you, I am happy for him." She smiled, transforming her face to one of quiet beauty as she adjusted the deep red roses of my bouquet. "Are you nervous?"
"
Non
, I am anxious to be with Stephen. He is my heart, and I am blessed that he comes with such a large and warm family."
"I daresay the nine of us are a bit much to take all at one time."
I smiled. "You are all
tres
wonderful."
"We are an overly lively and chaotic group, but it is nice of you not to say it."
"A wonderful lively, then," I said.
Two weeks ago, Stephen's family had arrived from San Francisco and filled
La Belle
to overflowing. In that short time, I felt surrounded by a bounty of love and laughter. Ann's practical nature seemed to keep everyone sane. No matter what havoc or disaster arose, her no-nonsense manner ruled, and Stephen's brother Benedict helped keep Justin and Robert, his sons, from getting too out of line with their exuberance. Already, Andre, Justin, and Robert had started building a tree house, the planning of which had required the expert advice of all of the men. Stephen and Benedict seemed to be enjoying the adventure just as much as the children.
The ethereal sounds of Ginette playing the harp drifted up from the courtyard. This time no sadness lay in the beautiful melody, and her voice rang with strength and happiness. In the morning, when the dew was fresh upon the earth, renewing all of life, she would marry the captain of her heart. But tonight, the moonlight was mine.
"It's time," Ann said.
Taking the bouquet she held out, I stepped onto the gallery and walked to the railing as planned. Stephen stood by St. Catherine's fountain, looking toward me, and I thought again how beautiful he was in the moonlight and the shadows. My cue to come to him was to be a rose he would hold it out for me. I expected for him to lift the bloom immediately; he didn't. Instead, he nodded his head to the side.
Turning to look, I saw Andre with his violin. He stood in the moonlight and played a softly, exquisitely beautiful song. Mignon stood by him, in silent support. My heart overflowed with love for both of them.
When Andre finished, Stephen held up the rose. Then Papa John helped me down the steps, where Mama Louisa stood with tears streaming down her face. "God's blessing," she said simply.
I nodded as Ginette and Mignon joined me.
"Juliet, you are breathtaking," Ginette said.
"Just until the dawn. Then it will be you who will outshine the sun."
My sisters' dresses flowed about them like beautiful pastel ghosts in the moonlight as they followed me. Waiting in the courtyard was a sea of people I was just beginning to take into my heart. Stephen's sister, Katherine Simons, her husband, Anthony, and their daughter, baby Titania, Benedict, Justin, Robert, baby Elizabeth Ann, and Stephen's mother, Rosalind Trevelyan.
I walked to Stephen in the moonlight as he stood at the fountain. Benedict stood at his side, and next to him was Captain Jennison, the man to whom Stephen and I owed our lives. I gave Ginette my bouquet, placing my hand over Stephen's as he held the single rose out to me.
"I love you," he said, softly.
"And I love you." With our hands joined over the rose, we knelt at St. Catherine's feet to be married.
The minister began the service, and as I knelt before the statue, I remembered the words from Jean Claude's journal—that he'd laid all that had been dearly bought at St. Catherine's feet. And then I knew, with certainty, what he'd meant.
"Stephen, I know where the gold is," I whispered, then primly looked back at the minister, who was speaking about the duties of husband and wife.
"Where?" he whispered back.
"We are kneeling on it. The gold is at St. Catherine's feet."
"Good lord!" he exclaimed, causing a stir of movement among everyone. I laughed.
Stephen's brother bent down next to him. "Is there a problem, Stephen?"
Merriment danced in Stephen's eyes as he shook his head, then looked at the priest, who was frowning at us both. "Have you gotten to the kissing part yet?"
"No," the priest admonished.
Undaunted, Stephen smiled. "Then there will be two of them, for I cannot wait." He leaned over and kissed me, making my heart sing.
When the ceremony ended and Stephen swept me into his arms, I realized a new era was beginning.
La Belle du Temps
, the house of my heart, would now become the house of Stephen's and my hearts. Our fondest memories would live within her, times of laughter and joy as our children grew. She would hold our lives with gentle arms, and the strength and understanding of our ancestors would wrap around us as we walked from the shadows of the past to a bright new future.
Coming soon from Jennifer St. Giles!
Excerpt from TALES FROM THE DARK DOMAIN: AERIK – POINT OF NO RETURN
C
HAPTER
O
NE
England
1808
A chill wind from the North Sea whipped up the craggy cliffs and punished the dark walls of Castle Rue Morte before raking across the Yorkshire moor. Christine Webber shivered as the brewing storm stole the late summer sun’s warmth and dashed her plans for the time she had left of her afternoon off.
Between Lady Stafford’s absorbing demands and the recent spate of afternoon thunderstorms, both man and nature seemed determined to keep her from searching for the truth. Either that or her beloved grandmother was wielding a firm hand all the way from heaven to keep Christine away from Rue Morte. Her many warnings were never far from Christine’s mind.
“Rue Morte led your mother to ruin. Stay far away from its black walls, Christine, lest you succumb to its evil as well. Trust no one, ever. Never tell a soul we are Valois.”
Having survived the terror in France, narrowly escaping the guillotine, her grandmother had rightly feared everyone and everything. Both Christine’s aristocratic grandfather and father had fallen to the revolution’s murderous blade in Paris.
She would never tell a soul her ancestry, and while she believed those sequestered within Rue Morte knew where her mother had disappeared to ten years ago, the only evil around was in the minds and hearts of the superstitious townspeople. Her mother had been very happy before rumors of witchcraft had forced her to flee, and the source of that happiness had been living at Rue Morte at the time.
Though the castle was supposedly empty but for the caretaker now, Christine still wanted to search the castle for clues as to who her mother had fallen in love with, and to question the caretaker about where she might have gone.
Her search would now have to wait another week. Instead of taking only a few hours, the errand to Scarborough for Lady Stafford had taken much longer, effectively eliminating Christine’s half day off. She supposed it was just as well that a storm had arisen. Otherwise, she’d have been tempted to and would’ve most surely been late in returning to Stafford Hall. That would have incurred more attention from her employers than was presently wise.
Lady’s Stafford’s ire would have likely doubled Christine’s workload for the next week and
any
notice from Lord Stafford made her skin crawl. He’d been ogling her more and more of late.
Refusing to let the problem ruin her day, she pulled her worn cloak tighter and hastened her step, regretting that she’d left her drawing book at home. If she could have spent time sketching her obsession, she wouldn’t feel the day a loss. As she passed a patch of lavender by the roadside, she gathered several handfuls of the pungent blooms to add to the rose-petal soap she planned to make sometime this week. Considering the enormous luncheon Lady Stafford was holding tomorrow to celebrate Lord Stafford’s birthday, it would likely be next week before she had the opportunity.
It was a shame that despite all of their efforts, the party was sure to be a disaster. Lord Stafford loved his scotch, which is why Lady Stafford didn’t dare host a party after dark. He was usually too far into his cups by that time. With all of his cronies around, Christine bet Lord Stafford will be foxed within an hour.
Leaving the moor behind for the tangle of forest, she made her way along the graveled path and smiled with anticipation for what lay just ahead. She could already see him in her mind. Her secret obsession whose magnificent form she likened to that of a Viking or Roman warrior from ages past. Even Zeus maybe, for he had stolen his way into her imagination like a powerful god and the stories she wove about him had captured her heart and desires.
Thickening trees eased the chill of the wind from the threatening storm that deepened the evening shadows. The moment she rounded the bend to the graveyard and passed the eight-foot cross marking the entrance, she saw him. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked as if he could slay dragons with a single blow from the sword he held. She slid back the hood of her cloak and breathed in, swearing she could actually smell the sandalwood she imagined him wearing.
After a quick glance about to assure she was alone, she sauntered forward with a saucy swing to her step. Were anyone ever to see her, they’d likely lock her away in an insane asylum. “So who shall you be this stormy day, sir? A captain of a fine ship fighting pirates on a wild sea? A noble soldier riding to the rescue of your king? Or a knight slaying dragons to win the affections of the fairest princess in the land?”
Sighing, she angled her head back and slid her palm against his chiseled cheek. “Would that I knew your true story, my lone warrior.”