Intertwine (6 page)

Every now and again, he thought he could hear the peal of church bells. Was someone ringing the parish bell or was the violent wind swinging the bell of its own accord? Local superstition held that church bells rung in a storm would keep thunder and lightning away.

Not that it seemed to be working.

At least James wasn’t the only one absorbing the bewitching quality of this fierce storm. Though not terribly superstitious himself, the local inhabitants around Marfield were.

James had often noted the stonecrop growing on his tenants’ roofs, supposedly to protect from lightning. And witches too. Some even took to placing a cross of whitethorn above their front door, also to ward off enchanters and their spells. The list went on and on. James shuddered to think what ill omen the villagers would make of this horrific Beltane weather. Bad weather on one of the most powerful spirit nights of the year would not ease superstitious minds. He would probably spend the next month seeing his tenants wear pouches of hazel leaves and twigs to ward off ill luck.

Nearly all of the local folklore and mystical beliefs came from one source. Auntie Gray with her gnarled hands and kind eyes was a fount of information, both historical and arcane. Though sensible and kind, Auntie Gray’s stories and knowledge fed rather than allayed local superstitions. James suspected that in an earlier time she might have been burned for being a witch.

Fortunately, they lived in a more enlightened era.

Pulling his greatcoat more tightly around him, James let his mind wander to his plans for the week, assuming the storm broke soon. He hoped Ethan Fletcher would have time for one of their famous bouts with swords or sticks or both. He would let Ethan choose. An old childhood friend, Ethan had recently cashed out of the army to take over the running of the large family farm after his uncle’s death.

Though a yeoman farmer, Ethan excelled at fencing and quarterstaff fighting, a legacy of his time as a soldier. Even if adventure never found James, he enjoyed being ready for it, knowing how to move his body in a fight. And James found he usually had a reserve of latent aggression to burn through. A drive to pulverize his overabundant energy into a limp mass.

Finally a flicker-flash of lightning illuminated the gates to Haldon Manor to the right of the road, comforting James with the promise of dry clothing and a warm bed. He turned down the familiar track, grateful as the sloppy mud of the main road turned into the more grass-laden lane.

Just a mile more and he would be home.

The study

Haldon Manor

Around one month prior

March 28, 1812

“Well, what does Dr. Carson say? What does he recommend for Georgiana?” Arthur asked impatiently from his position near the fireplace, watching James at his desk reading a letter.

When James didn’t immediately respond, Arthur began to slowly pace the dark paneled room, irritation evident in the tightness of his shoulders.

Georgiana sat motionless in a chair opposite James’ desk, wrapped in a shawl despite her long-sleeved morning dress and seat near the roaring fire. Sun poured through the window behind James, glinting off her golden hair. Her eyes vividly blue in the afternoon light, but restless. Almost feverish.

Finishing his reading, James set the letter down. “Dr. Carson makes some suggestions for herbal treatments, many of which we have tried already. But he recommends one involving birch bark that could be promising. Other than that, he suggests a consultation when I am next near Liverpool.”

“Liverpool?” Arthur said, slight contempt lacing his tone. “Why would you ever just find yourself near Liverpool? The entire town is full of merchants and commerce. Hardly the place that a proper gentleman just
happens
to go.” Arthur snorted as if he had made a very fine joke.

James gritted his teeth slightly. Really, his brother was rather absurd at times. Arthur had inherited more than just their mother’s grey eyes and brown hair. He had also absorbed her love of propriety. By contrast, James and Georgiana heavily favored their golden-blond father, both in looks and easy-going nature. He knew that Arthur found James’ careless appreciation of status and societal position to be a sore trial.

“Well, fortunately, you have never really thought me a truly proper gentleman, Arthur, so I shall be able to venture to Liverpool with equanimity.”

James saw Georgiana give a small grin, her eyes dancing briefly. It was the barest hint of herself, of the woman she had been before this illness. Before fatigue and dullness had engulfed her.

James watched as she coughed, deep and harsh. The bones of her hands moved in sharp relief under her skin. Her weight loss had been slow but relentless. His heart clenched at the sight. Georgiana was his champion, the one person in the world he could always count on to see reality as he did. Though separated by nearly eight years, their ability to read each other’s thoughts and moods was often uncanny.

Recovering from her cough, Georgiana said, “Don’t Lord Preston and the lovely Miss Preston live near Liverpool?” Her tone was teasing, her grin sly. It filled James’ heart to see her face with some animation.

“Indeed, he does.” James gave wry smile. “But I cannot think that Miss Preston would appreciate my attentions. I believe she nearly fainted from fright the last time I tried to talk with her.”

Though passably pretty, James could only think of Miss Anabelle Preston as colorless. This described more than just her nearly featureless white-pale hair, brows and lashes. She seemed washed of life. Empty. Bland.

Arthur snorted. “Miss Preston is merely reserved and well-mannered, brother.”

“She trembled for a full five minutes the last time I endeavored to engage her in conversation, not once raising her voice above a whisper.” James fixed Arthur with a stare. “Is it now fashionable for well-bred ladies to quiver like a leaf in a gentleman’s presence?”

Arthur opened his mouth to deliver a blistering retort, but Georgiana intervened first. “Please, don’t argue. Miss Preston does not warrant ill words.”

Arthur and James eyed each other for a moment.

“Though James is right, Arthur,” Georgiana continued with a glance at him. “Miss Preston is impeccably well-bred but terribly shy. She would hardly be a good match.”

James knew he was that most sought after of species: An eligible bachelor. The first-born heir to a wealthy estate with impressive holdings in the five per cents and a revered family name, despite his lack of a title. Though, he was the great-grandson of both a duke and an earl.

All of which made him a enticing matrimonial fish to be landed. Wherever he went, conspiring mamas threw out their lures, casting their fresh-faced daughters in his path, trying to reel him in. As a rule, such girls were well-mannered and polite. Often they were pretty. Occasionally witty and passably clever.

But never thrilling or truly fascinating. Never compelling or with a promise of adventure. Nothing in them generated a spark of something more within him.

James had tried to find such women interesting. Truly he had. He had no particular aversion toward marriage.

There had been the lovely second daughter of a marquis, Lady Margaret. She had been everything his mother had ever wanted for him. Well-bred from an illustrious family. But when she had thrown herself at James in the family library, he had realized that she wasn’t everything
he
had ever wanted. James had decidedly strong feelings about the importance of self-worth. Feelings Lady Margaret apparently did not share.

Of course, that hadn’t been nearly as bad as Miss Mariah Croft. Well, Miss Croft herself was actually fine and amiable. Mrs. Croft had been the problem. Hinting not so subtly that if he were to marry her daughter, James could enjoy more than one marriage bed. As if he were that type of man.

It all had left a bad taste in his mouth.

“True, sister. I don’t think I will bother Lord Preston with a visit. Instead, perhaps I will head north to Liverpool to consult with Dr. Carson and stop by Lyndenbrooke as well. I should ensure that your steward is managing the estate well.”

“Lyndenbrooke,” she sighed. “It would be lovely to see it again. Perhaps in the spring. I miss it so.” Lyndenbrooke was Georgiana’s estate, left to her by their paternal grandmother. Though small in comparison to Haldon Manor, it provided an adequate living. James knew that Georgiana had had hopes of perhaps living there independently one day. A hope that James profoundly prayed she would realize.

“Heavens, Georgiana!” Arthur said, his voice too loud. “You are so ill. How can you even talk of visiting Lyndenbrooke? It is completely out of the question.”

“Arthur, really, that is uncalled for—”

“—James, she needs rest not a holiday!”

“You have no right to assume—”

“Enough! Both of you.” Georgiana’s eyes snapped with anger. “Arguing with one another will not help me. I know you both would like me to live. But the reality is that very few survive the white death. It kills in degrees, but it kills nonetheless.”

“Really, Georgie.”

“Georgiana—”

“No, hear me out. I want to live. Trust me, I do. But I want to live fully. Death will claim all of us at some time. Neither of you can stop that. But until then, I want to live, . . . not die beforehand, slowly in inches.”

Georgiana looked between them both. James could feel the strength in her. The determination.

Arthur stared and then turned away. James swallowed and slowly nodded, letting out a low, harsh breath, raking a hand through his hair.

She
was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

For the thousandth time, he silently vowed that she would live. He would find a way. Somehow.

Georgiana had always been the brightest part of his life. The one thing that held him firmly to Haldon Manor.

As a youth, James had planned to leave, despite his responsibilities as heir. To find adventure. But then his father had died unexpectedly and he had found himself suddenly the head of the family. Everyone looking at him, requiring something of him, their mother distraught with grief, Arthur and Georgiana needing someone to guide them. Then their mother passed away too, leaving Georgiana to find her way to womanhood alone. And now Georgiana herself was ill. He would not leave, not when his sister needed him so much. Not when he needed her so much.

“Well, Georgie, we will just have to get you well. I won’t tolerate this illness of yours any longer,” James said quietly. “Just promise me you will be careful while I am gone.”

“Oh, James, you must stop pleading with me to be careful.” Georgiana paused, looking sightlessly past James for a moment. Then she brought her eyes back to his. “Life will bring what it will. We cannot change that.”

James grimaced and hoped that Georgiana didn’t see the pain flicker in his eyes. There for a second and then gone, tucked back away.

She would live, he promised. He would find a way.

Chapter 5

Duir Cottage

Beltane

April 30, 2012

T
he branch screeched along the window. Once, twice—a terrible nails-on-the-chalkboard sound. And then the wind gusted again, moving the branch away from the house. Rain continued to pour, pounding relentlessly against the roof.

Sighing, Emme finished the last few bites of food and then reached for her purse slung over the back of the chair next to her. Flipping it open, she grabbed out her tablet. She loved her leather purse with its clever hidden clasp and series of zippers. Well, really it looked more like a satchel than anything else. But it was the only purse she had found that met all her disaster traveling needs, fitting her tablet, some makeup and travel toiletries. And a first aid kit with a couple of MRE’s, solar charger and a fierce looking multi-tool. Marc had gotten creative through the years.