Authors: Kasey Michaels
The Englishwoman was petite, perfectly formed from her short, sleek cap of curls to the refined flare of her hips, to the very tips of her beige designer pumps. Her waist couldn’t be any larger than Vivian Leigh’s Scarlett in
Gone with the Wind.
As they drew closer, Jade marveled at Morgan’s flawless English complexion, a lovely peaches and cream that was only accentuated by those dark curls and the moist, apricot-colored lip gloss, which reminded Jade that she hadn’t retouched her own makeup.
Morgan’s eyes, Jade noticed as Court embraced the woman in greeting, were beyond blue, very nearly violet, and if those long eyelashes were fake, they were fantastic fakes.
But nobody could fake the easy confidence Morgan exuded from every pore, or the glow of life that shone from those violet eyes. In a word, Morgan Eastwood was elegant. In more than a word, she was gorgeous, refined, a walking advertisement for whatever path in life it was that she had chosen.
Jade looked down at her own clothing, a reflection of the life path she had chosen, and suddenly felt as if she should go hide behind a pole or something.
“Morgan,” Court said, stepping away from his cousin, “I’d like you to meet Jade Sunshine. Jade, my cousin, Morgan Eastwood.”
“Sunshine?” Morgan said, extending her right hand. “You kept your name for professional reasons? I hear that’s done frequently these days. I think it’s wonderful. How good to meet you, Jade.”
Jade felt the cool, firm touch of Morgan’s hand and returned the slight pressure. “And good to meet you. I’m sorry we were late. I’m afraid I asked Court to help me with something before we drove out here.”
Morgan shook her head. “No problem. As it turns out, the room I was promised never materialized, so I decided to brave the security queue and
meet you in a public area. I have my ticket to Atlanta, and I’ve been assured that is enough to take me back through Security, although I was warned I’d need to plan time for that entire embarrassing procedure, so we have only an hour at the most.”
“Atlanta? I thought you were flying back to England today.”
“I did, as well, Court, but I made the mistake of telling an old friend that I would be traveling here in the States, and she shamelessly guilted me into stopping off with her for a few days. Actually, I think she wants to introduce me to her brother, who is, I understand, very
nice
and has a
wonderful personality.
I’m looking forward to an uncomfortable interlude, but as I said, Clarice is an old school chum. Is there somewhere quiet we can go to talk?”
Jade looked left and right, and spied a small bar crowded with those seeking liquid courage before flying the increasingly unfriendly skies. “Over there?”
“I see a table you two can grab,” Court said, “but I doubt we’ll be served, so I’ll go to the bar. Your orders, ladies?”
“A glass of white wine, Court, if possible,” Morgan said in her precise English accent, and
Jade only nodded that she’d have the same. She didn’t want wine, she wanted ginger ale, but she already felt underbred and underdressed. Being presented with a glass of ginger ale with a red-and-white-striped straw in it just wasn’t in her plans.
“Court has told me so much about you, Jade,” Morgan said as they took up tall chairs at a high round table, Morgan having to sort of boost herself into hers. “But I see even his kind words fail to describe your stunning good looks. There’s such a quiet elegance and air of confidence about you. What I wouldn’t give to be tall. People can smile and prattle on about ‘pocket Venus’ all they want. I’m still short. It’s difficult to appear elegant when you sit down and your feet don’t touch the floor.”
“I never thought of that,” Jade said, deciding she had to be very shallow, because she felt flattered. She was also liking this Morgan Eastwood more and more by the moment; she wasn’t so dense that she didn’t realize that the other woman was very deftly trying to put her at her ease. “And, uh, thank you.”
Morgan’s smile faded. “Oh, I’m so sorry. As I said, Court has told me about you, including the recent tragedy involving your father. Please allow me to extend my sincere condolences. To you, your sisters, your mother.”
“I’ll be certain to tell my sisters, thank you. My mother, however, is in Hawaii with her second husband, who also happens to be my father’s brother, so I’ll pass on that if you don’t mind.” Jade closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry, Morgan. I have no idea where that came from, why I said that.”
Morgan reached over and put her hand on top of Jade’s. “Life is never easy, is it? And I’ve found, in the small research I’ve done, the larger the family, the greater the chances for heartache, the Beckets being no exception, I’m afraid. Of course, they’ve had two hundred years to fall out with each other over silliness, haven’t they? Ainsley would have straightened them all out quickly enough, I’m sure—he was a very powerful man who brooked no nonsense. But time, distance… we are who we are, not what we want to be, yes?”
Jade nodded, and then thanked Court as he placed a glass of white wine in front of her. “Court’s told me about your family, Morgan, and that the house you live in has been in your family for about two hundred years. I find that amazing.”
“You should see it,” Court said. “It’s more than amazing. Becket Hall is extraordinary. A home, a fortress, a legacy.”
“A prison,” Morgan said quietly, and then
shook her head. “No, that’s not entirely fair. Becket Hall is my home and I love it. Still, there’s a difference between wanting to be somewhere and being constrained by your ancestor’s whim.”
“Ainsley Becket,” Court said, “our mutual ancestor. I thought the letter you spoke of was a request, not an order. That Becket Hall should remain in the family, I mean.”
“Not only remain in the family, as property, you understand, but also be inhabited by members of the family,” Morgan said. “Generation after generation after generation. Which ends with me, I suppose, as there are no more male Eastwoods. When I marry and leave, as I cannot imagine any man I marry wishing to be so isolated on the marsh, Becket Hall will stand for the most part empty until it falls into the sea. Unless…”
Jade put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Yes,
unless.
Court told me there’s some sort of curse, correct?”
Morgan’s laugh was a delight. “A curse? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it called that before, Jade. But I suppose it’s all in how you look at the thing. And now we move into the area of family legend, don’t we?”
“And the Empress,” Court said. “It’s all about the Empress.”
Jade didn’t want to rain on Court’s and Morgan’s little parade, but she didn’t put a lot of credence in the story as she’d heard it. “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight, okay? Ainsley Becket was a privateer, probably also a pirate—”
“Most definitely also a pirate,” Morgan interrupted, her eyes shining. “And, from old records I’ve discovered, hanged as a smuggler after being found out as the Black Ghost, the head of a large smuggling gang that used Romney Marsh as their base during the last war with Napoleon. Of course, he didn’t hang. Someone did, but not Ainsley. Do you know that story, Court?”
“Not yet, but I certainly want to hear it, along with all the other stories. The piracy, the smuggling.” He turned to Jade. “Morgan told me the story is that Ainsley wore a black cape and mask when he led the smugglers over Romney Marsh. I get this mental picture of Zorro because, supposedly, he was on the side of good, helping the local residents supplement their meager earnings.”
“Zorro,” Jade said facetiously, “or Robin Hood. It would seem the man was a saint.”
“Everything becomes more romantic the more the story is passed down the generations, I think. As for the supposed hanging, my grandfather didn’t feel it to be a story fit for a proper young female.
But we do have the proof that Ainsley didn’t stretch at the end of a rope, as you say in your American westerns. From what I have been told as a proper young female, a portrait of Ainsley’s first wife—the one you’re descended from by blood, Court—was taken to America when Ainsley left, but then later replaced at Becket Hall by one of Ainsley Becket himself. It still hangs most prominently over the fireplace in the main drawing room, as if guarding us. Or daring us to disobey him. A quite lovely white plantation house is featured in the background of the portrait.”
“Our house, Jade,” Court said, and Jade didn’t bother to correct him. “I’ve seen the portrait.”
“A devilishly handsome man, our ancestor,” Morgan said, smiling rather sheepishly. “I had a horrible schoolgirl crush on him for many years. So tall and straight, his black hair silvering slightly at the temples, so obviously a man comfortable in his own skin, I guess you’d say. And unless the artist was being fanciful, he had the most marvelous green eyes. I can easily imagine him striding the deck of the
Black Ghost,
which was also the name of his ship, his black cape swirling in the breeze, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the horizon for fat prize ships sailing to Spain and France.”
She put her hands to her chest. “You can have your movie stars, thank you very much. I’ll take Ainsley Becket. You look a little like him, Court.”
“I’ll have to dig up a black cape and mask for you,” Jade teased him. “You’d be a real hit at parties.” Then she sobered. “I know you don’t have much time before your plane, Morgan. Was there something in particular you wanted to tell us?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Excuse me,” Morgan said, reaching into the rather large purse she’d carried with her to check on her airline ticket. “Oh, dear, I shouldn’t be wasting time just nattering on and on. I have to go soon. My only excuse is that I was distracted by the two of you, I believe. You look so very good together. I’d very much like to paint you. Without the black cape for you, Court, sadly. On the beach, I should think, with Becket Hall in the background.”
Jade tipped her head toward Court, waiting for him to explain.
“I didn’t tell you? Morgan’s an artist, Jade,” he said, his voice colored with cousinly pride. “Seascapes, haunting panoramas of the Romney Marsh in every season, in every light. And then Becket Hall itself. I’ve already commissioned oils for the Becket Hotel penthouses, as well as a few
for the house in Virginia. They’re… the word I’d have to use is
powerful.”
Jade looked at Morgan, who was blushing prettily. Such a petite little thing, all sweetness and milk and honey, and her paintings were
powerful?
Obviously there was passion there, deeply hidden. Interesting. “I’d really like to see some of your work.”
“I certainly hope you do, Jade. Which is another reason I asked you to meet me here today,” Morgan said, leaning forward, her elbows on the tabletop. “I wanted to issue a personal invitation to you, Jade, and to your sisters, as well. Come to Becket Hall, please. Walk the shingle beach at dawn and again at twilight, ride across the Marsh on horseback if you’re so inclined. There’s peace there, Jade, real peace. I can’t think of a better place for you and your sisters to heal at least the worst of the wounds caused by your father’s tragic passing. I also want very much to meet Sam, of course, my other cousin.”
“And to enlist our help in solving the mystery of the Empress,” Jade said, shaking her head, her smile taking the edge from her words. “I’ll say one thing for the Beckets. You all seem to find ways to get what you want.”
Morgan sat back and clapped her hands together.
“Then you’ll come? Oh, that’s just brilliant! Ever since Grandfather died, I’ve been rattling around in that old pile all by myself. Granted, I’ve been madly busy.” She looked at Court. “I’m having a gallery showing in London in October.”
Morgan seemed so happy, Jade hated to rain on her parade. “I can’t leave here until I’ve cleared Teddy’s name. None of us can. I’m sorry.”
Morgan looked at Jade, then Court and back to Jade once more. “Court tells me you’ve made real progress. I sincerely hope you solve everything to your satisfaction. I so admire you and your sisters, and Court and Sam, as well, for your loyalty and determination.”
“Thank you,” Jade said, and then pulled a sheaf of folded papers out of her purse, feeling the need to make her refusal less rude. “When Court and I were…” She stopped, rephrased what she had been about to say. “A few years ago, when Court mentioned his family history to me, I did some checking online.”
“You did?”
“Yes, Court, I did. I’m a private detective, remember? I was curious when you told me the little bit you did about Ainsley Becket and all his adopted children.” She unfolded the printed-out pages. “You were right. You’re the only one who
can be traced directly back to Ainsley Becket and his first wife, Isabella. They had one child, Cassandra, who married Court Becket. An adopted son,” Jade clarified, looking at Morgan, who smiled and nodded.
“I can imagine the furor that must have raised,” Morgan said, her eyes twinkling. “But really, they weren’t related by blood, were they? When Ainsley married again, it was later in life, to an American—Marianna, correct? And they, of course, had no children, leaving Court here two centuries later as the last true blood descendant of Ainsley Becket.”
Jade spread out the pages. “Here you are, Morgan. Ainsley adopted—not formally, I suppose—a child named Eleanor, who eventually married a man named Jack Eastwood. Their descendants have lived at Becket Hall ever since. Over two hundred years. The rest, the other five? Scattered to the four winds pretty much, I’d say. I barely found anything I could call definite about any Beckets in America after about 1920s or so. And then I—” she looked at Court “—well, I stopped investigating. I should check census records. There’s a census taken about seventy years ago that was amazingly detailed.”
“What brilliant detecting skills, Jade. And yes,
I’ve seen that census online,” Morgan said, nodding. “That’s why I’m here, traveling about, introducing myself to long-lost relatives. Explaining to them that we’re not really related, yet we’re more related than most families because the original Beckets had
chosen
to be a family. I’ve had some rather strange reactions, but that’s for another time. And just because I think I should be honest with you, Jade, I do have an ulterior motive for inviting you to Becket Hall.”