“Jasper,” she called softly.
He stopped and glanced at her over his shoulder with his beautiful turquoise eyes. His body was tall and lanky in the moonlight, his long, comical face full of tragedy.
Her heartstrings pulled. He’d been Reynaud’s best friend. She’d known him all her life. “I do love you.”
“I know, Emmie, I know. That’s the terrible part.” His face was wry.
She wasn’t sure what to say to that.
He gave a one-fingered wave and then the night swallowed him up.
Emeline climbed the stairs to her own house, wishing she knew what to do about Jasper. She’d barely made it inside when she was descended upon by Tante Cristelle and Melisande.
“Whatever are you doing here?” Emeline asked in tired astonishment at the sight of her friend.
“I came to return your book of fairy tales,” Melisande said prosaically. “But when I got here, Mr. Hartley’s butler was informing your aunt that something was amiss. I decided to stay and keep her company until we had word. But we were never told exactly what had happened.”
So Emeline had to recount the adventure over tea and buns while Tante Cristelle made many interruptions. At the end, she was even more exhausted than she’d been before.
Which Melisande, with her knowing eyes, must’ve seen. “I think you need your bed as soon as you’ve finished that tea.”
Emeline looked into her cooling teacup and only nodded.
She sensed more than saw Melisande and Tante Cristelle exchange worried glances over her head.
“In a moment,” Emeline said, just to stay in control.
Melisande sighed and gestured to the table at Emeline’s elbow. “I put your book of fairy tales there.”
Emeline looked and saw the dusty little book. It still held fond memories of Reynaud, but it no longer seemed so important. “Whatever did you bring it back for?”
“I thought you didn’t want me to translate it?” her friend asked.
Emeline set aside her tea. “I think the fairy-tale book was a link to Reynaud for me. Something to make me sure I wouldn’t forget him. But now it’s not quite so important to have a tangible reminder of him.” She met her oldest friend’s eyes. “It’s not as if I’ll ever forget him, is it?”
Melisande was silent, looking at her with sad eyes.
Emeline reached for the book. She smoothed the tattered cover and then looked up. “Keep it for me, will you?”
“What?”
Emeline smiled and held the book out to her best friend. “Translate it. Maybe you’ll find in it the thing I couldn’t.”
Melisande knitted her brows, but she took the book, holding it on her lap between both hands. “If you think it best.”
“I do.” Emeline yawned hugely and not at all politely. “Goodness. And now it’s to bed for me.”
Melisande accompanied her into the hallway, murmuring a good night before turning to the door.
Emeline started up the stairs and then had a sudden thought, perhaps brought on by the delirium of exhaustion. “Melisande.”
Her friend glanced up from donning her shawl by the door. “Yes?”
“Do you think you can watch after Jasper for me?”
Melisande, that sturdy, unflappable lady, actually gaped in astonishment. “What?”
“I know it’s a strange request, and I’m half out of my mind with weariness right now, but I worry about Jasper.” Emeline smiled at her best friend. “Will you look after him?”
By this time, Melisande had recovered. “Of course, dear.”
“Oh, good.” Emeline nodded and started back up the stairs, a weight off her mind.
Behind her, she heard Melisande call a farewell, and she must’ve murmured something in response, but she could only think of one thing.
She needed to sleep.
“DO YOU THINK Mr. Thornton really was the traitor?” Rebecca asked later that night.
She was sleepy, almost dozing in front of the fire. Samuel had risen from his bed to have a belated cold supper with her, and then they’d retired here. She should be asleep; she was so exhausted after the adventures of the day, but somehow something seemed to be missing.
Across from her, Samuel held up a goblet of brandy and looked through the glass into the fire. “I think so.” His face was battered, new bruises atop old ones that had barely begun to heal, but it was dear to her nonetheless.
She blinked fuzzily. “But you’re not absolutely sure.”
He shook his head decisively and drained the glass. “Thornton is a born liar. It’s impossible to tell whether he really had nothing to do with the massacre or not. He may not know himself—liars have a way of coming to believe their own lies. I doubt we’ll ever be absolutely certain.”
“But”—Rebecca stifled a yawn—“you came halfway around the world to find the truth, to put the massacre to rest. Doesn’t it bother you that Thornton might not be the traitor?”
“No. Not anymore.”
“I don’t understand.”
A smile flickered across his face. “I’ve come to the conclusion that I can never erase Spinner’s Falls entirely from my mind. It’s not possible for me.”
“But that’s awful! How—”
He held up a hand to halt her worried protest. “But what I’ve learned is that I can live with the memory. That the memory is part of me.”
She stared at him worriedly. “That sounds terrible, Samuel. To live with that all your life.”
“It’s not so bad,” he said softly. “I’ve already lived six years fighting with my memories. I think if anything, it’ll be better now that I know the memories are part of who I am.”
She sighed. “I don’t understand, but if you’re at peace, I’m glad.”
“I am.”
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Rebecca began to half doze. A log popped in the fire, and she remembered that there was something else to discuss with her brother before she fell asleep.
“She loves you, you know.”
He didn’t say anything, so Rebecca opened her eyes to see if he’d fallen asleep. He was gazing into the fire, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.
“I said, she loves you.”
“I heard.”
“Well?” She sighed gustily and a little grumpily. “Aren’t you going to do something about it? Our ship sails tomorrow.”
“I know.” He got up finally and stretched, wincing as something pulled in his side. “You’re about to fall asleep in that chair, and then I’ll have to carry you to bed like a little girl.” He held out his hand.
She placed her hand in his. “I’m not a little girl.”
“I know that,” he said softly. He drew her up to stand before him. “You’re my sister grown into a lovely and interesting lady.”
“Humph.” She wrinkled her nose at him.
He hesitated, then took her other hand and rubbed the backs of her fingers with his thumbs. “I’ll bring you back to England again soon, if you like, so that you can see Mr. Green or any other gentleman you might be interested in. I have no intention of crushing your hopes there.”
“I don’t really have hopes.”
He frowned. “If you’re worried about our lack of pedigree, I think—”
“No, it’s not that.” She looked down to watch his large hands holding hers. His hands were tanned even though they’d been in England for weeks now.
“Then what?”
“I like Mr. Green,” she said carefully, “and if you want me to continue seeing him...”
He tugged at her hands until she looked up. “Why should it matter to me if you see Mr. Green or not?”
“I thought...” Oh, this was embarrassing! “I thought that you wanted me to encourage him or a man like him. I thought you might like the fact that he’s an English-society gentleman, even though he has a silly laugh. It’s just so hard to tell what you want.”
“What I want is for you to be happy,” he said
as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I might object if you take a liking to a rat-catcher or an eighty-year-old grandfather, but other than that, I don’t much care who you marry.”
Rebecca bit her lip. Men were so obtuse! “But I want your approval.”
He leaned close to her. “You already have my approval. Now you need to start thinking about what you approve of.”
“That makes it very much harder,” she sighed, but she smiled as she said it.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “That’s good. Then you won’t be making any hasty decisions.” They started up the dim stairs.
“Mmm.” Rebecca muffled a yawn. “I do have a favor to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“Can you offer O’Hare a job?”
He looked down at her quizzically.
“I mean in America.” She held her breath.
“I suppose I can,” he said musingly. “But there’s no guarantee that he’ll accept it.”
“Oh, he will,” she said with certainty. “Thank you, Samuel.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied. They were at her bedroom door now. “Good night.”
“Good night.” She watched as he turned toward his own rooms. “You will speak to Lady Emeline, won’t you?” she called anxiously after him.
But he didn’t seem to hear.
THE SUN WAS shining through her window when Emeline woke the next morning. She stared at it dreamily for a moment before its full import hit her.
“Oh, dear Lord!” She jumped from the bed and rang frantically for a maid. Then, afraid the summons would take too long, opened her door and bellowed down the hallway like a common fishwife.
She turned back to her room, found a soft bag to pack, and began flinging things into it willy-nilly.
“Emeline!” Tante Cristelle stood in the doorway, hair still in braids, looking horrified. “What has possessed you?”
“Samuel.” Emeline stared at the open bag, clothing spilling out, and realized there wasn’t any time for packing. “His ship leaves this morning. It may have already left. I have to stop him.”
“Whatever for?”
“I have to tell him that I love him.” She abandoned the bag and instead ran to the wardrobe to draw out her plainest frock. By this time, Harris had arrived in the room. “Quickly! Help me dress!”
Tante Cristelle sank onto the bed. “Why there is such a hurry, I do not know. If that man doesn’t know already that you have a tendre for him, he is an imbecile most severe.”
Emeline struggled up from folds of dimity. “Yes, but I told him I didn’t want to marry him.”
“And so?”
“I do want to marry him!”
“Tiens! Then it was very silly of you to become engaged to Lord Vale.”
“I know that!” Good Lord, she was wasting time arguing in circles with Tante Cristelle when Samuel’s ship might be sailing down the Thames right now. “Oh, where are my shoes?”
“Right here, my lady,” Harris said unperturbedly. “But you haven’t any stockings on.”
“I don’t care!”
Tante Cristelle threw her hands up in the air, imploring God in French to come to the aid of her so-deranged niece. Emeline thrust her bare feet into her shoes and hurried to the door, nearly running down Daniel.
“Where are you going, M’man?” her only offspring asked innocently. His eyes dropped to her bare ankles. “I say, do you know you haven’t any stockings on?”
“Yes, dear.” Emeline pressed an absentminded kiss to Daniel’s forehead. “We’re going to America, and they don’t wear any stockings there.”
Emeline left Daniel yelling huzzahs while Tante Cristelle and Harris tried to quiet him. She ran down the stairs, calling for Crabs as she went.
That imperturbable gentleman ran into the hallway looking startled. “My lady?”
“Bring the carriage ’round. Hurry!”
“But—”
“And my cloak. I’ll need a cloak.” She looked frantically about the hall for a clock. “What time is it?”
“Just past nine o’clock, my lady.”
“Oh, no!” Emeline covered her face. The ship would’ve left by now. Samuel would be out at sea. What was she to do? There was no way to catch him, no way to—
“Emeline.” The voice was deep and sure and oh so familiar.
For a moment, she didn’t dare hope. Then she dropped her hands.
He stood in the entrance to her sitting room, his coffee-brown eyes smiling just for her.
“Samuel.”
She rushed at him, and he folded his arms about her. Still she made sure to get a good grip on his coat.
“I thought you’d left. I thought I was too late.”
“Hush,” he said, and kissed her, soft brushes of his lips over her mouth and cheeks and eyelids. “Hush. I’m here.” He drew her into the sitting room.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered.
He kissed her with determination, as if to prove his existence real. His lips gently parted hers, and he tilted her head back. She grasped his shoulders, reveling in this freedom to kiss him.
“I love you,” she gasped.
“I know.” His lips wandered over her brow. “I was going to stay here in your sitting room until you admitted it.”
“Were you?” she asked distractedly.
“Mmm.”
“How very intelligent of you.”
“Not so intelligent.” He pulled back his head, and she saw that his eyes had grown dark and serious. “It was a matter of survival. I’m cold without you, Emeline. You’re the light that keeps me warm on the inside. If I left you, I think I’d freeze into a solid block of ice.”
She pulled his head back to hers. “Then you’d better not leave me.”
But he resisted her urging. “Will you marry me?”
Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to swallow before she replied huskily, “Oh, yes, please.”
His eyes were still grave. “Will you come with me to America? I can live here in England, but it would be easier for my business if we lived in America.”
“And Daniel?”
“I’d like him to come, too.”
She nodded and closed her eyes because it was almost too much. “I’m sorry. I never cry.”
“Of course not.”
She smiled at that. “It’s not the usual thing, to keep a boy by his mother’s side, but I’d very much like to have him with me.”
He touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “Good. Then Daniel comes with us. Your aunt is welcome to come as well—”
“I will remain here,” Tante Cristelle said from behind them.
Emeline swung around.
The older woman was standing just inside the doorway. “You will need someone to handle the estates, the money, these things, yes?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then it is decided. And, of course, you will make the journey across the ocean every few years so that I might see my great-nephew.” Tante Cristelle nodded with satisfaction at having ordered everything and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Emeline turned back to Samuel to find him watching her.
“Will it be all right?” he asked. “Leaving all this behind? Meeting new people? Living in a new country, one not quite as sophisticated as this?”
“It doesn’t really matter where we live as long as I’m with you.” Emeline smiled slowly. “Although, I plan to set a new standard for sophistication and wit in Boston. After all, no one there has been to one of my balls.”
He grinned at her then, a wide happy smile that with all his bruises made him look like a pirate. “They won’t know what hit them, will they?”
Emeline mock frowned, but then she drew Samuel’s head back down to hers so that she could kiss him. Sweetly, happily. And as she did, she murmured one more time against his lips.
“I love you.”
Epilogue
/> “I love you.”
As Iron Heart’s words left his lips, there came a scream from the wicked wizard.
“No! No! No! It cannot be!” The terrible little man’s face reddened until steam began to shoot from his nose. “I’ve waited seven long years to steal your iron heart and make its strength mine! Had you ever spoken in those seven years, I would’ve won it, and you and your wife would be damned to hell. It isn’t fair!”
And the wicked wizard spun in a circle, enraged that his spell was forfeited. He spun, faster and faster, until sparks flew from his whirling body, until black smoke billowed from his ears, until the very ground quaked beneath him, and then, BANG! he was suddenly swallowed by the earth! But the white dove upon his wrist flew up as he vanished, the golden chain broken, and when the bird alit, it turned instantly into a squalling baby—Iron Heart’s son.
And then what rejoicing there was in the Shining City! The people cheered and danced in the streets with happiness at the restoration of their prince.
But what of Iron Heart and his cracked heart? Princess Solace looked down at her husband, held still in her arms, afraid that he was already dead, only to find him whole and smiling back at her. So she did the only thing a princess can do in such a case: she kissed him.
And though many in the Shining City are of the opinion to this day that Iron Heart’s heart healed when the wicked wizard’s spell was broken, I myself am not so sure. It seems to me that it must have been Princess Solace’s love that revived him.
For what else can mend a broken heart but true love?
About the Author
Elizabeth Hoyt was born in New Orleans, where her mother’s family has lived for generations, but she was raised in the frigid winters of St. Paul, Minnesota. Growing up, her family traveled extensively in Britain, spending a summer in St. Andrews, Scotland, and a year in Oxford. She earned a bachelor of arts degree in anthropology at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. Wisconsin was also where she met her archaeologist husband—on a dig in a cornfield. Continuing the cornfield theme, Elizabeth and her husband live in central Illinois with their two children and three dogs. She is an avid gardener with over twenty-six varieties of daylilies in her multiple gardens and more hostas than any one person can count. The Hoyt family enjoys taking family vacations that invariably end up at an archaeological site.