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Authors: Christy Graham Parker

Ghosts of Winters Past

BOOK: Ghosts of Winters Past
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Ghosts of Winters Past

b
y
Christina Graham Parker

Published by Astraea Press

www.astraeapress.com

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead,
are
purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

 

GHOSTS OF WINTERS PAST

Copyright © 2012
CHRISTINA GRAHAM PARKER

ISBN
978-1-62135-
086-6

Cover Art Designed b
y
For The Muse Designs

To Chris, Collin, and Caroline. Thank you for always being there.

To Rebecca Grace Allen for the title idea and helpful gchats. You’re the best.

And to Stephanie Taylor. Thanks for everything.

 

Chapter
One

 

Henry Westmoreland, the new Duke of Salle, had returned to England.

The servants had whispered about it all day. Emma tried to ignore them, but the guilty way they jumped apart from each other every time she happened upon a group of them didn’t make it easy. After running into gossiping servants in the kitchen, the dining room, and the drawing room, she finally took a novel and found a quiet corner in the library.

However, she soon found that while she could escape the household’s mutterings, she could not escape her own thoughts.

“Foolishness,” she admonished herself. “He didn’t return for you. You wouldn’t want him if he did.”

With a self-satisfied nod of her head, she turned her attention back to her book, and reread the page in front of her for the eighth time. After the tenth
time
, she put the novel aside with a heavy sigh. Perhaps she should go for a walk.

“Lady Emmaline,” the butler said from the doorway. “You have a caller.”

A caller? She hadn’t had a caller in over five years. Not since
he
left.

She stood and tried to cover her excitement. “Who is it?”

“His
g
race, the Duke of Salle.”

Her knees grew weak. Henry? Here? At her home? Her heart raced as she imagined what he wanted.

From the doorway, the servant watched her with barely concealed curiosity. Summoning all the inner strength she had, Emma sat back down.

“Oh.” She took her book off the table and opened it to a random page. “Please inform
h
is
g
race I am indisposed.”

“My humblest apologies, my lady, but he has already conversed with your mother.”

“Of course he has,” she muttered under her breath. Whatever he was, Henry wasn’t a fool. He knew the quickest way to a single woman was through a desperate mother. Looking up at the butler, she replied, “Very well. Tell
h
is
g
race I will be in shortly.”

She walked to the morning room, her mind occupied with deciding upon a plan. She would welcome him back to England. She would murmur niceties about the weather and how delighted she was to see him again. Then she would be overcome with a headache and excuse herself. She would not stare at him. She would not let his smile wipe every bit of sense out of her head. Most importantly, she would not forgive him.

He was talking with her mother, his back to the door, when she entered.
Her presence remained unnoticed until her mother spied her over his shoulder.

“Emmaline. Do come in.”

Henry turned and their eyes met for the first time in over five years. Those years had been kind to him. He had grown into a man. Gone was the gangly boyishness she remembered. His eyes searched hers and she wondered what he saw. How she appeared to him since the last time they were in each other’s company.

He approached her,
running a hand through his tousled blond hair, and an unsure smile on his face. His voice was thick and coarse when he spoke, nothing at all as she remembered him sounding. “Lady Emmaline.”

She dropped into a curtsy. “Your
g
race.” Her voice sounded calm to her ears and she lifted a silent prayer of thanks. She waved in the general direction of the couches. “Would you care to sit?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He followed and sat down once she did. Emma saw from the corner of her eye that her mother had taken a seat near the door to sew.

“Welcome back to England,
y
our
g
race,” Emma said.

Over the last five years, she had played over and over in her mind what would happen if Henry ever returned from the Continent and they found themselves together. Now that it was actually happening, all her memorized lines flew straight out of her head. The only things remaining were nonsensical pleasantries.

“Thank you. It’s nice to be back.”

He had grown into an imposing man. Now that she saw him more fully, she could tell. With broad shoulders, wide chest, and head held high, he was every inch a duke.

“I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing.” She felt certain if his father hadn’t died, Henry would have remained far away from England.

“He lived a full life.”

They had become strangers over the last five years. She no longer knew him. This man who had once been her close confidant, and later her downfall, was now a stranger. It was rather sad if she thought about it long enough.

“Pleasant weather today,” she said.

“Yes, quite.”

A silence followed, so complete she thought if she listened hard enough, she could hear her mother’s needle push through the cloth.

It wasn’t just sad, though, it was painful. Sitting with him
,
so close yet so distant, was a mockery of all she
had
lost.

They spoke at the same time.

“Your
g
race–”

“Emmaline–”

She waved at him. “You go.”

Uncertainty crossed his expression and she wondered if he felt guilty. “I wanted to

I suppose ‘apologize’ is an understatement. I came to see how you fared. How life has been for you.”

She narrowed her eyes. The ever-present anger at her situation, the anger she usually kept under lock and key, buried deep inside her soul, started to boil.

“How do you think I fared? Was there any doubt in your mind how life has been for me?” She leaned closer, spoke low so her mother wouldn’t hear. “I am most well,
y
our
g
race. As you noticed when you entered this morning, I am not sure what to do with myself, what with all these suitors hanging around. I receive so many party and ball invitations, I’m busy every night of the week. Of course, once there, my dance card is always filled. You mustn’t concern yourself with how I’ve been.”

“Emma, I–”


Lady
Emmaline. To call me anything else would be gravely inappropriate. I wouldn’t know what to do if my reputation were to be sullied.”


Emma.
There is nothing I can do to come close to making up for what I did all those years ago. If you would allow it, though, I would like to try.”

“What would be the reason? So you can feel better about yourself? I will not allow you to use me like that.”

“I don’t wish to use you. I wish


“I don’t care to hear what you wish.” The anger coursed through her now.

Her mother glanced up from her sewing.

Emma took a deep breath and lowered her voice.
“You may go back to your townhouse knowing I am quite well. I have accepted my place and station as a disgraced spinster. You should do the same.”

“Will you go for a ride with me tomorrow?”

She blinked several times. “What?”

“You. Me. Ride. Tomorrow.” The hint of a smile played on his mouth.

“I heard you.”

“Then why did you ask ‘what?’”

“No.”

“No, you didn’t ask me what I said?” His smile was bigger, reaching his eyes and brightening his entire face. This,
this
was the Henry she remembered. The light-hearted teasing one. The one she
had fallen
in love with.

The one who
had
broke
n
her heart.

She would not allow it to happen again.

“No, I won’t go on a ride with you tomorrow.” To do so would be to open herself up, to allow herself to be vulnerable. She had done that once and look how it turned out. She was two and twenty, alone, and disgraced.

“I want to explain myself.” His eyes were still that odd combination of blue and green. She had never seen anyone else with eyes quite that color.

“Yes, well, if I’ve learned anything over the last five years, it’s that we rarely get what we want.” When he opened his mouth to talk again, she continued, “
Truly
,
y
our
g
race, I am very much content. Please leave me be.”

He didn’t say anything, but she remembered well the look in his eyes. He was running through various ways to move forward and listing in his head the potential outcomes of each one.

When he stood, she assumed he had taken her word concerning her contentment. She stood as well, not knowing whether to be happy or sad.

It surprised her when he asked, “A deal then?”

“What kind of deal?”

He took a step closer and she inhaled the scent of him. Pine and musk, just like always.

“You ride with me tomorrow and if you wish for me to leave you be after, I will do so.”

She straightened her shoulders, recognizing it was as good a deal as she would get. “Very well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

****

When her mother heard the news, she clutched her chest and muttered assorted thanks to God.

“It’s only a carriage ride, Mother.”

Five years ago, her mother had been distraught at the scandal that ended with Henry leaving for the Continent and Emma’s fall from society. Putting her own feelings about the afternoon aside, Emma feared her mother would once again sink into despair by the time this business with Henry ended.

“Yes,” her mother said. “But
h
is
g
race has just been in town for three days. He hasn’t been seen around at all, and you are the only one he has paid a visit to.”

That her mother knew so much of the duke’s comings and goings shouldn’t have come as a surprise. As a countess, even one whose daughter was not viewed well in polite society, she was part of a large social network. A network that spent most of its time gossiping and match-making.

“Your father will be so happy.”

Her father spent most of his time at his favorite men’s club. She rarely saw him and when she did, she could never tell if he was happy or sad.

She started to walk back to the library, but her mother’s hand stopped her.

“Maybe he’ll ask you to the Kringles

Christmas Eve Ball.”

With a
sigh,
she turned around and tried to gently let her mother down. “It is but a carriage ride. I am settled. I have no expectations of marriage or even attending the Kringles

Christmas Eve Ball. Please,
please
, don’t wrap your hopes up in this.”

If she could only convince her heart of the same.

BOOK: Ghosts of Winters Past
7.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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