The Vicar's Frozen Heart (22 page)

“Uncle Trey!”

Eliza and Tremain broke apart at the sound of Drew’s voice. He ran toward them and threw himself into Tremain’s arms. Tremain lifted him up and hugged him back. “You came to get us. We were coming to you,” Drew exclaimed happily.

“I’ve missed you, lad. You and Miss Winston both. In fact, if it’s all right with you, she has agreed to marry me, if you can imagine it. What do you say, Drew? Could you stand to be gaining a mother as well as a father?”

Drew looked back and forth between them and a large smile broke out on his face. “Yes, I can. What happens now?”

Tremain and Eliza both laughed. “Well, we can climb into my carriage and head back to Gransford Manor for the night. Or we can stay two or three nights. It’s not far, and I know my parents are eager to meet you both. What do you say, my dears?” Tremain asked. “After all, this should be a family vote.”

Eliza’s heart was near to bursting with love. “Yes,” both she and Drew cried. Tremain kissed Drew on the forehead and then lowered him to the ground. Drew picked up his cane. About to move forward, Eliza halted Tremain, clasped his hand, and kissed it. “I love you, Trey. With everything I am. With everything I ever hope to be.”

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “And you melt my heart and soothe my soul. Come, let us begin. Let us love and live.”

And Eliza knew with those words, he would never again be the vicar with the frozen heart.

Karyn Gerrard lives in a small town in the western corner of Ontario, Canada. She whiles away her spare time writing and reading romance while drinking copious amounts of Earl Grey tea. A multi-published author with a few best sellers under her belt, Karyn loves to write historicals, particularly in the Victorian era. Tortured heroes are a must. She also writes the occasional contemporary.

As long as she can avoid being hit by a runaway moose in her wilderness paradise she assumes everything is golden. Karyn’s been happily married for a long time to her own hero. His encouragement keeps her moving forward. Visit the author at
http://www.karyngerrard.com
, find her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter

Be sure not to miss Karyn Gerrard’s upcoming release:

Read on for a special sneak peek at book one in this new series: The Ravenswood Chronicles

Learn more about Karyn Gerrard:
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/31687

October 1895

Lucas Madden, Viscount Ravenswood, only son and heir to the Earl of Whitestone, was dead. His untimely demise, the result of a carriage race, caused the village of Charlwood to buzz excitedly for days. Since Ravenswood had reached the age of sixteen, his outrageous exploits had kept the chattering gossips in various parlors titillated for years. Though the hearsay consisted of salacious tales of drinking and gambling to excess, his sexual conquests sparked the villagers’ interest the most. The stories, shocking as they were in their breadth and depth of carnality, raised the handsome heir to an unprecedented level of notoriety. Dissolute and seemingly lacking all morals, it came as no surprise to all who knew of the young man that he would meet such a spectacularly violent end.

Since the accident occurred not far from London, the earl and his lady wife immediately caught the train to town. The earl engaged the best doctors in London to no avail, for the young viscount’s injuries, particularly the head wound, were deemed mortal. In desperation, he even summoned Charlwood’s doctor, Samuel Twington, to assist in the case. Four days later, after lingering in a coma, the son and heir died. Lord and Lady Whitestone had escorted his remains the hour journey back to Charlwood. And today marked the burial.

Glenna Parker stood by the juniper trees that surrounded the village cemetery and pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders, as the wind held a decided chill. She stayed well back from the mourners, of which there were only a few. Despite his popularity, the viscount had not been well liked nor respected, and no doubt the people who deemed to show up did so to stay in the earl’s good graces.

As Glenna took a sweeping glance about the area, she noticed one other person standing well back from her position. An older woman, modestly dressed and leaning on a cane. The elderly lady wiped away her tears with a tattered handkerchief, her gloved hand slightly trembling. Who was she and why did she mourn Ravenswood? Most unusual. Glenna’s wild imagination began to spin all sorts of scenarios. Could be a lost family member, or an old nurse or nanny. Surely the woman was not one of his many past conquests. That was certainly one of her more bizarre thoughts. No matter. Shaking her head, she turned back to face the mourners.

The comforting words of prayer recited by the vicar, Mr. Dornan, carried across the autumn breeze and Glenna heard snippets of condolence and claims of returning to the earth, solemn wishes that at last, Ravenswood would find peace.
Her mouth curved in a small but sardonic smile.
Highly doubtful.

Though not invited, Glenna came today to prove to herself that the devil viscount truly was dead. For some morbid reason, she wished to witness him being placed in the ground. The finality. The closure of a hideous chapter in the lives of many--and perhaps in her own. She glanced at the solemn Earl of Whitestone. Dressed in black and leaning on a silver-tipped walking stick, he stood with his head slightly bowed, clutching his hat in his gloved hands, but he did not weep. Though Lady Whitestone sobbed uncontrollably. Their daughter, a couple of years younger than Glenna, and whose name eluded her, comforted her mother. The earl did not. His face remained emotionless and austere throughout.

What could the man be thinking? That the horrible nightmare was now at an end? Perhaps he thought his only son and heir, no doubt a great disappointment, met the calamitous and pathetic end he deserved. There could be no other explanation for the earl burying Ravenswood in the common cemetery and not in the family crypt on the Whitestone Estate. No doubt there would be speculation by the villagers on this strange and puzzling development for a long time to come.

The earl appeared disconnected, his cold expression daunting. Perhaps somewhere deep inside he wept for all that had gone astray. Glenna did not know the man personally, but one would lament the loss of a son and heir, would he not? Mourn at the sheer waste. Ravenswood, tall and incredibly handsome, with wavy black hair and sky-blue eyes, appeared as dashing as one would expect an heir to an earl to look. A glorious future awaited him. Money and title. Reverence and deference. The foolish young man threw it all away. But then, Glenda did not believe Ravenswood possessed any brains at all. To her, he’d been a vacuous, selfish creature who lived for his own pleasure, not caring who he hurt along the way.

The words “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” reached her ears. Good. This would soon come to a decided conclusion. With a final blessing, the vicar and the mourners walked away, including the older woman who headed toward the village proper. Standing to the side, two local men stood leaning on shovels, waiting to perform their duty.

Glenna strode toward the grave, glancing at the mourners disappearing over the small knoll. Straightening her shoulders, she looked down into the hole. In it lay a fine casket, expensive mahogany wood with gold handles. Its top was blanketed in a spray of lilies. A fancy, final resting place befitting the viscount’s station in life.

She scooped up a clump of dirt and then cast it into the dark hole and it hit the top of the casket with a loud thump. “Ravenswood. May you be cursed for all eternity.”

The men, gripping their shovels, gave her a puzzled look, but she turned on her heels and marched from the grave with her chin held high.

Three days later

The village of Charlwood, as Glenna predicted, bustled with rumors concerning the recent death of Viscount Ravenswood, the depraved late heir. At the booksellers, she’d heard the viscount’s curricle careened off an embankment smashing on the rocks below, leaving the man a pile of blood and broken bones, his remains carried away in buckets. At the bakery, the prevailing gossip stated the carriage had been tampered with; no doubt the jealous husband of one of his many varied and scandalous dalliances.

Glenna knew she would obtain the absolute truth from her dear friend, Susan Twington, wife of Doctor Samuel Twington. Though why Glenna longed to know all the details she could not hazard to guess. Perhaps there was nothing else to do in this quiet village but discuss the salacious gossip. Regardless, she would find out the particulars today.

Walking briskly toward the village carrying a basket of fresh cinnamon buns, she nodded and gave cheerful “good mornings” to people of her acquaintance as she made her way to Susan’s home. As is their custom, she and Susan met once a week for tea and conversation and Glenna looked forward to animated discussions on various subjects.

Susan and her doctor husband owned a modest, brick home that spoke of their middle-class standing. Both were well respected and liked. Glenna knocked on the door and the maid showed her into Susan’s sunny front parlor, the tea tray and frosted cakes awaiting her arrival. Susan stood and rushed to her before embracing her warmly.

Glenna handed her cloak to the maid, who then nodded and left the room. “Here, my dear. It’s a new recipe and if I do say so they turned out quite spectacularly.”

Susan took the basket and lifted the cloth. “Oh. I love frosted cinnamon buns! Glenna, you never arrive empty-handed. Please sit. How flushed and healthy you look, the brisk walk has done wonders for your coloring. But then, you always appear fresh and pretty.”

Glenna flushed further at the kind words as she took her seat. Susan poured and passed her a cup, milk and sugar already added. Her friend knew her well. “Dare we talk about the shocking death of Ravenswood?” Susan smiled.

Glenna nodded. “Of course, what else is there to discuss? I’ve heard varied tales of his demise, but I knew you would have the truth of it.”

Susan glanced about, why Glenna was not sure as the door to the parlor remained closed, no one would hear. “As you are aware, Sam was called to London. How gratifying the earl takes such stock in Sam’s healing abilities, but there was naught to be done. I can tell you his body was not quite smashed beyond recognition as the bookseller is saying.”

Glenna sipped her tea and smiled in amusement. “You must admit, it was a gruesome tale. Buckets indeed.”

Susan reached for a cake and took a delicate bite, then swallowed. “Here’s what I know. His left hand had been severed when he became caught up in the rigging. The horses, the poor creatures, went off the embankment along with the viscount. It broke his fall to an extent, but not enough to save him. Besides his hand, he also had a twisted, fractured leg. Sam set it, but there was no hope. There was a gaping head wound with part of his scalp and facial skin hanging forward....” Susan blushed and smiled. “Oh, dear. I do revel in the gory details. Sam tells me everything and I soak it up like a sponge. You can tell me to be quiet at any point. I do not wish to put you off your tea and cakes.”

“Do go on, you know I love gruesome tales as much as you do. And I can keep a secret.” Glenna winked.

Susan leaned forward in expectation. “Well, it is said he attended an orgy at a Duke’s townhouse. Men and women alike, and we have heard of Ravenswood’s appetite for both sexes in the past. However, it seems he’d been issued a challenge at this debauched affair. The winner of the race would have the use of a pair of costly courtesans for one year, expenses paid by the loser. The courtesans were twins, a brother and sister.”

Glenna curled her lip in disgust as she bit into the jam cake. Racing for sex. How like the dissolute Ravenswood to participate in such scandalous doings. Sibling courtesans. How typical of the man.

“Apparently he was in the lead, but something went horribly wrong.” Susan continued, her eyes sparkling with interest as she relayed the account. “There is talk, but no absolute proof that the carriage and horses were tampered with. Sam believes the head wound was too grave for any sort of recovery. In examining Ravenswood, he could see exposed brain matter as a piece of the skull was missing. Quite beyond hope. It was merciful he died. He no doubt would have been a drooling simpleton had he survived.”

Glenna snorted. “Apt justice.”

Susan placed her tea cup on the tray. “Still bitter, Glenna?”

Yes, blast it. What woman had not been seduced by Ravenswood? His honeyed seductive words, glorious looks, and spectacular form clouded her senses from the first time she laid eyes on him. And when she didn’t succumb to his crude overtures, the vacuous viscount walked away and never looked back. Cold, cruel man. How easily she’d fallen for his charms, and how devastated she’d been when he spitefully turned from her.

“Perhaps. For a brief moment in time, I thought... it is no matter. In truth, I had a lucky escape. Others in our acquaintance did not.”

Susan shook her head. “No. They did not.”

The door to the parlor burst open and a small boy tumbled in, landing on his hands and knees. With nary a moment to react, he stood and ran to Susan, throwing himself in her arms. “Mama!”

A harried maid followed the energetic lad into the room. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Twington. He wriggled away from me.”

“It’s quite all right. Jeffrey, can you say hello to Miss Glenna? Bow as I showed you.”

Jeffrey scrambled from Susan’s lap and turned to face her. She’d not seen the boy in a couple of months and when his eyes met hers, her breath caught in her throat.
Ravenswood.
The child definitely resembled him. From the perfectly sculpted cheekbones, sky-blue eyes, and tousled black hair, there was no mistaking Jeffrey was Ravenswood’s son.
His bastard.
At five years of age, the boy had no idea of his tragic parentage. Jeffrey smiled, with the innocence his sire lacked and it nearly broke her heart. What a beautiful boy. She hoped he would not turn out to be like his father. Susan and Sam would make certain he did not. Of that, Glenna had no doubt.