Page 13 of Spellbound
Leaving the three of them downstairs, Belladonna climbed the narrow and rickety stairs to her bedchamber. There she gathered her two best dresses, neither of which was particularly fine, along with a few other essential items and tucked them into an ancient and well used valise. Going to the small dressing table in the corner, she opened a drawer and retrieved a box. She owned very little jewelry and all that she did own had been passed down from her mother to her aunt and then to her.
Nestled inside the box was a simple locket on a length of pale silk ribbon. Within the locket was the only picture she had of her mother, a miniature that was so old and faded it no longer looked like the woman who lived in the vague shadows of her memory. But it had been painted by her father not long before he died and before she was born. The ;octet allowed her to feel some sense of connection to her past, some way of not feeling alone in the world.
And she was about to be married to a man she hardly knew. But who could make her blood race with nothing more than a glance.
Belladonna worried that perhaps her willingness to go along with his plan was prompted as much per her desire to no longer be alone as for all the practical and impractical reasons he had proposed. That thought created a hot, tight knot of fear in her stomach. Was it a mistake? Or was it truly her destiny? Was he the man she was meant to be with? Or would hesimply be another casualty of daring to entangle himself with a Goodwynne?
Other memories swarmed her in that moment. She could recall the nights Amarantha had sat by her bed and told her stories of their family, regaling her with tales of love and tragedy. And after each of those stories, she had been assured that it would not be that way for her. That she would be the one to break the curse and find happiness. But the longer she had been alone in that small college, and the more the people of Highgate had turned on her under the guidance of Reverend Stalker, the less inclined she had been to believe those long ago assurances from the woman who had raised her.
With a last look around her small and mostly barren bedchamber, Belladonna turned to the stairs, prepared to meet whatever fate lay in store for her below.
Desmond had walkedoutside with Edwina. In the bright light of day, she gasped when she finally caught sight of him. The interior of the cottage had been dim enough to hide the extent of his injury, but now there was no denying it.
“It was not simply a convenient excuse,” he told her. “I was legitimately unconscious for two days. I have only just been able to get up and walk around without falling prey to dizziness and nausea.”
“Oh, Desmond. I had no idea,” she said. “I knew that you would not simply go off on your own for days on end without giving me some notion of where it was you were gone and when you would be expected to return. But truly, I could not imagine that you would have been so gravely injured.”
“It changes nothing. Mrs. Frye was quite right in her assessment. Belladonna and I must marry. There is no other way to avoid the scandal. Furthermore… I want to marry her.”
Edwina’s expression shifted to one of suspicion and concern. “You know what is said of her.”
“I do,” he agreed.
“Is it possible that she has cast some sort of spell to ensnare you?”
Desmond laughed, then winced as it made his head ache. “No. She is not trying to ensnare me, sister. Indeed, it has taken a not insignificant amount of persuasion on my part to get her to agree. In fact, she had not agreed though the question had been posed to her several minutes before the two of you appeared. I daresay that it had not been for the goading of Mrs. Frye that she would have continued to refuse me. In truth, I am quite grateful for your timely appearance.”
“How can you be so certain? You’ve known her such a short time, Desmond! Yet you seem to be fully confident in your choice. I confess that I have never believed in such things, but there is something about her that makes me question whether or not such things are possible,” Edwina said, chewing her lip nervously.
Desmond thought back to the flame that had danced so prettily in the palm of her hand. They were more than possible. It was a hard thing to wrap his very rational mind around, but he had been confronted with irrefutable proof that there was indeed something very different about Belladonna Goodwynne. “Even if I weren’t certain, it wouldn’t matter. The dye has been cast, after all. I have spent two nights alone with her and regardless of my condition for those nights, given that most of the people in Highgate have already turned on her, she would be cast out entirely. I will not do that to her when she has done naught but show me kindness and care.”
Edwina was quiet for a moment. “Then I will wish you well, brother. Will you return to London with her?”
“I think not,” he said. “There are issues here that need to be dealt with first. Also, I am not certain that London is the place for Belladonna. It would be ill suited to her nature loving spirit to live in that dirty, congested place. I think I will look for property here. A house that will suit our needs or that can be modified to do so.”
“Then you should let me sell Highwood Abbey to you… I do not wish to live there. Not anymore. I’ve no wish to leave Highgate, but I can find a much smaller residence. Something in town perhaps, that will suite me better.”
“It was your home… it was Thomas’ home.”
She nodded, her expression both sad and determined. “It was my home with Thomas. And without him, it does not feel like home anymore. I will pray that you find as much happiness there as he and I did.”
THIRTEEN
It was near sunrise. Reverend Lynden Stalker was closeted in the small study at the vicarage. On his desk, next to a candle that was more than half burned, lay a half written sermon and several open books. One of those books was his bible. The other was a translation of Malleus Maleficarum.The Hammer of the Witches.
He knew her wickedness. After all, he had seen it before. Such a woman had destroyed his family. She had seduced his father in to abandoning his family in favor of living in sin with her. His mother had told him the truth and only him. His siblings had been told that their father had been killed, for she had believed that to be kinder to them than to know they had been abandoned. But he had been the eldest and she had entrusted him with the truth. Piece by piece over the years, she had revealed all to him. That the woman whom his father had taken up with was a witch who had respelled him, a woman who was in league with the devil and had taken it upon herself to turn a Godly man from his service to the Lord and make him a slave of the wicked master she served.
“I will not have it,” he said. “Not again. Her presence here is a blight that must be stamped out—without room for mercy.”
Walking back to his desk, he opened the largest of the drawers and retrieved a black leather case. Opening it, he perused the contents. Holy water. Manacles. Thumb screws. A scold’s bridal. There were numerous other items, each of them intended to inflict pain. That is where her salvation lay, in making her regret her association with evil, in making her turn from her wickedness and seek the only mercy that would be granted her in this life, the mercy of death.
Replacing the leather case in the drawer, it settled upon a coiled length of rope. A noose already tied for her. All he lacked was opportunity. The people of Highgate were not yet ready to face the truth of what must be done to eliminate the evil in their midst. So he would protect them from it as his mother had protected his younger siblings. As always, the burden was on his shoulders and he would bear it alone.
It was not yetdawn when Belladonna rose from her far too comfortable bed in Genie’s house. It was not the first time that she had stayed there, though each time she had done so, it had been in secret. And she knew that it was not the softness of the bed, so different from her own, that prompted her sleeplessness. It was worry. In a few short hours, Desmond would arrive in his carriage to take them into Nottingham where they would be married. She would no longer be a Goodwynne, assuming that nothing happened in the interim.
How many of the Goodwynne women had stood, just as she did, contemplating the likelihood of succumbing to the tragedy of their family’s curse? Or losing their love.
But she didn’t love him. Not yet. She certainly cared for him. She was attracted to him. But it was not love. And perhaps thatwas what would spare him. So long as she did not give in to her feelings and fall in love with him, he might remain protected from the tragedy that always befell any man foolish in enough to entangle himself with the Goodwynne’s.
