DESTINY FOR THREE
Published at Smashwords by Lilly Hale
©2011 Lilly Hale
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DESTINY FOR THREE
By
Lilly Hale
Prologue
“Not here yet? I don’t understand, Reverend. Bruce should have been here an hour ago.” Elise Davis’ smile evaporated and her bridesmaid, Tanya, stopped fussing with the strapless bodice of Elise’s satin bridal gown.
They both gaped at Reverend Parks.
“His best man asked me to give this to you.”
"What? Oh God, something hasn't happened, has it?" Elise took the envelope and tore it open, a hard knot tightening in her stomach. “Is he all right?”
"Yes, but I think you'd better read the note."
The reverend lowered his head and left quietly as Elise scanned the scrawled note. A wave of despair and disbelief washed over her.
"What is it?" Tanya laid a hand on her shoulder.
"He… he's not coming. The wedding's off." Elise's voice faltered. "He's decided he's not ready for this." She pressed her hand over her mouth to smother a sob.
“What?” Tanya gasped. She was silent for a moment, then hissed, “Bastard.” She reached out to tuck a strand of Elise’s hair back under her veil. "Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Don’t cry. Everything's going to be all right."
Sinking into a nearby chair, Elise studied the paper she held, a part of her still not believing what she read. The words blurred before her eyes. "How could he do this to me? At the very least, he should have had the decency to tell me in person! He said he loved me!" Once or twice, when she'd pressed him. She crumpled the note and threw it to the carpet, then buried her face in her hands.
Tanya knelt down beside her. "Listen, please don't be angry with me for asking, but...do you really love this guy?"
Elise’s head jerked up. "Tanya, I was going to marry him!"
"That's not what I asked. I asked if you loved him." Elise stared at her, indignant. Tanya pressed on. "I'm sorry. Maybe I'm out of line, but I'm your roommate, remember? I've watched you and Bruce together for the past year, and I have to say that there just didn't seem to be, well, you know, any spark between the two of you."
"There were sparks," Elise argued, then slumped as if someone had just let the air out of her. "Well, maybe we weren't the most exciting couple in the world, but Bruce isn't an exciting sort of guy." Tanya raised her eyebrows. "You know what I mean. Bruce is boring in a good sort of way--level-headed, dependable. I thought we were a good match. Guess I was wrong, huh?"
Tanya rubbed her shoulder then pulled her into a hug. “That man isn’t half good enough for you. You deserve better, sweetie. You deserve the sparks. Hell, girl, you deserve frickin’ fireworks.”
There was another rap on the door. Elise’s parents let themselves in and Margaret Davis rushed to her daughter's side. "Veronica, darling! What happened? The reverend just announced that the wedding's been postponed!"
"It's been more than postponed, Mom. It's off." Her mother knew very well that Elise preferred to be called by her middle name, but always refused to acknowledge that preference.
Margaret shook her head. "I don't understand. Why on earth would you cancel the wedding? Bruce is such a nice boy. He's a lawyer. He's perfect for you!" Elise started to open her mouth, but Margaret rambled on, "But then, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, should I? It's so like you to make rash decisions. Throwing away four years of college and an opportunity for a career in your father's company to move back to Savannah, of all places, and open up some little knick-knack shop on nothing more than a whim."
"Mother, please. I didn't cancel the wedding, Bruce did. But that doesn't matter. What I really need right now is-"
"Bruce called off the wedding?” Margaret looked as if she'd just been hit in the face with a wet towel. “Why? What did you do?"
Elise clenched her hands into fists at her side.
Arthur Davis stepped between his wife and daughter. "It’s all right, Elise. Your mother and I want to do whatever we can to help. We're not here to make this any more difficult for you. Right, Margaret?" He looked pointedly at his wife.
Releasing her breath, Elise gave her father a hug. "Thanks, Dad."
Margaret pursed her lips. ”Well, in light of this situation, I think you should come home with us for awhile. You shouldn't be alone at a time like this."
"I'm not alone. I have plenty of friends. Tanya and I share an apartment, remember? I'll be fine."
"I promise I'll look after her for you, Mrs. Davis," Tanya added. "You don't need to worry about Elise."
Margaret ignored the young woman. "No, it would be best if you came home. You need your family now. You’re flying home with your father and me, and that’s final."
"Good God, Mother. What am I, sixteen? No, I'm staying right where I am."
"Why are you always so stubborn? Always so determined to make your father's and my life difficult, first with your absurd notions about changing your name--as if the one we gave you isn't good enough anymore--then moving halfway across the country. You used to be such a vivacious child, so full of life, but you've been so distant and sullen ever since the accident-"
"Would you please stop," Elise snapped. "That accident happened twenty years ago, for God’s sake. Why do you need to bring it up now? I’ve just been dumped on my wedding day!” Her voice broke as those words hit home. “Can’t you just be supportive for once?"
When her mother’s eyes rolled in exasperation, it was the last straw. Elise snatched up her purse from the dressing table. "Tanya, I've got to get out of here. I need some time alone. Could you see to things until I get back?" Ignoring Margaret's continued harping and her father's pleas to sit down and relax, Elise rushed out of the room in a flurry of ivory satin and tulle.
Chapter One
The blackness enveloped her, thick and cloying, as if she were drowning in a pool of warm ink. As self-awareness slowly returned, with it came the memory of the giant live oak looming before her windshield. She felt the hardness of the steering wheel pressed against her temple.
Oh, God, I’ve been in an accident!
Tentatively, she straightened and tried to peer through the darkness. Weird. Hadn’t it been early afternoon just moments ago? Perhaps she’d been unconscious for a long while and night had fallen. But it was so intensely silent. No chirping crickets, no whisper of breeze through the pines--nothing.
Before Elise could wonder further, a bright light appeared outside the driver’s side window. It grew bigger, brighter, started to flicker and dance like the beam of a giant movie projector. The window next to her lit up with a swirl of light and color.
Apprehension gnawed at her, a feeling that what she was experiencing was outside the boundaries of ordinary reality, yet she was unable to do anything other than watch.
Like a picture on a television screen, an image formed in the window. Elise recognized it as the Richardsons’ beautifully restored antebellum home where she was to have been married earlier that day. She could see her best friend, Tanya, standing near the dressing table in a coral bridesmaid gown. She followed the young black woman’s gaze toward the doorway and saw herself, tall and willowy, swathed in yards of beaded ivory satin, staring in confusion at a solemn Reverend Parks. The images sparked her memory.
The wedding… Bruce… Oh, God…
There in the darkness, held motionless by some invisible hand, Elise watched as the painful events replayed before her eyes. Fresh heartache gripped her as she watched herself read the note from Bruce, argue with her mother and finally flee.
Then she was speeding down the Richardsons’ tree-lined driveway in her white Explorer. Gravel flew from beneath the tires as she pulled onto the main road and headed for the acreage that had been her childhood home. If there was ever a time she needed the serenity of a quiet walk in the old orchard, it was then.
“Slow down. You’re going too fast,” Elise whispered to the image on the window.
Her plea fell on deaf ears. The sobbing bride behind the wheel only grimaced and rubbed her temple. When the vehicle hit a soft spot at the side of the freshly graveled road, she jerked on the steering wheel and sent the SUV fish-tailing out of control.
Elise cringed as she heard her own high-pitched scream, saw the huge unyielding trunk of the ancient live oak. “No!”
The window went blank for an instant, then lit up once more as a series of images from Elise’s past danced rapidly past her eyes: The moment she first met Tanya during a tour of a historic plantation house.
Hanging up the framed arrangement of pressed violets she’d painstakingly created for the grand opening of her collectibles shop, Time Will Tell.
The nasty argument with her mother when she broke the news about her decision to move back to Savannah.
Herself as a miserable eight-year-old, hiding in the ancient brick shed that stood on their acreage near Savannah, hoping that her parents would never find her and she could stay in the place she loved. Margaret, dragging that same little girl kicking and screaming to the car, angry and baffled that Elise could want to stay in a place that held so many unhappy memories for their family.
Herself at age five, feeling her father’s strong hands lifting her limp body from the swimming pool, retching as the water left her lungs, disoriented and scared by Margaret’s piercing shrieks.
Blackness cloaked the window again. The beam of light softened, and Elise felt herself moving toward its source, her vehicle suddenly gone, though she didn't remember getting out of it.
A figure walked toward her out of the light. A woman in a flowing gown, her blue eyes soft with love, and the gentlest, most beautiful smile Elise had ever seen. Elise’s feet trailed behind her as she glided through the darkness like a wraith, her arm outstretched, wanting more than anything to connect with the angelic figure before her.
An incredible sense of peace enveloped her. Everything would be all right now.
The woman came close and reached out a hand to caress Elise’s cheek. “My dear little one, as much as I look forward to the time when we will be together again, it is not yet that time.”
Elise felt a sharp stab of longing. “But I want to stay here with you.”
“I know. But you are needed on the other side.” The woman’s eyes glistened with tears, but she smiled, kissed her fingertip then touched that finger to Elise’s lips. “Go now, and take back what is yours.”
With that, the heavenly figure retreated into the light, and Elise knew a deep sense of despair more painful than any she’d experienced.
From behind her, the faint sound of a man's voice pierced the silence. "Elizabeth... Elizabeth..."
Elise looked back, mildly curious, then turned again toward the brightness.
”Elizabeth!"
The voice was louder now, and Elise felt the unsettling sensation of being dragged back toward it. Instinctively, she reached out for the light, yearning to be part of it, and struggled against the force pulling at her.
"Elizabeth, wake up!"
The force dragging her became too powerful to resist. Elise felt herself falling backward, faster and faster. She was terrified and cried out. Finally, she landed with a jolting impact that knocked the breath from her lungs.
Elise gasped, filling her aching chest with life-giving air. Her head throbbed. She opened her eyes and saw it was once again daylight. The brightness sent shards of pain zinging through her skull. Squeezing her eyelids shut again, she moaned.
"Elizabeth, can you hear me?"
Elise grimaced. The man's voice was so close. Elizabeth? Who’s Elizabeth? A moment later she felt fingers tapping her cheek, gently at first, then sharply. “Hey, cut it out!” She raised a hand to swipe at her offender.
"Elizabeth! Open your eyes."
When she did, the pain lanced through her head, but she forced herself to keep her eyes open. Above her were rippling patches of shadow and light that, as her vision slowly cleared, she recognized as the softly swaying boughs of an oak festooned with Spanish moss.
A man leaned over her, his face in shadow, blocking out the dappled light above. "Don't try to move," he ordered and gently held her down. "I've sent Samuel back to the house for help. Just lie still till he gets back. You've got a lump on your head the size of a hen’s egg."
"Hmm?" Elise squinted to make out the man's features. His gruff voice was unfamiliar. Perhaps he was a passing motorist who had seen the accident and stopped to help.
"Who are you?" she rasped. "Why are you calling me Elizabeth?"
The man pulled back and a shaft of sunlight fell across his face. For the first time, Elise was able to see him clearly. He was...well, striking was the word that came to mind, with lean, sharply chiseled features and a wide mouth. His dark chestnut hair was sun-streaked and brushed away from his face as though he'd just combed his fingers through it, a few strands falling across his brow. His eyes were a warm golden brown, the rich color of Kentucky bourbon.
The man’s lips thinned, like he was angry. "Jesus,” he muttered. He bent closer again and pulled her hair away from her face. "Can you see all right? Has the fall affected your sight?"
"No. I can see." He didn’t answer her question, so she asked again, trying to lift herself onto her elbows. “Who are you?”
He swore softly then put his hands to her shoulders, pressing her back to the ground. “Just stay still. Don’t move.” He started to rise.
“Please!” She grabbed his arm and he froze. She thought she saw him shudder just slightly. “Please, don’t leave me.”
Confusion played across his features before his expression darkened and he peeled her fingers from his sleeve. “I said don’t move. I need to check on your brother. I’ll be right back.”
Then he was gone, leaving her squinting against the sunlight. She covered her eyes with her hand. Brother? She didn’t have a brother. She shook her head and moaned as a wave of dizziness engulfed her, unconsciousness swallowing her again.
Elise awoke to the sensation of being lifted by strong arms. Opening her eyes, she saw a middle-aged black man peering down at her. “You jus’ hold still, now, Miss Lizzie. I got you.” He looked up. “Mistuh Kingston, she’s woke up again!”
“Good, Samuel. Get her in the house quickly. We’ll need some more help with Edward. He’s hurt badly and I don’t want him jostled.”
“Yessuh, Mistuh Kingston.”
Miss Lizzie? What the hell? She started to struggle against the man as he removed her from the back of some sort of wagon. “Please, put me down. I can walk on my own.”
Samuel grunted with the effort of holding her while she squirmed. “Miss Lizzie, please! I’s just tryin’ to help you. Stay still, now.”
“Elizabeth. Settle down.” It was the handsome stranger from before. He looked angry again.
“I’m not Miss Lizzie! Put me down!” She continued to struggle until the stranger nodded at the black man who held her.
“It’s all right, Samuel. Set her down before she hurts herself. Gently.”
Once on her feet, Elise paused to get her bearings. They were in front of a Greek Revival plantation house in what appeared to be pristine condition. Someone had obviously spent a fortune restoring the place. She'd been through a lot of these old mansions and seldom had she seen one in such excellent shape. The white paint on the wood siding appeared fresh and the trim showed no signs of rot. Elise decided that the tall rectangular columns of the entrance portico must be recreations of the originals, for they showed not a trace of decay, not even at the bases.
Elise frowned. She'd traveled the roads in this area many times since returning to Savannah, yet she'd never seen this magnificent house before. How could she have missed it?
The man called Samuel kept a steady hand at her elbow, urging her toward the front porch of the house. She could hear the other man, Mr. Kingston, barking orders to a gathering group of people. A black woman in a brown dress, starched white apron and calico head-scarf burst through the front door.
"Oh Lordy, what's done happened to my babies!" The woman hurried across the front porch to meet them.
“Their horse bolted, Jemma, and the buggy overturned,” Mr. Kingston replied. "Elizabeth has a nasty bump on her forehead that needs to be tended. But Edward’s hurt badly. I’ve sent Bobby for Doc White."
The woman started to wave her arms and wail, and Elise lost it. “Look, I don’t understand why you people think you know me, but you’re mistaken! I am not this Lizzie person you keep referring to and I was not in a buggy! I've never been in a buggy in my life! My name's Elise Davis. I've had a car accident and I have people waiting for me who'll be worried. I need to call them. My cell was in my purse, if we could just go back to my vehicle and get it-"
Jemma gasped then hollered, “Lord o'mighty! She done knocked her brains right outta her head!"
"I did not!" Elise glanced around at the circle of hesitant, pitying stares. Her face grew hot. "Look, I've had a really bad day, okay? Please, I need to use a phone, that's all I ask. I'll call for a ride and have a wrecker come for my vehicle then I'll be out of your hair."
Jemma gave Elise one more horrified glare before she shouted over her shoulder to the others assembled. "Get some cold rags! You men get her on up to bed an' if'n she fights, tie her down!" Then she rushed to the wagon. “Oh, Massah Edward, just lie still now. Jemma’s here ta’ help you.”
Tie her down? Oh, hell no! Elise spun on Samuel. "If you think I'm going to let you people hold me prisoner here-"
“You’s gotta calm down, Miss Lizzie, like Jemma said,” Samuel insisted as he urged her toward the house.
She pulled her elbow from his grip. “Let me go!”
Mr. Kingston grabbed her other arm. He wasn’t gentle. His fingers bit into her flesh. “Elizabeth. Settle down and get into the house. Let them help you.” His low voice had an ominous tone and the anger in his eyes sent a chill down her spine.
The situation was getting out of control. Elise took a deep breath then said in a deceptively calm voice. "All right. Look, I'm not upset anymore.” She removed his hand from her arm. "I can walk by myself. Really, I'm fine." She lifted the skirt of her gown above her ankles and strode into the front hall. Her head spinning from the sudden movement, she stopped to steady herself.
When her vision stopped reeling, she noticed the hall was as carefully restored as the outside of the house. The mahogany of the staircase and door trim gleamed with the soft glow of hand-polished wax, the walls were covered with richly patterned sage-green damask, and the furniture looked like genuine Louis XVI.
"I'm all right," she insisted when she felt Samuel’s hands on her again. “Please, just show me to the phone.”
"I’ll help you upstairs, Miss. You needs ta lie down."
It was clear none of these people were going to help her. She was on her own. Her façade of calm disintegrated. "For the last time, I'm not going upstairs! If you people won't help me, I'll help myself." She pulled away from Samuel. "I'm walking to the highway to catch a ride. Don't you dare try to stop me."
She turned and staggered toward the door, then stopped as she caught a glimpse of a woman in the tall gilt-framed mirror on the wall opposite her. Petite and dark-haired, the woman stared back at Elise with wide, blue-green eyes. She wore a long skirt and fitted jacket, fawn-colored with dark green trim. Dirt and grass stains marred the outfit and the jacket was torn at one shoulder.
Elise looked down at her own clothing. Her breath caught in her throat. Where was her wedding gown? She’d been wearing an ivory satin gown, hadn't she? In that instant she began to question her own sanity.
Her eyes shot back to the mirror and she raised a trembling hand to the throbbing lump on her head. The woman did the same, gingerly touching the large purplish swelling that marred her porcelain complexion.
Elise uttered a strangled cry as she stared at the stranger in the glass and realized she was the stranger. She felt her knees buckle, the parquet floor seemed to rush upward then blackness closed around her.
****
Elise's eyelids flickered open. She moaned and turned her head on the soft feather pillow. Where was she? Slowly, she began to take in her surroundings. She was in a spacious bedroom furnished with lovely antique furniture and occupied a canopied four-poster bed, swathed in great volumes of white netting. It dominated the room and was surrounded by matching pieces of Queen Anne style furniture. It occurred to her that there was absolutely nothing modern in the room. No light switches--no lights at all, except for oil lamps and candles--no electrical outlets, no vents to indicate any sort of central air system...nothing. Strange. It was as if she'd awakened in another time.
Like a swift kick to the stomach, memory of the dream came back to her. It had to have been a dream.
Her head swimming, she forced herself out of bed and staggered to the tall mirror that hung next to the wardrobe. The image that confronted her took her breath away.
Dear God, it was true!
She wasn't herself anymore. This body in the mirror wasn't her own. Gone was the tall, thin figure, the shoulder-length brown hair, hazel eyes and somewhat square jaw line that she'd grown accustomed to seeing in a mirror. The attractive, but unexceptional body of Elise Davis was no longer hers. In its place was the delicately-boned figure of a sable-haired beauty. Though petite, this body was lushly feminine, the soft curves covered in a modest nightgown of white batiste.
Elise pressed her fingers against the high cheekbones, the fragile, yet proud jaw line, the perfect cupid's bow of dusky pink lips. She stared, still barely able to believe what she was seeing. Wide, heavily-lashed turquoise eyes peered back in amazement. My God, this woman was beautiful. This woman...she was this woman!
Shaking, Elise turned away from the mirror and tried to gather her thoughts. Had she died in the accident? She remembered the darkness after the crash, the feeling of weightlessness, the beckoning light.
Slowly, half expecting the room to shimmer and dissolve around her, she went to one of the tall windows and looked out. It was clear she was inside the Greek Revival mansion she remembered being brought to after the accident. Beyond the overhanging pediment supported by tall columns was a large expanse of yard, split in two by a gravel driveway lined with cottonwood trees. In the distance, past the moss-draped trees, she could see a river, and marshy rice fields dotted with the hunched over figures of laborers. A movement in the driveway caught her eye. A horse-drawn wagon paused at one of the small outbuildings. The passengers, six men and women, dark-skinned, wearing crude, patched and dirty clothing, crawled out. With the shine of perspiration on their bodies, haggard expressions on their faces, they looked like...Good God, they looked like slaves!
Frantically, her mind fumbled for an explanation that made sense. Maybe she was dreaming all this, while in reality she lay comatose in a hospital bed. Something inside her told her that wasn't the case. This wasn't heaven, or hell. This wasn't the figment of a damaged brain. This was real, just not the reality she'd always known.
Elise turned back to the mirror, trembling like a leaf, trying to remember the murky events that occurred after the accident. The flickering images from her past, the gently smiling woman, the warm, soul-encompassing light... Elise had read enough about near-death experiences to know her ordeal was similar. She’d been on the brink of crossing over, then, for reasons unknown, was pulled back from the light, pulled back into her body--no, to this body.
Elise watched the unfamiliar face in the mirror blanch. If she now inhabited the body of this woman, Elizabeth, then where was Elizabeth? Had her soul passed over? Or had they switched places somehow? At this very moment, somewhere in the future, was Elizabeth staring into a mirror trying to come to terms with her new form?
The door opened just as Elise swayed, grabbing the bedpost for support. The woman she recognized as Jemma stepped in.
"Lord o'mighty! What's you doin' up?" She hurried across the room and took Elise by the arm. "You get yourself back into this here bed! And don't go givin' me no lip, neither. You need your rest if that head of yours is to heal proper. I ain't aimin' to spend the rest of my days nursin' no crazy woman."
Numb with shock, Elise let Jemma tuck her back into the big, soft bed. She leaned forward obediently as Jemma fluffed the feather pillows behind her back.
"There. Now you just lie back and rest." Jemma's voice had lost its sharp tone. "You feel up to eatin' somethin'?"
Jemma's mention of food made her stomach pinch with hunger. "Um, yes, thank you. That would be wonderful, if you don’t mind. I haven't had anything since yesterday."
"Yesterday? Child, you been sleepin' for two days now. And it's already near half-way through the third." At Elise's look of alarm, Jemma patted her hand. "Now don't you worry none. Doc says you’s gonna be fine, which is more than I can say ‘bout poor Massah Edward. He’s been askin’ for you, so soon as you feel able, you needs to go be with him." The woman’s dark eyes grew shiny with tears.
“Edward?” Oh, yeah. There was another person with her who was hurt in the accident.
Jemma’s brow furrowed with alarm. “Yes, child. Massah Edward. Your brother.” She scrutinized the bruise on Elise's forehead. "You sure you's afeelin' better?"
Elise nodded gingerly. "My head still aches. Do you have anything I could take for it? Maybe a Tylenol, please?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she'd blundered. Jemma was plainly troubled, though she tried to hide it by briskly smoothing the coverlet.
"You poor child. Just lie still and I'll be back in no time with somethin' for the pain."
Elise watched Jemma bustle out of the room and chided herself for being careless. If this nightmare was true, if she had indeed been transported into the past and into another body, then she had better pull herself together quickly and deal with it. That meant being more mindful of what she said.
She had so much to find out: what year it was, exactly where she was, who she was. She would have to be very careful. The people around her would probably accept some memory loss on her part, but if she told them the truth, she might well find herself trussed up in the nearest loony-bin.
Chapter Two
“‘Scuse me, Mistuh Trey, Doc White." The two men looked up at Jemma, who stood in the doorway of the study."I's sorry for bustin' in on y'all, but Miss Lizzie, she's woke up."
Trey Kingston got up from the leather wing-back, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "She's better?"
"Seems she's feelin' better, but she don’t remember Massah Edward. And she's still talkin' nonsense. Askin' for ‘Ty-noll’ or some such thing." Jemma grew thoughtful for a moment. "And there's somethin' else, too. Maybe it aint' nothin’, but she don't act like herself, neither. Sayin' please and thank you real soft-like...it just ain't like her. Doc, you'd best get back up there and take a look at her."
Doc White nodded. "I'll go up and check on her before I leave." After Jemma left, he scrubbed a weary hand across the back of his neck and turned to Trey. “I was hoping that when she came to, she would have recovered her faculties. Maybe the brain damage is worse than I thought.”
“Do you think it’s permanent?”
“I can’t say. But the longer it persists, the more likely it will be permanent.”
Damnit. Trey pushed back the pang of emotion that swept through him. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for that woman, didn’t want to feel anything for her. “Edward’s been asking for her. It’ll upset him if she doesn’t remember. Maybe we should wait a little longer.”
Doc White shook his head. “No, if Edward wants to see her, you best make sure he does, soon. His back is broken, and he’s already having trouble breathing. He may linger for a while longer, but he won’t recover.” He walked to the desk and picked up his bag. He reached inside and pulled out a bottle, then held it out to Trey. “I’m sorry there’s nothing more we can do for Edward, but this laudanum will keep him comfortable until the end.” Trey sank back into the chair as the doctor pulled out a pencil and scrawled on a piece of paper. “Here’s the instructions for dosing. Don’t worry about giving him too much. It doesn’t matter at this point.”
Trey nodded woodenly as the doctor patted his shoulder then left the room.
Jesus! Edward was dying! Trey’s throat ached with anguish for the man he’d known since they were children growing up together on neighboring plantations. Before last week, it had been four years since he’d seen Edward. Four years since he’d left Savannah and went north to New York to start fresh. Trey had been shocked when he got his first glimpse of Edward since his return, here in this very room last week. The lines that stress and worry had etched into Edward's face in the years since they'd last seen each other had aged him prematurely. He wished he could somehow transform Edward back into the cheerful, carefree youth he grew up with--wished he could turn back the clock for them both.
Trey expelled a deep breath. There was no returning to the innocence of their youth. Their lots had been cast. They would have to live with what fate had dealt them.
Edward had been dealt a cruel hand. Chester McBride had left his son neck-deep in debt--mostly gambling losses, the result of his passion for horse-racing combined with his woeful ignorance in the breeding of good horse flesh. For years the enormous productivity of the plantation had been enough to offset the old man's losses. The McBrides had lived a life of great elegance and luxury, until two years ago, when a great storm swept the Georgia coast, raising the waterline to nearly seven feet above the ordinary high tide, wiping out most of the rice fields in the area. Faced with mounting financial troubles and never quite able to reconcile the death of his wife, Hannah, Chester McBride had turned to drinking, which ultimately was the cause of his death. Trey had received a letter from Edward last year informing him of his father's accident. The old man had evidently fallen in a marsh and been too drunk to get up. He'd drowned in a mere six inches of water.
Edward was left to shoulder the responsibility of the financially ailing plantation and his shrew of a sister, who continued to burn through what little savings they had left. Edward confided to Trey that when he’d questioned Elizabeth’s out of control spending on Parisian gowns and jewelry, she’d pitched such a fit, she’d nearly destroyed the parlor and it had cost him a tidy sum for repairs. Same old Elizabeth. Spoiled, willful little bitch.
Trey had offered Edward a loan. It wouldn’t be a hardship for Trey anymore. Hell, he could afford to give Edward the money, but he knew his friend was too proud to accept charity.
Edward had forced a smile at his offer. "I’ll think about it, Trey. Thank you.” Then his abrupt change of tone told Trey the subject was closed for now. “Why don't you come for supper Saturday evenin’. No talk about money problems or any other woes, I forbid it. Just two old friends doing some catchin’ up."
Today was Saturday, and Trey would be staying for supper, but it would be at Edward’s bedside, keeping his friend company while he watched Edward’s life slowly slip away.
And he would have to face her, Elizabeth Viola McBride. The conniving piece of baggage he’d put behind him years ago. He'd come to terms with what happened between them, felt nothing but indifference toward her. Until the other day after the accident, when she’d stared up at him, hurt and frightened, ranting like a crazy woman, pleading for his help. Seeing her again had been like a thunder bolt, his body reacting to her nearness as if the ugliness that had passed between them never occurred, as if he was still the besotted young fool he was all those years ago.
But he wasn't. He knew what kind of woman she was: shallow and vindictive. Yet there was something about her that day. Something in the way she spoke, the way she looked at him, different somehow… No, damn her!
He raked a hand through his hair and clamped on his hat. He had to get out of here for a while. Go back to Hopeton for a few hours and work on sorting through and packing up his family’s possessions before the sale was finalized. It would help him clear his head. He stood up abruptly, welcoming the pain that shot from his knee to his ankle. It was a potent reminder of the folly of his ill-fated infatuation with Elizabeth McBride and it fired his determination that it would not happen again.
****
Elise awoke from her nap to the sound of someone moving about the bedroom. Groggily, she raised herself up on her elbows and saw a young black woman, sixteen or seventeen perhaps, in a shapeless dress of roughly woven fabric. She was setting a tray of dainty glass bottles on the dressing table. It took Elise a moment to remember where she was, frowning as it came back to her.
"Oh, hello," she mumbled and rubbed at her eyes.
The bottles clinked loudly as the girl plopped them down, then spun away from the table and backed toward the door. Her eyes were round with fright. "I-I's sorry Miz! I didn't mean to wake you! I's sorry!"
Alarmed by the girl's reaction, Elise climbed out of bed. "It's okay, really. I apologize if I startled you." The young woman was shaking so badly that Elise reached out to her.
The girl's screech filled the closed room as she dropped to the floor and covered her head with her arms."I's sorry, I's sorry! Please don't beat me, Miz!"
Elise watched in horror as the poor girl dissolved into a whimpering mass at her feet. She immediately knelt down and put her arms around the girl's quaking shoulders.
"It's all right! I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Please don't cry." The girl raised her head and fastened a wary gaze upon Elise.
"But last time I woke you, you cuffed me good and said dat next time I'd gets me a whippin'!"
Elise was stunned. My God, what kind of bitch was Elizabeth McBride? She managed to find her voice. "If I said that, then I'm truly sorry. You have to believe me when I tell you I...well, I really wasn't myself at the time. Please, don't be afraid of me. I swear I won’t hurt you."
Elise finally managed to get the girl onto her feet and wiped her eyes with a hanky from the night table. After much persuasion, Elise learned that her name was Lolly and she was one of the three housemaids who assisted Jemma.
"Jemma done told me to bring up dem fancy smellin' oils and such for your bath, Miz. I'll go down and tell her dat you's up now."
"Thank you, Lolly." Elise saw the expression of utter disbelief on Lolly's face as she left the room; she'd probably never before been thanked for anything in her life.
Jemma came in a few minutes later with an armload of towels. “As soon as we gets you bathed, you needs to go comfort Massah Edward. He’s in a bad way, God bless his heart.”
Elise bit her lip. How was she supposed to comfort this poor man, when she didn’t even know him? “Jemma, I-I feel just terrible that I can’t even remember my own brother. I hope I don’t upset him.”
“I told him you was havin’ trouble rememberin’,” Jemma patted her arm, “so it won’t be a shock to him. It’ll make his heart rest easy to see that otherwise you’s doin’ fine.” She stood up and started toward the door. “I’ll go get some water heatin’ for your bath and get word sent out to Mistah Turner. He’s been worried sick and wanted to know as soon as you was up to havin’ visitors.”
“Mr. Turner?” Elise’s interest lit, picturing the handsome man who’d found her after the accident. No, she remembered, his name wasn’t Turner, it was Kingston.
Jemma made a tsk-tsk noise. “Child, Mistuh Turner’s your fiancé. He’s gonna be awful hurt that you don’t remember him none. I’ll make sure he knows so he won’t be too shocked, but you best be mindful ‘bout what you say when you see him. If’n you start talkin’ crazy again, he might up and call off the weddin’.” With that, the woman bustled out the door.
Fiancé! Oh, cripes! Elise felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Now, what was she going to do? Calm down, Elise. You haven’t even met the man yet. Just get that over with and then play it by ear. Good grief, what a joke fate was playing on her. Dumped at the altar in one life, engaged to a stranger in the next.
****
Freshly bathed and dressed, Elise hesitated just inside the doorway of Edward’s stuffy, darkened bedroom. The man who was her brother lay motionless in his bed. “He’s sleeping. Maybe I should come back later.”
“No, child,” Jemma answered, prodding her forward. The woman’s voice wavered with emotion. “He needs to see you to put his mind at ease. I’ll open the curtains a bit, lighten it up in here so’s you can see better.”
As Jemma went about brightening the room, Elise moved to the bedside and looked down at Edward. He was clearly Elizabeth’s brother, she could see the resemblance. His dark brown wavy hair was parted on the side and brushed back off his high forehead. His face was pleasantly formed, but deathly pale, with dark shadows around his closed eyes. As though he sensed her presence, those eyes opened, revealing the same blue-green that stared back at her when she looked in a mirror.
His dry lips stretched into a smile. “Elizabeth.” He took a deep breath. “I’m so glad you’re all right.” Elise returned his smile and clasped his outstretched hand. “Sit, sit down. Stay and talk with me for a while.”
Elise sat in the wooden chair next to the bed. The poor man. He really did look awful. Even though he was a stranger, she felt her eyes prickle with tears.
Edward squeezed her hand weakly. “The doctor said you-you’ve been disoriented since the accident. Has any memory at all come back to you yet?"
Elise plucked at the bedspread. There was no way for her to lie. She could never pull it off; she didn't know anything about her new life. "As much as I'd like to tell you I remember everything, I can't." Seeing Edward's hopeful expression fall, she felt compelled to add, "But I'm sure it won't be long before I do. There's something about your face, and Jemma's, that already seems vaguely familiar to me. Please don't worry."
“I can’t help but worry,” he said sadly. “Elizabeth, you do know that I won’t be around much longer.”
“Oh, Edward. Don’t say that.”
“I have to. It’s true. There’s no hope for me, I’m afraid. And I-” his voice cracked with emotion, “I can’t leave this earth knowin’ I’ve left you behind with no memory of your past and no one to take care of you.”
“Please, I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“No, darlin’. No, you won’t. You don’t know the first thing about takin’ care of yourself. You need a man to look after you.” Elise bristled slightly at his words, but said nothing. “Jemma told me Jeff is coming to see you today. I-I want to talk to him about movin’ up the date for your wedding, as soon as possible. I want to see you safely married before I go.”
Elise felt a surge of panic, and shook her head. “But I don’t remember him. Surely he won’t want to marry a woman who sees him as a stranger.”
“Shh. Don’t worry, Elizabeth. He’ll want you. He’s been waitin’ a long time for you. And Doc White says your memory will likely return. Maybe we could help it along some.” He squeezed her hand again.
Elise sighed. “All right.” She wasn’t agreeing to this marriage deal, but maybe this would be a good way for her to find out some information to make it easier to deal with her situation.
Her acquiescence seemed to soothe him. “Good. Now, where should we start? Do you remember anything at all?”
She shook her head. “No, not really. I guess we should start with the basics. My full name, birth date, family history...”
In the next few minutes she learned that the current date was September 25, 1850, her name was Elizabeth Viola McBride and she was twenty-five years old. She’d lived her whole life within the walls of this house, Cottonwood. Her father had built it before she was born.
Cottonwood. The name of the home struck a chord in her memory.
Yes, of course! The brick Colonial in which Elise had lived in until she was eight, was built upon the site of an old plantation house named Cottonwood. She was in that house right now! The very site of her childhood home, over a hundred and fifty years earlier!
Edward continued in a raspy voice. "Our father died last year. There was an accident. He drowned. And Mother passed on close to twenty years ago of yellow fever. I'm afraid you and I are the only family we've got left, Lizzie." He patted her hand gently. "And once I’m gone…” His eyes grew wet and voice cracked again. “I couldn’t- couldn’t bear it if I left you all alone.”
This was heartbreaking! Wiping the tears from her eyes, Elise could only nod. There was no way she was going to marry a stranger, but if Edward was comforted by the belief that she’d marry Jeff Turner, she was not going to argue with him now.
Edward took another deep breath and closed his eyes. Elise could see their conversation had taken a toll on his failing strength. Giving his limp hand a parting squeeze, she left him to Jemma’s care and went back to her room to prepare herself to meet her new fiancé.
****
"Come on, child. Mistah Turner's awaitin' for you on the porch. You look pretty as a peach. Now let's go."
Elise checked her appearance in the foyer mirror, still in complete amazement at her reflection. The coral gown fit like a glove about her tiny corset-cinched waist, then flared out over the starched slips and hoop she wore beneath. She'd complained when Jemma insisted she wear all the uncomfortable contraptions. The corset was a torture device! She could barely take a full breath. But she had to admit, the finished effect was striking. Her hair was artfully arranged into a cascade of sable ringlets that fell down her back, with just enough fringe around her face to cover the bruise on her forehead. It was a big change from her usual jeans and a ponytail.
Elise stepped onto the piazza and laid her eyes on Jeff Turner for the first time. He was tall and slender, with raven-black hair that contrasted sharply with the cool, silvery grey of his eyes. Quite handsome really, except he sported a set of long mutton-chop sideburns. Hmm, those would definitely take some getting used to.
Jeff rose from his wicker chair to greet her and his gaze roamed down the length of her body. He held out his hand and Elise automatically reached forward to give him a handshake. Instead, he bent his dark head to brush a kiss to the back of her hand.
"Elizabeth, my dear, I’m so sorry about Edward. I just came from his bedside.” He shook his head. “It’s such a shame. But you needn’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” He backed up a bit and examined her. “I simply cannot believe what Edward told me is true. You appear completely recovered."
Elise gently removed her hand from his and smiled a bit awkwardly. "Thank you, I do feel much better, but I'm still having some trouble with my memory."
"Surely you remember me." The spark in his eyes spoke of a shared intimacy between them that made Elise uncomfortable.
"I can't lie to you, Mr. Turner. I don't remember you." A flicker of pain crossed his classically molded face, but he recovered quickly and gave her a resolute smile.
"Well, we can't have that, now can we?” He escorted her to the wicker porch swing and settled himself beside her. “I’ll just have to woo you all over again, and quickly, since this tragic turn of events requires that we move ahead with our marriage plans as soon as possible.”
Elise blanched at the mention of the marriage. "Yes, about that… I don’t want to upset you, and I do appreciate that you and Edward are looking out for my welfare, but I really don’t feel comfortable rushing into a marriage at this point. I'm afraid you'll have to be patient with me. This memory loss is so strange, overwhelming.”
“Edward was right. You really are so…different.” Jeff searched her eyes as if looking for a flicker of the Elizabeth he knew.
“I know. There is the possibility that I'll never be the same Elizabeth you knew."
He set his jaw determinedly and clasped her hand with his. "Once we’re wed and settled at Blackfriar, I’ll take you to see a different doctor in Savannah."
"Blackfriar?"
"The house I'm building for you. Big and elegant, just what you ordered. It's nearly finished." Jeff slanted a meaningful look at Elise. "You promised to marry me once it was finished."
Elise swallowed. "I did?"
Jeff chuckled and lifted an eyebrow at her. "You wouldn't be faking this memory loss to get out of our deal, would you? You've led me on quite a chase, Elizabeth McBride, knowing all the while that I'm so crazy for you, I'd give you anything. And I have. I've met all your demands, honey. Blackfriar, the townhouse in Savannah, allowance for all the Parisian gowns your little heart desires, everything. Now, I have to admit, I'm anxious for you to keep your end of the bargain."
Great. It appeared Elizabeth was a shallow and calculating gold digger who enjoyed terrorizing her underlings; not a very nice picture. And now Elise was left to deal with the results of her handiwork. Thank you very much, Miss McBride!
“Jeff, I don't know what to say. I honestly don't remember."
He surprised her then by leaning closer and raised a hand to caress her jaw. His voice lowered. "Perhaps I can try to refresh your memory a bit."
Before she knew what was happening, his lips were on hers, muffling her startled squeak. They were soft at first then moved across hers easily, confidently, as if they'd played against her mouth a hundred times before. Perhaps they had.
"Jeff, please," Elise murmured as she pulled back. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this." For a southern gentleman from a society that demanded adherence to strict rules of propriety, Jeff was certainly quick to put the moves on her. Maybe men hadn't changed so much after all.
"Don't you like my kisses anymore, Elizabeth?”
"Um, well, they're very nice, but I-"
"Then relax and enjoy them, honey. I won't push you any farther than this." His thumb moved across her jaw to brush over her mouth. "I just need to taste your sweet lips. Give me that much. Let me help you remember how good it was between us."
A smile touched his lips before he closed them over hers once again. His arms were strong as they held her close, and Elise forced herself to endure his embrace. She had to admit, his kisses weren’t repulsive, and she did feel kind of sorry for him. If she closed her eyes, she could almost swear it was Bruce kissing her; it was pleasant, yes, but there were no fireworks.
His tongue delved into her mouth as he deepened the kiss. At that point, Elise felt invaded, smothered, and she broke away. Jeff seemed unaware of her slight shiver of aversion. His eager mouth moved along her jaw to her neck, then back to her face.
"Do you remember my kisses now, Elizabeth? Remember the feel of my lips on yours? On your neck? How about between your legs, honey, remember that? You always love me to kiss you there."
Elise's breath caught in her throat and she pulled back again. "We were that intimate?"
"Quite a bit more intimate, in fact." He looked meaningfully into her eyes and she knew without a doubt to what he referred. "I must confess it hurts me a little that you don't remember something we shared so deeply."
Elise jumped at the sound of a throat clearing. She and Jeff both turned toward the noise. She recognized the man in an instant. There on the porch steps was the stranger who’d rescued her the day of the accident.
The attraction was also instantaneous. Wow.
There had been a keen awareness of him the first time they’d met, one that had stuck in her memory despite the fact she’d been hurt and in shock at the time. But now, it was just--just…Wow. She let her gaze travel downward from that arrestingly sexy face, absorbing the lean angular lines of his body, lingering where the muscles of his thighs, outlined provocatively by his snug pants, disappeared beneath his dark jacket.
Feeling the man next to her tense, Elise came to her senses and blushed at the path her thoughts had just taken.
"Trey Kingston." Jeff's voice was low and flat. "It’s a surprise seeing you around these parts again."
Trey. His name was Trey. Mmm, even that was sexy.
Trey's mouth stretched, but it wasn't anywhere close to a smile. "Really? You weren't aware of my father's death?"
"Of course I heard about John. Frankly, I'm amazed you'd come all the way back down here yourself."
"Someone has to handle the estate."
"I figured a man such as yourself would have lackeys to see to that sort of thing. I’d think a man with your…sophisticated tastes wouldn’t feel especially comfortable down here among us God-fearin’ country folk."
The tension in the air was dense enough to touch. It was obvious to Elise there was no love lost between these two men. They stared at each other like wolves from rival packs. Trey with flames of anger leaping in his golden-brown eyes, and Jeff, his mouth twisted in a disdainful sneer. It was unbearable; she had to say something.
"Excuse me, um...Mr. Kingston. I wanted to thank you for helping me after the accident, and apologize for the fuss I made. I realize I must have been quite a sight." She felt a new wave of heat creeping up her cheeks as he turned his hard gaze upon her, his eyes cold, hostile.
"You're a sight right now, Miss McBride. Is it your habit now to let men paw you in public?"
Elise drew a sharp intake of breath, her face burning like fire. She was suddenly very conscious of the cool tingling where the breeze touched the still-moist trails of Jeff's kisses, and she felt...guilty. It had only been a kiss, but now she wished she hadn't let it happen.
"Watch your tongue, Kingston. What Elizabeth does is none of your business anymore. Besides, my intentions toward her are honorable, which is more than I could say about you." Jeff looked furious, his face an unattractive shade of red. He glared at Trey.
"Don't get yourself riled, Turner. She's all yours." Trey crossed the porch to the front door, and it was then Elise noticed he had a slight limp in his step and gripped a slim, black cane in his hand. "I’ve only come to see Edward, so please, carry on. Take her right here on the porch, just don’t let Jemma catch you with her skirts up."
"Vulgar animal," Jeff growled, but Trey was already out of earshot, the front door closing behind him. "But then I guess I shouldn't have expected more."
"Jeff, what's going on between you two?" Elise asked, stunned by the exchange.
"You heard him. What kind of man speaks like that in front of a lady?"
"Well, actually, your language got a bit vulgar when you were kissing me-"
"That's different! I love you, Elizabeth. There's a vast difference between a man getting carried away in the arms of the woman he loves and a man using vulgarities to insult her." He was right. Trey Kingston had deliberately degraded her and done so very effectively. Jeff looked truly wounded, like a little boy. "It sounds almost as if you're defending him."
"I'm not defending him. He acted like a real jerk." Elise ignored Jeff's raised eyebrows. "He obviously doesn't like you, or me for that matter. And I could tell you had it in for him the moment he set foot on the porch. Now what's going on?”
Jeff fixed her with a bitter glare. "Well, just how the devil do you expect me to feel about your former beau, Elizabeth?"
Chapter Three
Sitting alone in the large, elegant dining room, Elise picked at her supper and cast another glance at the ceiling. As hard as she tried to be nonchalant about the fact that Trey Kingston was upstairs with Edward right now, the fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn't go away. For an instant, she felt a bit foolish obsessing like this over a man she hardly knew, but she couldn't help it; he intrigued her.
She'd been involved with him, romantically.
Yet it was clear he now deeply disliked her. Elise had seen nothing but contempt in his face when he'd made those caustic remarks. He'd meant to cut her to the quick. What had happened between Elizabeth and Trey that left him so bitter?
Her questions to Jeff during the remainder of his visit went largely unanswered. He was jealous and angry, skirting around the issue, twisting her words until she was put on the defensive. He apologized for his behavior before he left, but he'd made it clear that the subject was now closed between them. Trey Kingston was part of their past, not their future.
It wasn't that simple for Elise. Her attraction to Trey was intense. Never before had she experienced anything like it, not even with Bruce. And Bruce, with his blonde, blue-eyed good-looks, was a very handsome man. So was Jeff. But Trey... She wasn't certain what it was about him that affected her so keenly. He was great-looking, of course, but if she were seeing him objectively she'd have to concede that he wasn't exactly classically handsome. Trey's face had a lean, feral quality about it that was so intimidating. And his mouth was hard, cruel-looking. It was almost impossible to imagine him smiling, a genuine smile from the heart, not the parody that had twisted his lips earlier.