Pulling her beige gabardine coat on over her dark blue cotton uniform, Heather patted the lapels in place. Unsure if she would be expected to start work immediately when she arrived at the house, she’d decided to put her uniform on anyway.
She gave her reflection one last perfunctory glance before pulling on soft kid gloves. With a sigh, she bent to pick up her small overnight bag, hooked her personal satchel over a shoulder and left the hotel room. The bulk of her luggage was in the boot of her small blue car, where she’d left it overnight. It proved a good idea to have a night’s rest in the hotel before starting the new appointment, for she never did like long drives, especially alone.
It took her the best part of yesterday to reach St. Albans, and what if this turned out to be a wild goose chase? This was the first job she’d ever taken away from Devon or Cornwall. Nursing was her passion, not just a job, but since her graduation she’d taken on positions within a couple of hours drive from her dear parent’s home.
The strange compulsion to accept this post was odd on its own, but once accepted she’d felt obligated to see it through. An unswerving impulse drew her to this part of the world. Always able to foresee her near future with an uncanny knack, no premonitions were ever as forceful as this.
The short drive to the house was enjoyable, even if she did have to keep her windshield wipers on the whole way. People always praised her cheerfulness. Heather felt happier than usual today. A gut feeling assured her she’d made the right choice in coming to Essex.
The hotel owner’s directions to Castlegrove Manor were spot on. Trying to ignore the small twinge of anxiety nagging at her, she turned into the driveway, passing ornate wrought iron gates. But this anxiousness wasn’t for her, she suddenly knew. There was someone in the huge and awesome mansion she glimpsed through the trees who was experiencing such pain it caused her heart to constrict. If it was her patient she would have her work cut out trying to ease such agony.
The feeling dissipated, replaced by the glow of wellbeing that filled her when she first heard about this position. Drawn by a secret summons that didn’t frighten her—because she was quite used to these feelings—she’d come.
A wide flight of about fifteen steps led up to the colonnaded porch. No sooner had she parked than the heavy oak door opened wide, as if someone had been watching and waiting for her. Heather mounted the steps.
An elderly woman in a neat gray dress stood by the open door, smiling. “Come in dear. Welcome to the Manor. I clean forgot you were coming this morning, and I think madam did too. But not to worry, come inside and I’ll let them know you’re here.” She ushered Heather into the massive hallway.
Heather glanced about, slightly daunted at the size of the place and its splendid opulence. But then, what was there to be worried about? She’d worked in a few large houses in her short career. None quite as grand as this one though.
“I’m Mary, the housekeeper.” Leading Heather to a door at the left of the hall, she gestured for her to go into a charming sitting room where a fire burned brightly in the massive fireplace. Heather went towards its warmth.
“Just take your coat off and make yourself comfortable, dear, and I’ll fetch the master.”
* * *
Immersed in reading about the possible eating habits of the occupants of a typical town in 450, Bart jumped out of his reverie when someone tapped at the door. While reading, he’d actually been able to taste the roasted venison the men cooked over the fire during their journey west.
Mary came in, and Bart heard her soft gasp, before she asked, “Sir, what is it?” Frowning, she stood over him. “What’s made you so sad? Has one of the animals died? Not your horse?”
“No, nothing like that, Mary. What is it?” Poking his glasses in the pocket of his shirt he put the book aside, and stood, forcing a smile.
She pointed in the direction of the hallway. “Well sir, I’ve put the young lady in the sitting room.”
“Young lady?”
“You know, Sir. Her Ladyship’s new nurse.” She sighed patiently. “Your mother and Maude must have forgotten she was due to arrive this morning. Shall I go up and inform them, or shall I send the young lady up to your mother’s sitting room?”
“Um.” He rubbed at his nape, and Mary repeated her question, plainly shocked at his unusual indecisiveness.
“Perhaps I should have a word with her first.” Bart pinched the bridge of his nose where a pain was beginning to throb. “What do you think? Mother’s in one of her moods. I’m afraid I upset her again. We wouldn’t want to frighten the woman off straightaway, would we?” He grimaced and Mary smiled.
“Good idea, sir. I think it would be best.” She looked happier now he’d made a decision.
“Send a tray in. She may feel like a cup of something hot before she starts work.” Bart rubbed his palms together and strode to the door. Mary’s relieved sigh was audible.
Bart opened the sitting room door and plastered on a smile, which felt forced. He straightened his spine as he went in. “Sorry my mother wasn’t here to greet you.” Even his voice sounded formal and false. Clearing his throat, he went towards the woman sitting beside the fire, hands folded in her lap.
The air of serenity about her irritated him. How could someone be so obviously contented while he suffered the agonies of heartache? As she turned to face him, his first thought was she was rather a plain little thing, but on second thoughts, though not a raging beauty, she certainly wasn’t ordinary. She seemed to glow with an inner strength. A vibration on the air made him pull his head back a fraction. As if glued to the spot, he gave himself a mental shake.
“That’s all right, sir.” Her gentle lilting voice bore a faint West Country touch. “I’m here to act as nurse, and I would expect someone who needs a live in nurse to be sick at times.” There was a hint of a smile in her tone, and her eyes, shielded by steel framed glasses, held a definite glint of merriment.
Heather regarded him openly. What a devastatingly good looking man, with the silkiest black hair she’d ever seen. Although dressed casually, there was no mistaking his air of authority. She’d never met an earl before, but although she felt sure she should be intimidated, she wasn’t. His eyes, so dark a brown to be almost black, were incredibly sad and filled with such a melancholy wariness that her heart went out to him.
It hit her like a bolt of lightning. Here was the pain she’d registered. He was so full of his grief that she felt like weeping for him.
As he stared closely at her she felt a bit like a specimen beneath a microscope. But she wouldn’t take umbrage. Possibly he wondered how someone so nondescript could possibly have snagged a job with a titled lady.
Bart realised how rude he must appear to be staring so. She looked about twenty, not old enough to be a trained nurse, and oddly familiar. “Have we met before?” The question popped out and he cursed beneath his breath.
“I don’t think so, sir. I would certainly have remembered you I’m sure.” Her reply held that same hint of amusement.
“You don’t look old enough to be doing this.” Bart cursed himself again. What a stupid remark. Of course she must be older than she looked to have the qualifications.
“I’m twenty eight. I’ve been told before that I look like a teenager. I don’t know whether it’s a blessing or a hindrance to look younger than you actually are. I suppose if people still say the same when I’m forty I’ll be only too pleased to hear it.”
She laughed out loud, a merry sound, and showed even white teeth. Shivers ran up his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. Her chuckle was infectious. Considering he’d felt like death a moment ago, he was surprised when he returned her smile, albeit with a watered down version of hers.
She turned to watch as, after a brief tap on the door, Bridgett came in with a loaded tray. As usual she blushed when he smiled. “Will I pour, sir, or will I just leave it?”
“Um, thank you. Leave it, Bridgett.” He waved a hand absently and she scurried out. “Would you like a cup of coffee or would you prefer tea?” He shrugged. “I think perhaps you’ll need some sort of fortification to tackle my mother in the mood she’s in this morning. What’s your name, by the way? I must apologise. I’ve just realised I haven’t formally introduced myself. I’m Lord Bartholomew.”
Heather placed her hand in his large one. “Pleased to meet you, My Lord.” Suddenly, she was attacked by shyness as his large hand enfolded hers. His grip was firm. After reading a few romance novels, Heather tended to scoff at authors’ flowery descriptions of electric currents flowing between lovers at their first meeting. But for want of a better word, electric was all she could think of, as his flesh seemed to burn hers. Was it her imagination or did he look as stunned as she felt?
With a shake of her head, she drew her hand back. “Tarquin. It’s Heather Tarquin.” Goodness, why was she feeling so self-conscious? She didn’t usually behave in such a juvenile manner. True, some people were deceived by her youthful appearance and tended to treat her accordingly. But as they got to know her, they seemed to appreciate the efficiency with which she tackled her professional life.
“What would you prefer then, Heather?” His long finger indicated the tray.
“Oh, coffee, thank you. White with one sugar.”
After pouring them both a coffee and after handing her one, he settled back on the sofa opposite her chair. He hooked a foot over a knee, and she felt his eyes on her again as he tapped his finger rhythmically on his raised foot.
Bart knew she was nervous, due to his stares, but couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. Her hair, which was neatly constrained in a pleat at the back of her head, was the color of spun gold. A small fringe fell over her forehead. His chest tightened at its small movement when she bent over her cup. Her fingers were long and delicate, the nails neat and unpainted. She wore no makeup, except a hint of coral on her full lips. He noticed a slight tremor in her hand holding the saucer.
“And where do you come from, Heather?” Bart asked, desperate to set her at ease. She sat with her knees primly together—the saucer now held in two hands. “You don’t mind me calling you Heather, do you? It’s a pretty name.”
“Not at all, sir, I much prefer to be called by my given name by my employers. It’s nicer, don’t you think? And thank you. I like it too.” She smiled, and her face took on that glow again. “I come from Cornwall. From a small town near Bude.”
His leg fell with a thump to the carpet, and his coffee spilled into the saucer. Briefly Bart wondered if he was having a heart attack as a shaft of pain sliced across his chest. She sat looking down at her cup and he quelled a sudden urge to put his hands on her silken hair. Placing his cup on the small table by his side, he leaned forward. “That’s funny.”
Stupid! No wonder she gave him a strange look.
“Funny?” Puzzlement filled her eyes. “I can’t see anything funny in that. If you think it strange that I’ve come so far to take up this position, well, I have to admit I’ve never traveled this far from home before. But I’ve been attending to elderly ladies since I finished training.”
“No, it’s not that.” God, she must think him odd. “It’s just that I, well, I planned a trip down that way. I told my mother over breakfast only this morning that I would be leaving soon.”
“Oh.” A look shadowed her eyes, and he was sure it was disappointment. But then she brightened. He almost blurted that her eyes were the deepest violet he’d ever seen. Something deep inside reached out to her as those violet eyes shone when she smiled. “Have you been down that way before?”
“Oh yes. I spent a good deal of time down there. A long time ago though. I ache to return.” He heard the melancholy sadness in his voice.
“Were you not happy there?” She went to put her cup on the tray and when she faced him again, she nodded. “Yes, you were happier there than you have ever been in your life.”
That simple statement startled him. Bart narrowed his eyes. “How would you know that? Is it so obvious?”
“Yes, it radiates from you so strongly that I can feel your pain at losing what it was you had there,” she whispered.
Bart patted the sofa at his side. Without hesitation she sat, half turning, so they faced each other. When his knee touched hers, she made no attempt to shift.
“Why are you here?” His mouth had gone so dry he had to swallow to get the saliva working again. “How did you find me?” The question came out of its own volition. He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, you must think me mad. What I meant was, what made you answer the advertisement or whatever it was that brought you to work for my mother?”
After a slight hesitation, she said in a quiet but steady voice, “I don’t usually tell many people this…At least not those I’ve only just met, but I somehow believe you already know.” She looked down at her hands where they lay calmly folded, the thumbs touching. “I have what is called The Sight by the older folk where I come from.” Her pert nose wrinkled as she chuckled. “Some may think me a crank, so I keep it quiet. I’ve even been accused of being a witch in my time.”
Bart had to laugh with her at that. “You, a witch? Impossible.” She gave off an aura of such innocence—even a fool would sense it.
“People are often suspicious of what they can’t understand. But the truth of the matter is I felt such a great urge to come here. I knew this is the place that had been calling me for years. When the agency I work for said that Lady Castlegrove was looking for a live-in nurse, I couldn’t do anything but apply for the post. I feared I wouldn’t get it.” Her clear eyes were so intense and filled with conviction that Bart knew without a doubt that it was a stark fact.
“Was it this place? Or could it have been a person calling you, Heather?” Bart pressed a hand urgently onto hers.
“I feel silly telling you this.” She grimaced as she studied their hands on her lap.
“Please don’t.” An excitement stirred in him, dimming the pain. He squeezed her fingers. “Tell me more about this pull…This urge you say drew you here.”
Heather wondered just what she was doing, letting him hang onto her in this intimate manner, as he wrapped her hand in both of his. Although undoubtedly the best looking and most interesting person she’d ever met, he was a stranger. Realising she was staring at his thighs now, she peered at his hands instead. They were beautiful—strong and square tipped, the nails short.
Lifting her head, she admitted, “I thought it was the needs of the patient that called me, but realised as I passed through the front door that it wasn’t your mother who called at all, but a man.”
She paused, and he nodded. “Go on.”
“I’ve never told a living soul this before.” When she hesitated, he urged her with a squeeze of her fingers to continue. “Well, everything is connected and intermingled. There are places near my home where I’ve felt such intense happiness, and also such pain that I thought at times I would die of it. Basically I’m a contented person and not prone to such extremes of emotion. This may sound disjointed and foolish but is all to do with my desire to come here. I’ve had certain dreams and visions since I was a girl…about a man. I’ve always known my destiny lay with this man.”
“And what is he like, this man of your dreams?” he asked in a husky whisper.
Heather licked her lips. His eyes were luminous as they pierced hers. It was as if he was trying to see inside her head, to bare her soul.
“Very strong—noble—and courageous. His physical features are not shown clearly to me but I do know I find him extremely attractive. His hair is as black as night and worn long so that the waves brush his wide shoulders.” She let her gaze go to his short black hair and then dropped it to meet his again. “He has eyes as dark as midnight, but when they look at me they are always full of tenderness. He’s a fine man in every way, and I’ve always known that when I meet him I will find my other half, my soul mate. I’ve dreamed of him for so long. And I realise the desire to find him has now become entwined with my desire to come here.”
He touched the side of her glasses with a finger. “Do you mind if I take these off?” She gave her assent with a small dip of the head. “And would you do me a small favour, Heather?” He spoke softly as he removed the glasses and placed them on the side table.
“Anything.”
“Let your hair down.” She stared at him and he lowered his voice. “Please.” Heather knew she would obey his soft request. “Don’t look at me like that, Heather, I’m not mad.”
“I didn’t think you were.” She reached to take out her hairpins. Once released, her hair fell down her back, the waves reaching her shoulder blades. She finger combed it and shook it loose, her eyes locked with his.
“It’s beautiful.” His eyes growing liquid and warm, he pushed it back from her temples with both hands, a distinct tremor in his fingers. “You remind me of Haesal. She had hair like this.” That came out in a whisper.
Heather gasped. “Haesal?”
“What?” His hands stilled and he drew back, but still kept them in contact with the strands settled on her shoulders. His jaw was taut.
“I thought you said I remind you of Haesal.” They both sat motionless. A bird sang outside the bay window and then a log shifted in the fire, making her jump.
“Does…does the name have any special significance? Were you surprised because you’ve never heard it before?”
Certain a note of imperceptible pleading accompanied the question, Heather searched his face. “Oh yes, it holds very special significance for me.”
“Where precisely have you heard it? Is it a Cornish name?” There was a new urgency in his voice now, and a look of mingled eagerness and tenderness softened his features.
“You will not laugh if I tell you?”
“I wouldn’t dream of laughing.” He sat back, still watchful.
Heather chewed on her inner lip. “The man in my dreams always calls me by that name. And whenever I go to the places where I feel an affinity with him, he calls to me on the wind.” Sure he would find her admission a joke, she refused to look at him. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t so rashly started this explanation.
“Does this man have a name?” Bart held his breath while he watched the conflicting emotions skitter across her face.
She paused for so long he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Her hands twined and untwined before she finally said, “I always call him…Brys.”
Somehow Bart had known all along. He gulped in air as his head went back. “Brys?” He grasped her hands so tightly she flinched. “I think we can dispense with all further formalities.”
Although stunned, Bart felt jubilant. It seemed time stood still while they both savoured the wonder of their discovery. “I don’t believe this. But it looks as if we’ve been destined to meet, Heather. I had the most phenomenal dream, and in this dream I was called Brys, and the woman I loved above all others was called Haesal. I have such a story to tell you.”
Exuberantly he pulled her into his arms as his lips sought hers. Then a groan came from deep inside him as she responded eagerly to him.
Heather clung to him. Nothing before ever felt so incredible, so right. Never had she felt such an explosion of sensation, other than in her dreams.
When they drew apart, Heather gazed at him in awe. “I’ve waited so long.”
He touched her face as if trying to relearn every line, every curve of it, while his eyes ravished her.
“I’ve just thought of something else.” He looked wonderful now that a smile replaced the previous despair in his eyes. Not that he wasn’t pretty devastating to look at before. Could she really be the cause of this transformation? “Have you any distinguishing marks on your body?”
Heather tilted her head. “I do have a mole. That’s about all I can think of.”
“And where is this mole?”
“You tell me,” she whispered.
“Would it be about here?” He touched his shaky finger to her right shoulder. When she nodded, he closed his eyes. “That clinches it. We’ll go back to Cornwall together.” He let out a small whoop of joy as he pulled her onto his lap.
Heather melted beneath his touch. “What about your mother?”
She was still not convinced this was really happening. But she loved the feel of his lips on her skin—so familiar. Loved the feel of his strong arms about her. He was the haven she’d been seeking, and feared she would never find in this lifetime.
“Mother can get another nurse.” He nodded decisively as he smoothed her hair back from her temples and placed a kiss on her brow. “She doesn’t need you, but I do. I swear we will never be parted again, Haesal.” The name slipped easily from his lips, and they shared a special smile as their fingers entwined.
“Never, Brys, we will be together now, forever.”
The End
Kate’s Dilemma (Challenge the Heart Book 3)
A Heart in Conflict (Challenge the Heart Book 2)
When Fate Decides (Challenge the Heart Book1)
Amid the Stars
Maddie and the Norseman
Mystic Mountains (Settlers Book 1)
Distant Mountains (Settlers Book 2)
Remnants of Dreams
Lonely Pride (Beneath Southern Skies Book 1)
A Dream for Lani (Beneath Southern Skies Book 2)
Leah in Love (and trouble) (Beneath Southern Skies Book 3)
The Laird (Wild Heather Book 1)
Travis (Wild Heather Book 2)