The curse shall break, the stars align.
Let peace take root where envy grew,
And heal the hearts your hatred slew.
—From the last letter of
Lenore Ashcombe
written to her sister
By morning, the storm had spent itself. The world beyond the windows lay shrouded in white, every branch and fence post sheathed in glittering ice. The air was crystalline and still, the silence profound after the night’s howling fury.
Gabriel stood in the doorway of the cottage, his breath fogging in the cold. The Reverend’s body had been carried out before dawn, left in the small shed behind the house until the magistrate could be summoned. Gabriel had done it himself asthere had been no one else to see to the task. It was not the first time he’d had to cart a corpse away, but something about this instance was different. There was a darkness that clung to the reverend even in death—and though he had covered the man respectfully with a length of sacking, the image would not leave him.
Eliza had slept for a few hours at last, her head pillowed against his shoulder while the fire burned low beside them. He had not slept at all.
When the sound of sleigh bells reached him through the morning quiet, he felt something inside him unclench. Two of his grooms, bundled in wool and furs, reined up before the gate. The sleigh gleamed silver with frost, the horses steaming in the bitter air.
Within the hour, they were on their way home.
The journey to Ravenswood was slow, the narrow lanes treacherous with ice. Eliza sat beside him, wrapped in blankets, her face pale but composed. She had not spoken much since waking. Her eyes, shadowed and too bright, remained fixed on the horizon as though she could not quite bring herself to look back.
When at last the great house came into view—its dark roofs glittering with frost, its chimneys spilling faint traces of smoke—Gabriel felt an overwhelming surge of relief.
Helena Ashcombe was waiting for them at the door. The moment she saw her granddaughter step down from the sleigh, she gave a small cry and hurried forward, gathering Eliza into her arms.
“Thank God,” she whispered fervently. “Thank God you’re safe.”
Eliza clung to her, her composure fracturing at last. “I thought I wouldn’t be, Grandmama. I thought?—”
“Hush, my darling. You are here now. That is all that matters.” Helena drew back slightly, her keen eyes searching Eliza’s face. For a moment, something flickered there—a recognition that went deeper than mere relief. Her fingers brushed her granddaughter’s cheek. “You’ve changed,” she murmured. “I can see it.”
Eliza blinked, startled. “Changed?”
Helena smiled faintly, though her expression was solemn. “You found it, didn’t you? The thread that binds us all.”
Eliza hesitated. “If you mean magic, I… I don’t know. I only know that he would have killed me if I hadn’t done something.”
“And you did.” Helena’s tone was gentle, but sure. “Our gifts come when they’re needed most. They always have. You’ve no cause for shame.”
Before Eliza could reply, Gabriel shared the more pressing details of what had transpired upon their return. “I’ve sent word to the magistrate in Lincoln,” he said quietly. “I told him the Reverend came to the cottage intending to coerce my wife into returning to the village, that he fell ill and died there. The truth, more or less. There is no reason for further inquiry.”
Helena inclined her head. “You’ve done wisely, my lord.”
He offered a weary smile. “Wisely or not, I’ll sleep easier when the matter is behind us.”
“It wasn’t even really about me,” Eliza said. “He used ourwickednessas an excuse. He was the illegitimate son of Ramses Hawthorne.” She glanced at her grandmother whose expression shifted into one of profound grief. He’d been Helena’s love, lost to the curse.
“Vengeance then?” Gabriel asked.
“Greed. The madness of it, I suppose,” Eliza murmured. “He was not rational. Not sane. Obsessed, I think, with taking back what he felt had been stolen from him when Ramses had died without first marrying his mother.” She took a breath. “Hemeant to kill you… to make it seem as though you had taken your own life after me dead, or at least evidence of my death. Then he was set to purchase Ravenswood as you are the last legitimate heir.”
“And now none of that will occur,” Gabriel insisted. “Now we will both live long, healthy and happy lives here in this place together.”
Eliza didn’t respond. She couldn’t. What he spoke of was something she’d never dared to dream. But she wanted it. Desperately.
He excused himself then to see to the rest of the arrangements—dispatching the grooms, ordering hot water for Eliza’s chamber, ensuring the Reverend’s remains would be respectfully tended once the magistrate arrived. Only when every duty had been seen to did he allow himself to seek her out again.
