“Oh,” she gasped. “It’s…magical.”
“It’s where we’re going. And it’s probably full of mice.”
“I still think it’s lovely. It looks like it’s protecting the past.”
“Good God, woman. You have a brilliant gift for expressing unreal ideas in terms that make sense.”
Harriet turned and looked at him. “Do not tell me there’s no room for magic in your piratical soul, sir?”
He looked back, warmth lurking behind his dark eyes. The kind of warmth that could give a woman ideas if she wasn’t very careful. Harriet knew she had to be careful.
Read more inMISTLETOE MASQUERADE, releasing in December, 2017.
In case you missed the first two books in this series, here’s a short look at the oldest Ridlington brothers, Edmund – the new Baron – and Simon, Vicar of Ridlington. Both these books are currently available at Amazon.com, and can be read for free with your Kindle Unlimited subscription. (Links in bibliography)
The Landlocked Baron: The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington, Book One
Chapter One
The weather matched the mood of the morning, thought Edmund Ridlington, as he marched with his brothers and sisters behind the cortège. Dreary, cold and deuced unpleasant.
At least everyone had shown up to say their final farewells to their father, although the amount of grief visible upon such a sad occasion had been minimal. Edmund couldn’t blame them. The old man had been a bastard of the first order. And that was being generous.
This procession was a mark of respect for the position, more than the holder. Faithful retainers, who seldom received any kind of acknowledgement for their loyal service, followed the family. It was their duty and they did it, as they had over anywhere from forty years—Chidwell, the butler—to six months—Delilah, the new under housemaid.
He, Edmund, knew their names. His father had never bothered to learn them.
Many of the local residents had also bundled themselves up to attend this final goodbye. Some had known the old Baron from his youth to his deathbed. Others were just curious about the man who rode through them with his nose in the air, disdaining all contact unless absolutely necessary.
Was anyone there today because they were saddened at his passing? Were any of the mourners grieving out of love?
Edmund doubted it. If Jack Ridlington’s children loathed him, then there was little chance that anyone else would find him possessed of redeeming qualities. He might have had some, years ago, but once he’d worked his way through three wives and sired six children, the only qualities left were those of a stern disciplinarian with a heart as cold as Arctic ice.
The four black horses plodded their slow way down the lane, pulling the hearse. Ridlington Vale considered itself an up and coming center of commerce, and the undertaker had made much of his new vehicle. Today, it was gleaming from black roof through brass lanterns and all the way to the brass trimmed wheels. The folding top was latched to prevent the worst of the drizzle from reaching the solid oak coffin; a concept which struck Edmund as ironic. He fought back a smile as he considered the absurdity of keeping a coffin dry…and then burying it in wet ground for eternity.
One had to admire the unusual oddities of life. And death too, of course.
A damp wind gusted the drizzle at his exposed face, pinpricks of cold water, lashing at his skin and every now and again, bearing the well-remembered tang of the ocean. It was less than a mile away, but invisible on this particular morning, lying beneath the cliffs that were shrouded with low clouds and fog.
Some days, when the sky was clear, the sea ran like a multi-hued ribbon along the horizon, beckoning with deep blues and greens, dancing with white crests and sparkling in the light. Edmund found himself thinking of it as the ‘laughing ocean’ at those times, a whimsical notion that was quite unlike him. But he knew it was the seaman who responded that way, the sailor who had discovered a passion for the sea at a very young age.
Now there would be no more days spent listening to the snap of sails or the splash of a bow through those laughing waters. It was all gone for good. Because now, Captain Edmund Wynstanley had ceased to exit, replaced as of five days ago by Edmund Wynstanley, Baron Ridlington.
The ache of that specific loss—the awareness that his life was no longer his own—had begun as he laid his father’s hand down for the last time, and accepted that death had finally claimed Jack, Baron Ridlington.
The Baron was dead, long live the Baron.
Feeling very alone beside the carriage, Edmund glanced around behind him. Simon and Letitia were following in his wake, arm in arm, looking as much like their mother as he had resembled his father. Only a couple of years separated all three of them, but Edmund always felt that there had to have been at least a decade somewhere that someone had overlooked. He’d grown up, but sometimes wondered if his two direct siblings had skipped that stage and would go directly from happy-go-lucky youth into old age.
He knew that on the other side of the hearse he’d find the twins, Richard and Kitty, and with them would be Hecate, the youngest Ridlington.
Five brothers and sisters now looking to him to lead them. How the hell he was going to do that, he had no earthly notion. A ship full of sailors he could command with ease. A house full of siblings? God help him.
St. Simon’s Sin: The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington, Book Two
Chapter One
“So this was where the castle stood, Vicar?” Miss Smethurst posed the question as she pointed toward the cliffs that marked the edge of the Ridlington estate.
