When Xenia and Ethan were courting, they had made the first discovery: the woman in Thomas Mulligan’s life wasn’t a witch but a beautiful young woman named Rosalinda, who belonged to a traveling family. Thomas and his “darling Rose” fell in love, but they’d been pursued by a dangerous enemy who wanted Rose for himself. During Gigi and Mr. Godwin’s romance, they had discovered Rose’s journal, which included the revelation that she and Thomas had married in secret before his death.
“Personally, I adore the story of Thomas and Rosalinda,” Gigi said.
“You’ve certainly made good use of it.” Xenia’s smile was affectionate. “By spreading word of their romantic legend in London, you’ve helped bring visitors back to Chuddums, and local businesses are thriving. There is a waiting list for water bottled from Miss Letty’s spring because you suggested it might be a love potion.”
“That was clever of you, Gigi,” Evie said with admiration.
“There is something magical about Chuddums,” Gigi averred. “I want to do everything in my power to restore the village to its former glory.”
“Your power is formidable, especially when it comes to Mr. Godwin,” Xenia said. “Since you encouraged him to embrace the role of landowner, he has made significant improvements to the square. Rumors are flying that he may construct a hospital and a theatre. Is there anything he will not do for you, dear?”
“If there is, I haven’t discovered it.” Gigi spoke impishly, glowing in the manner of a woman who knows she is loved. “I am not the only one with an indulgent husband. If you asked, Ethan would pluck the moon from the sky for you.”
Xenia blushed. “I am so lucky.”
“And James would do the same for you, Evie,” Gigi added.
Evie felt a swift and sudden blow to the heart. Her mask of composure slipped.
“What is amiss, dear?” Xenia asked with concern. “Do you need to sit?”
Evie shook her head, uncertain she could speak without breaking into tears. Without making a fool of herself—or worse yet, giving herself away. Her thoughts whirled, and she didn’t have the wherewithal to resist when her sisters-in-law led her to a garden bench. They sat her between them, and in the dappled shade of a Prunus domestica, Evie tried to pull herself together.
“I-I’m sorry.” She scrambled to come up with an excuse. “I’m not feeling well. I…I may have overindulged at breakfast.”
She prayed a feigned case of indigestion would throw them off her scent.
“Stuff and nonsense,” Gigi declared.
Then again, maybe it won’t.
“Something is afoot with you,” Gigi went on. “You haven’t been yourself since the kidnapping?—”
“Gigi, dear,” Xenia murmured. “We talked about this. Have a care.”
“I do care,” Gigi countered. “Treading on eggshells will get us nowhere. If Evie is experiencing distress, then she ought to talk about it. I was there too, after all. Who better to understand what it is like to fear for one’s own life?”
“I have a rather keen understanding myself,” Xenia said.
Evie knew that Xenia had endured a cruel upbringing at the hands of her mother, an infamous cutthroat. Yet Xenia was a survivor of evil…not a perpetrator of it.
“Well, that’s my point. Evie can talk to us because we will understand.” Gigi took Evie’s hand and squeezed it. “Trust us, dear.”
“I do.”
It wasn’t a lie. Evie did trust them…but she didn’t trust herself. She was like a blight, and the last thing she wanted was to bring harm to these kind and gentle ladies.
“I…I haven’t been sleeping well,” she hedged. “The effect of disquieted nerves, I suspect.”
“That is perfectly normal.” Xenia nodded.
“And, um, when I don’t sleep well, my spirits seem somewhat depressed.”
“Then the solution is obvious,” Gigi said. “You must get more rest.”
“I am certain you are right.”
“What have you tried?”
