His Haunted Heart Page 3

  I filled the time with recurring visions of her home and the first time I’d seen her. The issues her parents thought themselves clever in hiding, I’d seen clear as day. Their rotund bellies compared to her sunken cheeks spoke volumes. The compounded soot along the edges of their tired fireplace told a story of a matriarch that took no pride in her home, yet claimed she’d taught her daughter how to be a good wife. The only lessons Delilah had been taught were fear and self-loathing. The fact was apparent in the way she held herself, her hesitance to look me in the eyes, and mostly in the reluctance I felt in the way she refused to hold me properly as we rode.

  There were crimes committed against the small creature at my back that I may never be able to undo.

  She’d called me Sir. I would correct her later, away from the intruding eyes of the townsfolk.

  It would be better for her that way, for the townspeople to perceive our marriage as a chaste decision made by two people, both past the normal marrying age—me more so than her. I wondered if I should keep it from her, the pretensions of our relationship.

  I couldn’t imagine a right place or time for that conversation, but if she asked, I would be obliged to tell her the truth.

  Meandering thoughts flitted through my mind, filling the space between the bridge and the estate.

  Finally, we were home and I didn’t know who was more nervous, me or Delilah.

  Judging by her wringing fingers, I guessed it was her.

  My home, a darkened shadow of a mansion, came more and more into focus as I turned onto the gravel road. The sun was pitched in the clouds, welcoming us, providing a light that burst through the tiny spaces between clumps of Spanish moss and provided wind chimes made of rays that hung from the branches. As we drew closer, the curtains in several windows of the house moved with their masters’ fingers, spying on the gift I’d brought home.

  A gasp reminded me that I hadn’t said a word to her, matching her silence to me. “This is Jeansonne Manor. This is our home.”

  Wiry fingers tightened on my shirt where it was tucked into my trousers. She was frightened. I didn’t blame her. There was a looming air about my childhood home that worked to our advantage, keeping the nosey away and holding its tenants tight. The past cast its darkness over our home a long time ago and burrowed the goodness down under its wings for none to find—none except those who sought it.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Delilah murmured against my back. The warmth of her whisper permeated my jacket and shivered down my spine. I hadn’t expected this initial reaction to her presence. I didn’t know what I expected.

  I barely remembered to answer her.

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “There are other people.” Her statement was intonated like a question and I thought I heard relief in her voice.

  “Yes, my mother is here, but she will move into the guest house today or tomorrow. There is a chef, a maid, and a stable boy.”

  A few minutes passed and I stopped Benjamin, my horse, with a slow pull of the reins. I jumped off of the horse and before I could offer assistance, Delilah had hopped down and was stretching from side to side. Her eyebrows were bunched at the bridge of her nose.

  “Are you in pain?” I stepped toward her while speaking.

  “It was a long ride. I’m not used to riding a horse.”

  “You can stretch your legs while I give you a tour of the house—our house.” She seemed to beam at the prospect and I took advantage of it, grabbing her cold, delicate hand in my own. There was an absence to my wife’s hand. “Also, I have your ring upstairs in the bedroom, please remind me if I forget. It is too valuable to me to travel with, so I left it here.”

  She lifted her face to look me in the eyes. The spreading warmth in my chest made me feel like I’d been waiting my whole life to have her look at me. There, under the overcast of a knuckled oak tree, one of her eyes shown a tint lighter than the other.

  The sun shifted above us. It was then that I really saw that glinting silver line down her face. She’d tried to cover it with her hair, but I knew it was there. It was almost perfect in its imperfection. As if it needed to be there to remind me that she was human and not ethereal. It brought her back down to Earth, but did nothing to detract from her angelic beauty.

  “Who hurt you?” I whispered two of my fingers along the mark, hoping that my concern seeped through in my words. I was sure it didn’t. I was known more for my callousness than my charm.

  She shrunk back at my words, shifting her eyes to the ground, but didn’t shy from my touch.

  “Not yet.” Her sweet breath touched my face as she covered my fingers with her hand, keeping me there.

  “Everything in time. I understand. Come on. They’ve been waiting a long time for me to bring home a bride.”

  Her nose crinkled at my words, but she didn’t pull away when I enfolded her hand into my arm. Delilah was devilish yet innocent in that dress that showed me just enough to fill my mind with temptation beyond anything I’d ever experienced. We approached the house and just before we reached the door, my mother Eliza, came out, her smile showing the excitement I’d tamed, barely.

  My mother’s guilt over what was once my almost-marriage to Marie nearly equaled mine. She shouldn’t have to bear any of it. It was all my doing. I’d tried to love Marie—I had.

  By the time I’d given up on the notion, she had too.

  “Mother, this is Delilah. Delilah, this is my mother, Eliza.”

  My new bride bowed her head in respect. It was a formal gesture from The Rogue, but the tradition had been lost a long time ago.

  “It’s so very nice to meet you, Mrs. Jeansonne.”

  My mother waved her hand in disgust of such formality. “It will be Eliza, my new daughter. You are most welcome here. Come and have tea with me after Porter gives you the tour of the house. You’re a flit of a thing, you must be hungry. But my goodness, you are a beauty.”

  Delilah ignored the compliment. “Only if you have something prepared. I ate plenty last night.”

  My mother looked astonished. The pleasantly plump woman was probably already working on her third meal of the day. “This is your home now, Delilah. Eat when you wish and eat your fill. Porter is an excellent businessman and we can afford to eat well as you can see.” Mother patted her belly with pride. I gauged my new wife’s response to my mother’s announcement of my wealth, but if she was impressed or disgusted, no one would be able to tell.

  “Thank you. I’d like to wash up a bit after the tour and then I will join you.”

  “Good. I’ll put the kettle on. Porter, show the girl around her new home.”

  Delilah’s hand had fisted the fabric of my jacket while I made her introduction. A touch of pride stung me, relieved that at the very least I could be someone for her to hold onto. Looking down on her, her head barely coming up to my chin, I noticed her marked shiver. Already I was making a poor showing as a husband.

  “Mother,” I called out before the over-exuberant woman got too far.

  “Yes?”

  “A change of plan. My wife is freezing and probably hungrier than she’s letting on. I doubt she was given anything more than scraps at her home. I’m going to settle her in front of the fire in the main living room. Bring her food and tea there, please.”

  I saw the protest building in Delilah’s eyes, but I put a swift stop to it by bending a bit and whispering in her ear. “Let me take care of my wife. I’m learning here, Mrs. Jeansonne. You wouldn’t begrudge me that, would you?”

  She shook her head no with a blaring blush and I chuckled. I’d thought she’d put up a fight. Her stomach was probably overriding the notion.

  I led her through the hallway and into the main parlor. I placed her in my chair at the side of the fireplace and reached for a blanket, one that my mother had knitted along with most of the blankets in our home. As I draped it over her thin legs, I took inventory of her physical needs. She was in desperate need of another pair of boots. Her
sweater was way too thin to ever protect her from the elements. I should’ve noticed that before bringing her home by horse, but nothing could be done to remedy that error. The mistake wouldn’t be repeated. I wasn’t used to looking after anyone other than myself. My mother and the other people in the house each managed their own way.

  “This is too much.” She rebelled and refused to look at me again, making a feeble attempt to get up. I nixed the motion with my hand on her knee.

  “Consider it making up for lost time,” I said, kneeling beside the chair and, tucking the blanket around her. “Are you warming up?”

  “I am. Thank you, Sir.”

  “I am Porter to you. You are my wife, not my employee.”

  A slight bite of her lip and I was caught in her snare—a snare I doubted she even knew she’d set.

  “I’ve got bread, cheese, fresh fried ham, and cake. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

  I laughed at my mother’s candor. The tray contained more food than Delilah had probably ever seen at one sitting. She’d have the poor girl stuffed to the brim in less than a week.

  “We will leave you to rest a bit now, won’t we Port?”

  Hesitation stilled me. I didn’t want to leave her yet. Fear trickled down into my gut, telling me that she would leave, no prospects or not, simply to get away from this place and the grunt she’d been made to marry. I supposed smothering her less than a day after we’d been married would equally cause her to flee, so I took my leave, but not without reluctance.

  Instead of checking in on her, minute by minute, I went to the office, in the back of the house, and buried myself in paperwork. My business, unbeknownst to anyone in the town, was with people in the world outside The Rogue. There was no money to be made in the town. There were only so many butcher, bakers, and sin-house makers one population could handle.

  I sat at my desk and though there was plenty to do, my thoughts drifted back to her.

  I wasn’t naïve. This was no regular marriage. Delilah wasn’t swept off her feet by my undying love and persistent ploys to win her affections. Her father had been all but selling her on the streets of The Rogue. Initially, I’d felt sorry for whoever the chit was, but when I saw her face, it was no longer a case of charity, but a case of compulsion.

  I had to know her.

  I needed to know her.

  Only a half an hour passed before I heard a voice. “Am I interrupting?”

  Shocked at anyone in my office, I jumped, throwing papers every which way. She rushed into the office, apologizing and picking it all up before I could even recuperate from my start.

  “It’s fine. Leave them. No one ever comes into my office. You scared me.”

  Delilah’s face paled past alabaster and crossed into downright ghostly. “I’m so sorry. I’ll leave.”

  My hand snapped out, grabbing her wrist to stop her from fleeing. “I meant no one has ever come into my office. You are welcome wherever I am.”

  Half of a day and I’d turned into a sap.

  “I finished with the meal and returned the tray to the kitchen. They wouldn’t let me help clean—your mother and June. They said you were in the office.”

  “I owe you a tour, don’t I?” Changing the conversation instantly calmed her. She sat back on her haunches and crossed her arms over her chest. The gesture was surely defensive. “You must need to unpack your things.”

  She glanced out of the window, acknowledging the passing of time. “I should do that before tonight.”

  A blush flourished across her cheeks and flooded her neck. My thoughts were in the same line of thought as her blush, but I knew, again, this was no ordinary marriage.

  “I will show you the bedroom and maybe you’d enjoy a hot bath. My mother claims a hot bath can cure all ailments. There are some things I had brought in for you.”

  Her eyebrows bunched in confusion. “We just met last night.”

  “I’d spoken to your father last week, Delilah. It was merely a choice of asking for your hand in person. He insisted that I meet you before I’d decided anything.”

  The revelation didn’t pain her as much as I’d anticipated. When I’d spoken the words, I thought for sure I’d erred again. At least she didn’t know that I’d practically paid for her.

  “Oh, I see. He’s been trying to pawn me off on someone for years. I bet you feel like a sucker right now, don’t you?”

  “Actually, it feels like winning. Let me show you our bedroom.”

  Chapter Three

  Delilah

  If Porter didn’t stop saying the word ‘bedroom’ over and over in such a nonchalant manner, I would shrivel up and die right there on the floor of his office. I got up off my backside with his assistance and tripped my way up his mountain of stairs, mahogany, shined, without a creak to be heard.

  There must’ve been a hundred rooms in the place. Porter didn’t go into any of them. He stood in the doorway and explained who had once slept there or who had redecorated. Each bedroom boasted a unique color theme and for my own peace of mind, I would name them after those colors. I sighed, following his footsteps to the other side of the house, wondering how many more rooms I had to remember. For such a beautiful home, navigating it would be murder.

  “This wing is our bedroom.”

  Tingling in my head alerted me. He must be lying. He thought he could trick the girl with the wicked scar.

  “The entire wing is a bedroom?”

  The audacity of this man, trying to fool me.

  “Well, not the entire thing. There’s a bathroom, a reading room, the bedroom, and both of our closets.”

  He reached for two brass knobs and turned them, pushing the double doors open and revealing his truth. My new bedroom was bigger than two of my old houses put together.

  “Heavens above,” I gasped.

  “It was my parents’ bedroom. My father spoiled my mother rotten. She hasn’t slept in here since my father died years ago. Make yourself at home. There is running water, hot and cold here. No need to heat it over the fire.”

  I didn’t know where to turn first. I’d heard murmurings of running water from the townsmen who did business in the other world. But to have access to it…

  There was the other issue. I couldn’t break my gaze from the bed. A four-poster bed from another era sat in the middle of the room. The carvings along the posters and headboard were vines and roses of every shape and size, complete with thorns. Dark teal velvet curtains were drawn at the sides and held there with a cord of gold rope.

  Unable to help myself, I looked at Porter who seemed to be under as much duress as I was.

  “Delilah,” he said as he approached. I stood true. I refused to be afraid of this life like I was in the last.

  “Porter.”

  “I don’t expect anything from you tonight or any night until we are both willing. Don’t mistake me, you are beautiful and I won’t hide the fact that I want you. But I will wait until the feeling is mutual. Until then, I will be sleeping down the hall in the Grover bedroom.”

  “Green.”

  “Green?”

  “Grover’s room is green. I couldn’t remember all the names, so I memorized them by color. Green sounded like Grover. It was easy to remember.”

  He chuckled and the sound shattered the anxiety I’d built up. “That’s smart. I’ll get some of my clothes for tomorrow and then be out of your way. Supper is in two hours.”

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted. My back was turned to him but I spun around to see his face. I was nothing if not self-punishing. “I’m sure I’m not the wife you’d hoped for.”

  He stilled and for the second time in a day, I punished my lips for their outburst. From his previous doting, I half-expected a declaration on bended knee. Instead, he looked at me over his shoulder and clenched his fist. “You’re everything I wanted and more.”

  Without another word, he gathered his things and left me, closing the door behind him.

  ~~

  After
the longest, warmest bath I’d ever had, I waited for something to happen. The house was quiet below and around me. Dressed in a gray skirt that came down almost to my ankles and a pink empire-waist blouse, I grabbed a black sweater before descending the massive stairs. I felt disjointed from the entire day’s events, as though they were happening to me in a dream and I was merely the audience. Slipping on my corrupted black boots reminded me that if, in fact, it was a dream then certainly I could imagine a better looking pair of shoes.

  A gentle smile blossomed on my face thinking of my new husband. Certainly, I was standing on the edge of reality, just in the valley of the real Porter coming forth. No part of the scenario thus far made sense. Porter was wealthy, kind, and probably the most handsome man I’d ever seen. There had to be a flaw. No one so flawless would come searching much less settle for someone like me.

  I steeled myself to enjoying the dream while it lasted.

  I left the room and placed one foot on the top step when a figure at the bottom of the stairs appeared. My heart halted in my chest and my lungs arrested in surprise. It was the same child as I’d seen the day before. Her blonde hair and iridescent blue eyes were the same, yet this child was different.

  Her dress was white again, in the same fashion with flared sleeves that reminded me of a portrait of Juliet as she wept over Romeo. Her baby-like chubby cheeks were now a little gaunter and her bare feet were now covered with simple ballet flats befitting her age. Though there was no draft and no open door, the fabric that clothed her waved in a phantom breeze, enhancing her empyrean appearance.

  This child was clearly a bit older.

  A chair behind the girl could be seen—through her body—and she spoke to me. Her mouth moved, coupled with a pained expression. The sorrow on her face was so palpable that I almost ran down to her and attempted to scoop her up, translucent or not.

  Porter’s mother, emerged from one of the living rooms and clapped with glee. “There you are! Supper will be ready soon. Are you okay?”

  I pointed with a shaking hand to the girl, only to find that she wasn’t there.