The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

“Sinjun was taking care of both Dahling and me very well.”

“She’s a shallow chit, thoughtless and clearly negligent, or she never would have gone to that wretched swamp with you. Surely you see that she was just playing at being responsible. She cares naught for either you or Dahling. She cares naught for any of us. She merely enjoys telling us all what to do and flinging her wealth in our faces. Oh yes, she sees all of us as mere poor relations she must tolerate. Why do you think that your dear father isn’t here in his own home? It’s because of her; he can’t bear her company because she rubs his nose in his own poverty and lords it over him. She doesn’t belong here, she’s a Sassenach. Come away now, Philip. I shan’t tell you again.”

“The windows were open, Aunt.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! She ordered me to open them. I told her it wasn’t wise, but she just kept fretting and whining until finally I simply obliged her.”

She was lying, he knew it, and he was suddenly very frightened. He didn’t know what to do. He looked back at Sinjun and knew deep down that if something wasn’t done she would die.

“Come away from her, Philip.”

Slowly, he walked toward Aunt Arleth. He even nodded

as he came up to her. He knew exactly what he was going to do.

He turned to watch Aunt Arleth place her hand on Sinjun’s forehead and nod. “Ah yes, I knew it. Hardly any fever at all now. No need for a doctor.”

Philip left the bedchamber.

CHAPTER

14

Northcliffe Hall

Near New Romney, England

ALEXANDRA SHERBROOKE, THE countess of Northcliffe, was napping in the middle of a warm Wednesday afternoon. She was permitted this indulgence, her mother-in-law had assured her, even going so far as to pat her cheek with what could be termed affection, because she was carrying another child for Douglas—as if she were some sort of vessel for her husband’s use, Alex had thought, but nonetheless had slipped off her gown and fallen quite easily to sleep.

She dreamed of Melissande, her incredibly beautiful sister, who had just borne a little girl who greatly resembled Alex, even endowed with Titian hair and gray eyes. It was justice, Douglas had told her, since their own twin boys were the very image of the glorious Melissande, a happenstance that still made Tony Parrish, Melissande’s husband, grin like a smug bastard at Douglas. But in her dream something was wrong with Melissande. She was lying motionless on her back, her beautiful black hair spread like a silk fan against the white of the pillows. Her face was pale, faint blue shadows showing beneath her skin, and her breath was hoarse and low.

Suddenly, her hair wasn’t black, it was chestnut, and drawn into a long thick braid. It wasn’t Melissande’s face now, either. No, it was Sinjun’s.

Alex blinked, dragging herself from sleep. What a strange dream, she thought, as she closed her eyes again. She’d just written to her sister-in-law, so that was perhaps why she’d taken Melissande’s place in her dream.

Alex quieted. Gently and easily, she dozed, but this time there wasn’t a dream awaiting her, there was a soft voice, a woman’s low voice, and it was near her ear, saying over and over, “Sinjun is ill . . . Sinjun is ill. She is in trouble. Help her, you must help her.”

Alex frowned, then moaned. She awoke with a jerk. There beside her bed stood the Virgin Bride, calm and still, her white gown gently shimmering in the silent bedchamber, and she spoke again, but the words were in Alex’s mind, not coming from the ghost’s mouth, soft and quiet, but insistent. “Sinjun is ill . . . in trouble. Help her, help her.”

“What’s wrong? Please, tell me, what’s wrong with Sinjun?”

“Help her,” the soft voice said, pleading now. The beautiful young woman was clasping her hands in front of her. Odd how her fingers were long and so very slender, yet they seemed to be clear, the bones showing through as dark shadows. Her exquisite long hair was so blond that it shone nearly white in the afternoon sunlight. “Help her. There is much trouble for her.”

“Yes, I will,” Alex said, and rolled off the side of the bed to her feet. She saw the ghost nod, then gently retreat toward the corner of the countess’s bedchamber. Alex watched her simply fade into a pale reflection of herself, lighter and lighter, until there was nothing there. Nothing at all.

Alex drew a deep breath. The ghost hadn’t come to her in months and months, and the last time the ghost had smiled and told her that Farmer Elias’s cow had survived the colic and could now give milk to the ailing baby in the house. And she’d been here when Alex had needed her, when she’d been screaming in labor with the twins, so torn with the agony that she didn’t believe she would live through it. The Virgin Bride had come to her then and told her that she would be all right and she wasn’t to doubt it for a moment. Alex would have sworn that a soft hand had touched her forehead, then her belly, and the pain had lessened. Of course, Douglas informed her that she’d simply been delirious. She never should have told him. He was so stubborn about it, and she knew why. Men couldn’t bear to accept something they couldn’t understand, something they couldn’t grasp by the throat and look at and speak to and throttle if they didn’t like it. The Virgin Bride couldn’t be explained, thus she couldn’t exist.

And now she’d come again to tell her that Sinjun was in trouble and ill. Alex felt a slight spasm of dizziness but it passed quickly. Her heart was pounding hard and she stopped, drawing deep breaths.

Douglas wasn’t here. He’d had to return to London to meet with Lord Avery at the Foreign Office several days before.

Well, he would be of no use in any case. If she told him what the Virgin Bride had said, he’d sneer and laugh and be an ass about it. No, it was a good thing that he wasn’t here because she knew that he wouldn’t allow her to take any action—he’d gone so far as to swear her to near complete inaction during his absence—and she knew she had to.

Alex informed her household that she was going for a visit to her brother and sister-in-law in the Cotswolds. Hollis, their butler, stared at her as if she’d lost her wits instead of her breakfast, but her mother-in-law seemed overly pleased to see the back of her for a while.

Sophie had received her own visits from the Virgin Bride over the past five years. Together they would figure out what to do.

Vere Castle