Charmed: Gowns & Crowns, Book 6 Read online

  Was that what her life had been like, all these years? Not the oldest child who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, but the second sister, always there to reassure and support, to celebrate and commiserate? He glanced at Caroline, who was once more taking in the sights of the harbor, and felt a sudden rush of emotion rise up awkwardly within him. She was lovely beyond her fine features and instinctive grace, he thought. She was the type of woman who seemed to know exactly what to say, and how, to put everyone around her at ease. A trick he’d certainly never mastered…one he’d barely tried to attempt, truth be told.

  “And now that you’re here, so far away from your own home, and even far enough away from your bodyguard that you could probably make a run for it—” Simon smiled as Caroline coughed a short laugh,”—what would you do? What would you go looking for if you could go anywhere in the world to get it?”

  “A place to be myself,” Caroline said immediately, her eyes widening, as if she’d never truly thought of it before. “Where I can build my own life, without having to answer to anyone.”

  He blinked, her answer resonating so strongly within him that those words might have been spoken by him, not her. “That’s what you truly want?” he asked. “To be free?”

  But the mood seemed to have passed from Caroline, and she gave his hand a final squeeze, then withdrew her fingers smoothly to point at the largest of the monuments lining the park.

  “You’re becoming lax in your duties as my guide, Dr. Blake,” she admonished him, her manner once more light and easy. “And I’m becoming boring company. So quick, before we ruin everything, tell me more about this beautiful city you call your home.”

  Chapter Eight

  Caroline blew out a tight breath as she approached Pinnacle House. The cab ride over to the marina had taken longer than she’d expected, and the ferry had been delayed from departure because the ferry before it hadn’t returned on schedule, its larger than normal passenger load requiring extra assistance. She’d waited impatiently, grateful that once again that Cindy hadn’t insisted on accompanying her this time. It was one thing for her and her husband Rob to hover over Marguerite. The youngest of the Saleri sisters was putting herself out into the public in a very obvious way with her hospitality internship at the Cypress Resort.

  But Caroline wasn’t putting herself into anything. She was going to visit a lovely old house on a lovely old island, owned by a couple who sounded like they would also be both lovely and old. She smiled firmly. And Simon would be nowhere in sight, which was exactly for the best.

  She’d managed—barely—to recover from her rash words of the day before as she and Simon had wandered for another thirty minutes along the park and past yet more beautiful old houses with whimsical gardens tucked behind them. He’d shifted easily as well, not asking any more questions. But she still burned with embarrassment over how ungrateful she knew she must sound. Free! Who was she to complain about being burdened by the responsibilities of her family, when she was clearly so lucky? He must think her an ungrateful moron.

  She shook her head, refocusing on the tiny port where she waited for the ferry to Pearl Island. What would it be like to have lived so much of your life on an island like Pearl—in some ways more remote than the islands off the coast of Garronia, for all that those islands were much further from the mainland than the twenty-minute ferry ride across the open water that Pearl required.

  But those outlying islands had a fully functioning infrastructure, she mused. They supported villages and fisheries, there were banks and churches and shops. Pearl Island was truly more of a bedroom community, its storefronts all given over to artists and crafters, its bungalows set back from the road dedicated as writing retreats or solitary hideaways. The only true businesses on the island were the coffee shop, the commissary and the bike rental store, at least from what she’d seen the first time she’d been there. This time, she’d need to inspect everything more closely—since after she’d finished her business at the Pinnacle House, there’d be no reason for her to come back.

  She frowned, feeling an unexpected chagrin settle over her at that thought. It was silly—she hadn’t known that the island had existed as more than a dot on the map up until a few short days ago, and now she was already waxing nostalgic over it?

  But she couldn’t deny how affected she’d been by the old house with its quirky fairy garden tucked in the woods, its expansive ramparts and soaring lookout tower. The usual blush darkened her cheeks as she thought about that last memory, and what she’d done there. Simon must think she was out of her mind, or at the very least some sort of forward European party girl, willing to throw herself at the first American who showed interest. And then he’d been so kind to meet her at the harbor, to act as her guide…and she’d acted like a petulant school girl. Ugh!

  She’d gone over every moment she’d spent with Simon—in excruciating detail—trying to determine when precisely she’d lost her bearings each time. He’d kissed her in the fairy glade. That wasn’t her fault. But she’d let him do it, hadn’t objected. And she hadn’t drawn away when he’d stood next to her in that tower.

  Then, though she’d been perfectly circumspect when they’d run into each other at the harbor, she’d pried into his personal life and revealed far too much about her own.

  Now she shivered, almost feeling the nearness of Simon once more though he was doubtless buried back at the College of Charleston with his books and papers and students. She’d double checked with his office, and he did have office hours today, plus a class this morning. He wouldn’t be anywhere near Pinnacle House. That would make everything so much easier.

  The blare of the ferry horn caught her attention, and she watched it pull into port. It seemed to take longer than it had the other day as well. She glanced to the water, noting the whitecaps kicked up by the stiff breeze. The middle-aged woman next to her, wearing a brightly woven tunic and soft knit pants, seemed to be watching it too.

  “Windy today,” Caroline offered, and the woman nodded.

  “It’s a little high,” she said simply. “If we get some rain, I’m glad I took care of my shopping early.” She lifted her tote bags, filled with breads and wrapped packages of what appeared to be vegetables and cheese. “Fair warning, the ferry tends to be a little eager to close down, even if it’s the tiniest squall. Keep that in mind when you think about getting back.”

  Caroline frowned. “What happens if tourists get stranded on the island? Is there somewhere to spend the night?”

  The woman snorted. “Not anymore. They call Pinnacle House a B&B, but don’t believe it. Pretty old house, though, and a museum. They’re well past the time of taking on guests, though. Worse comes to worst, Hilda at the coffee shop has been known to put up stragglers on the couches in her store in a pinch. She’s not licensed for it, though. But don’t worry. Most times any weather that comes through doesn’t last too long, and if it’s getting on toward evening, the ferry company does its best. They level a special blast you can hear the entire island over about an hour before their last departure, and it’ll wake the dead, that noise. You’ll have plenty of time to head back.”

  “Thank you.” She watched the woman board and make her way to the front of the boat, as if she wanted to be the first resident to reach her island home. Another wave of what almost seemed like melancholy washed over Caroline. She had a home, of course. The Saleri mansion back in Garronia was impressive, as was their townhome in the capital city, though she supposed Edeena and Vince would be moving into the latter as soon as they were married. And Garronia itself was her home. Everyone knew her there, knew where to find her, what to expect of her. She’d spent a lifetime living up to those expectations.

  She leaned against the side of the boat. What would it be like to live somewhere else, though, some place that she had chosen deliberately, not as some expectation based on her family or the result of the thousand and one inconsequential decisions in life—where she went to school, wherever a
job took her? What would it be like to choose someplace like Pearl Island, like the woman in the colorful woven top clearly had. Was she an artist? She looked like one, with her soft blonde hair tied up in a messy knot, her bags of bread and produce hinting at some bohemian feast at sunset. Caroline wasn’t an artist, or a craftsman. And she had no business mooning about a home of her own. Not today. Today she needed to take care of this task for Edeena.

  She disembarked a few minutes later, drawing her light sweater more tightly against her body as the wind whipped along the water. The porter was handing brightly colored cards to some of the passengers—the tourists, she realized quickly. When she passed him, he glanced at her briefly then handed her one as well. “Storm may pass by us, but to be safe, be back at the marina at three o’clock,” he said with a smile. “Shouldn’t be bad, and these things do have a way of blowing over. Either way, listen for the ferry horn. If it sounds, you’ll know that we’re announcing the last boat out of the day. And remember, there’s no night lodging on the island.”

  Caroline’s mood worsened. Three o’clock was only a few hours off, and from the appearance of the other tourists clutching their tickets, they took the ferryman at his word. She’d need to be back here in plenty of time if she wanted to be sure of a space on the boat—though she suspected they wouldn’t leave anyone behind. Maybe catch the two-thirty ferry, if there was one, to beat the crowd.

  She walked down the already familiar street up to the main intersection of the town, but there was no real point in renting a bike—not merely to get up to Pinnacle House. It was maybe a mile outside of the little town, and strolling allowed her to peek more carefully into the various shops. Many of them had taken in the cheerful sidewalk signs she’d noticed the first time she was here, but there remained plenty of activity inside. Maybe she could come back specifically to buy something some other time, even if she didn’t go up to the house.

  Maybe.

  Caroline’s bag felt heavy on her shoulder as she made her way toward the Bed & Breakfast. She had no reason to be so gloomy, she told herself sternly. If she did this right, she could simply exchange one set of jewelry for another, and avoid the whole “give us our rightful goods back” discussion altogether. Yes, that’s exactly what she’d do.

  She finally reached the lane of the grand old house, her heart doing an unaccountable flip-flop as she glanced up at the lookout aerie, and her mood lifted further. Then her gaze dropped to the wide front porch and stairs, and she nearly stumbled to a stop.

  There were easily a dozen people standing there. Waiting for her.

  Simon docked the speedboat in the marina, and took extra care lashing it down. The skies had that heavy feel that belied the briskly whipping breeze, which was never good. The leaves were bent back against the tree branches, too, a tried-and-true sign of rain to come. At least it would be no more than his grandparents and one other couple that he’d need to hustle them off island before the weather got bad, if it got bad.

  He wanted to be annoyed with Caroline for picking today, of all days, to return—they’d had perfect weather for a stretch of nearly two weeks up to now. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wanted to see her again, and he wasn’t all that picky as to how. After yesterday, when she’d shyly given him her cell phone number, he’d pondered for a full hour what he should say to her—apologize again for getting too personal? Invite her out on a date? Warn her that he’d be on the island the following day, simply because he couldn’t imagine not seeing her if he had the chance to do so?

  In the end, he’d opted for none of the above, texting only how much he’d enjoyed the opportunity to show her the harbor area. She’d replied something equally polite, and then had asked him about other local attractions…and they’d ended up texting most of the evening—and again this morning. Like they were teenagers. She hadn’t mentioned seeing him again, though, and he hadn’t known how to bring it up, since he knew he’d be coming out to the island today.

  The whole thing was ridiculous. And yet…oddly invigorating too. Like a stiff ocean breeze he hadn’t realized he’d missed after too long in the city.

  He’d spent most of this morning avoiding his administrative assistant and bolting through his last class, but now—finally—he was back on the island. Even with a potential storm bearing down, he already felt better.

  Simon set off for Pinnacle House on foot, shifting his canvas bag on his hip. He’d restocked a few items that were running low after the bridge party, though he’d be coming out again that weekend. The shingles needed more work, and he’d noticed the paint beginning to peel on the windward side of the house. He needed to get that sealed as well before more serious storms started to hit.

  But the sun was warm despite the higher winds, and the clouds building on the horizon seemed far enough away that maybe they’d blow on out to sea, so Simon gradually relaxed as he wound his way toward the house. His grandparents’ appointment with Caroline was likely nearing its end, then perhaps he’d have the chance to speak with her directly for a few minutes before she went on her way.

  As he walked, he forced his mind away from their conversation the day before, and considered her earlier comments about her purpose at Pinnacle House—a donation, she’d said. Well, Belle and Bobo would be more than up for that, particularly if she kept the word Contos out of the conversation, and stuck with the Saleri name. His lips twisted. He wondered if these jewels she intended to donate had a curse attached to them as well. Quite possibly, if the additional research he’d begun doing on the Saleris was any indication. The Contoses had seemed like a fairly level-headed lot, but there were easily a half-dozen families he’d uncovered that were worse than the Saleris. Hard to believe that Garronia remained in existence, as backward as some of these tales had been. In fact, there was one…

  Simon swung into the lane, frowning when he didn’t see a rental bicycle leaning up against the light post. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been anticipating seeing that small evidence of Caroline’s arrival. He shifted his gaze further toward the house, but it appeared empty, undisturbed.

  She’d probably walked, the way he had. And the museum was deep in the back of the house, so it wouldn’t be surprising…

  He drew closer to the house, then blinked with greater surprise. Two people were sitting on the porch in the rocking chairs—the same two who always sat there, when they accompanied Belle and Bobo. But his grandmother hadn’t mentioned they were coming today.

  Simon quickened his pace. “Joe?” he called out, choosing to address the one member of the pair who usually remembered to put in his hearing aids.

  The old man looked up and instantly lifted a hand, his smile going broad. “She’s exactly like we thought she’d be,” he blurted out.

  Simon took the stairs two at a time, pausing to lean down and hug Joe’s wife, Esther. They were two of his grandparents’ oldest friends. “Exactly like the story was handed down,” Joe continued. “Beautiful, just beautiful.”

  Simon fought to hide his grimace. He should have known better than to let Caroline see his grandparents unchaperoned. For her sake more than theirs. “Tell me she doesn’t know you all have scripted her into her own fairy tale.”

  “Not at all, not at all,” Joe crowed. “But regardless of what she says her name is, she’s the fairytale countess we’ve been waiting for, plain as the nose on your face. And she’s going to bring everything back to life.”

  Simon paused another moment, then decided he could leave that last detail aside—it was the first time he’d heard it, and he’d been listening to his grandparents’ countess story since he was old enough to understand English. Leave it to Joe to start embroidering the tale now that the poor woman had shown up in the flesh. “They’re in the museum?”

  “Yup, they all are,” Joe nodded happily. “We came out here to get comfortable; it’ll give your grandmother someone else to tell the story to when it’s all done.”

  “They all…how many of you are t
here today?”

  “Why, everyone,” he beamed. “We commandeered our own ferry.” He screwed his face up to the sky, his faded eyes taking in the horizon. “They whined about the weather getting bad, but I don’t see it. Bunch of weenies, you ask me.”

  But Simon was already through the front doors, entering the kitchen only long enough to sling his bag of groceries on the counter and shove the perishable bag into the refrigerator. Then he was off for the back of the house, where the museum was.

  He heard his grandmother’s voice a moment later, laden with repressed excitement. “Well, it took them a good two weeks before they felt safe enough to open the cask, you know. Far better for them to simply imagine what might be inside it.”

  He relaxed a notch. The cask portion of the museum tour was three stops before the Contos—well, Saleri collection. He hadn’t missed it.

  Caroline’s light contralto filtered to him down the hallway. “Were your grandparents terribly excited?” she asked, and despite himself, Simon smiled, his heart doing an odd little flip-flop in his chest. She wasn’t hurrying Belle along in her story, he realized immediately. She was content to let his grandmother spin the tale, perhaps recognizing how much she needed to tell the story to someone—anyone—to relive those handed-down memories from all those years ago.

  “Oh, yes,” Belle’s voice returned. Simon stepped quietly into the room, but for a moment, no one noticed he was there. Their eyes were on Belle, standing before the cask. “And then when Great-Grandfather opened it, they found—this.”

  A gasp sounded from nearly half the people in the room, though this group of codgers had seen what lay inside that blasted cask at least a thousand times, from Simon’s reckoning. But he couldn’t help leaning forward as well.