Slowly Rising, page 26
Besides, it was all madness and it simply was not the done thing to talk of such things in polite company.
* * * *
"Arjun Das, are you still here telling fanciful stories again?" exclaimed Filkins, having come upon a cluster of maids by the kitchen fire and the neighbor's Indian valet seated amongst them. "These girls have work to do early tomorrow and ought to be abed."
"Oh, but Mr. Filkins, there's no harm in a story," one of the maids cried out. "Let him finish, do!"
"Indeed there is harm in tales of ghosts and witches. Her ladyship would never approve."
"But this is a true story, Mr. Filkins."
"Don't be a fool, girl. Of course it isn't true." He turned stiffly and addressed the valet. "Kindly go back to number seventeen, Mr. Das. I'm sure you have work of your own. Mr. Volkov must want you for something. You're a disruption to this house."
Arjun rose up smoothly and gave an elegant bow. "As you wish, Mr. Filkins. I should not want to be a disruption." As he left the kitchen he glanced over at the darkened corner where Amalie sat with her sewing, and he smiled. She raised her hand in a wave, smiling back.
Nobody else ever saw her there, as far as he knew. But she seemed accustomed to going unnoticed.
She did not know yet that she was not supposed to be there at all. Tomorrow, however, she was off to Shropshire and the house called Slowly Rising, because she knew how much her ladyship worried about that young couple, the Wildings. She wanted to help, and this was her great opportunity to be a lady's maid— the one thing for which she'd always yearned. While she was there she would, perhaps, realize the truth.
Arjun would wish her well and see her on her way, because he knew it would be a long time before he saw her again.
Hopefully, at Slowly Rising, Amalie McKenna would find her place to belong at last and stop wandering lost.
He hoped so.
But is this the end of the story? No. He heard the gentle tinkle of a tiny, flower-shaped bell. Like dusk falling over the trees, this was the herald of a magical time.
Her adventure was just beginning.
* * * *
Into the pond they sank the bones of Belle Arden, for the last time, and now clothed in a colorfully embroidered sack.
But since everything about this world is upside down, she lifted her green-sleeved arms into the sunset, even as she fell. At last she was free, letting go of her fury after two hundred years.
A girl again, she looked up to follow the bubbles of air that sang around her, rising to the surface of the pond, and there, once more, she breathed, reunited with her sisters most beloved.
Not to say you cannot still hear her singing, once in a while, through the walls of this house. Perhaps— like Amos Wilding— you should only be afraid if you hear her stop.
Suddenly.
Also from Jayne Fresina and TEP
Souls Dryft
The Taming of the Tudor Male Series
Seducing the Beast
Once A Rogue
The Savage and the Stiff Upper Lip
The Deverells
True Story
Storm
Chasing Raven
Ransom Redeemed
Damon Undone
Pumpymuckles – A Deverells Story
Ladies Most Unlikely
The Trouble with His Lordship’s Trousers
The Danger in Desperate Bonnets
The Bounce in the Captain’s Boots
A Private Collection
Last Rake Standing
The Peculiar Folly of Long Legged Meg
The Peculiar Pink Toes of the Untamable Lady Flora
The Mutinous Contemplations of Gemma Groot
Slowly Fell
Slowly Rising
Bespoke
(COMING SOON)
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jayne Fresina sprouted up in England, the youngest in a family of four daughters. Entertained by her father's colorful tales of growing up in the countryside, and surrounded by opinionated sisters - all with far more exciting lives than hers - she's always had inspiration for her beleaguered heroes and unstoppable heroines.
Website at: jaynefresinaromanceauthor.blogspot.com
Twisted E Publishing, LLC
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Jayne Fresina, Slowly Rising
