Kathryne Kennedy - Everlasting Enchantment

Millicent touched Gareth’s strong chin, made him turn to look at her.

“You did not need to do this. I… I need only you. Besides, you must know that this little creature cannot replace my Nell.”

His mouth softened, and his blue eyes danced. “No. I don’t imagine any ordinary firebird could take the place of your Nell. But you see, my dearest—”

An abrupt shout from the hobgoblin interrupted them, and they both turned to stare at Parsnip and the little baby… human.

“Eh, well,” muttered Parsnip. “Methinks the lady should take over from here.”

The infant screwed up her little face and began to squall. Parsnip placed his gnarled hands over his ears and winced.

“A were-firebird?” gasped Millicent. “Where in England did you find—” But she didn’t finish her question, because her body responded to the infant’s cries, even though she had no experience with children, and had no idea what she was doing… just that it felt right. She tore off the soft apron that accessorized her bronze gown, while her feet took her over to the baby, and then Millicent wrapped the child in the fabric and cradled it to her chest.

The tiny thing immediately quit crying.

A warm feeling washed through Millicent’s body. She stared down at the small bundle in her arms. The child had a cap of red fuzz on its head, and the most delicate face Millicent had ever seen. It had put its fist in its mouth and sucked fervently on it. And then it… she… opened her eyes.

Lavender eyes.

Millicent began to shake, felt Gareth’s warm arms surround her again, helping to support her and the baby. She leaned into his strength, and did not feel the lesser for it.

“How?” she breathed.

“Ah, well,” said her love. “I did not know she would come back as a baby, although I rather imagine it makes sense. I foolishly thought she’d be reborn to her old, crotchety self.”

“This is Nell? Reborn?”

“Aye. You introduced Nell to me once—what seems like a lifetime ago now—as Nell Feenix. Her surname has nagged at me since, and although it didn’t occur to me at the time, I gathered Nell’s ashes from the battlefield and kept them safe, for I could not abide the thought of leaving her there. But the Master is the one who told me the legend of the phoenix. And Parsnip knew how to make the nest, since long ago one of those creatures resided in Hobover House. I thought if I could bring her back, I could heal your heart… and then you would love me without reservation.”

Millicent’s breath hitched.

“But you came to me anyway, didn’t you?”

“Yes. You didn’t need—but I’m so glad you did.”

He placed one finger onto the baby’s hand and stroked the tiny palm. “I thought we had failed to bring her back. And then you kissed me.” He laughed softly. “Now I know there is magic in your kiss, my lady.”

Millicent smiled, staring into those lavender eyes. “Nell?” she whispered.

The baby pulled her fist out of her mouth, and grinned.

“Look, she’s smiling.”

“It’s probably just gas,” said the hobgoblin, who had jumped up onto the couch and craned his neck to look at the child.

Gareth scowled at Parsnip.

The little man shrugged. “That’s what they always say, methinks.” He hopped onto the floor and clambered up the columns on the side of the fireplace, as if he scaled a ladder, and then paused on the mantel. “She’ll be a handful, that one. Full of sass and fire. Good thing ye happen to have a hobgoblin in the house to help ye raise her.” And then he disappeared behind the painting once again.

Gareth raised a brow. “I’m not too sure about that. For some reason, I am picturing the two of them plotting mischief of one kind or another as soon as she is able to speak.”

Millicent smiled, leaned over, and kissed her knight’s rough cheek. “I love you.”

“I will never tire of hearing you saying that.” He blushed. Charming man. “We seem to have put the cart before the horse, my lady. So I think we should marry as soon as possible. Would a quick journey to Gretna Green suit?”

“It would suit me just fine, my lord.” Millicent hugged the baby to her, laid her head on her knight’s strong shoulder. “Indeed. I think my life will suit me just fine from here on after.”

Look for Enchanting the Beast, the final installment in the Relics of Merlin series, coming in April from Kathryne Kennedy and Sourcebooks Casablanca

London, 1861

Where magic has never died…

Lady Philomena Radcliff closed her eyes and called to the spirit of the late Lord Stanhope. She tried to ignore the excited breaths of the ladies within the séance circle.

“Lord Stanhope,” Phil said, with as much theatrical brilliance as a stage performer. “Your wife wishes to speak with you one last time. Is your spirit still in this house?”

The withdrawing room smelled of candle wax and the clashing perfumes of the assembled ladies: Lady Stanhope, Lady Montreve, and their two daughters. And unfortunately, their daughters’ silly young friends, who started to giggle as the silence lengthened.

It appeared that the late Lord Stanhope had chosen not to linger in the physical world.

Which didn’t make one whit of difference to Phil. Lady Stanhope had paid her for some peace of mind and she would give it to her regardless. When Phil had been orphaned at a young age, she’d used her magical gift to support herself, quickly discovering that half of her job consisted of her theatrical ability to convince her audience. If the spirit she called made an appearance, she just considered it a bonus.

Her primary concern was to relieve the suffering of those that tragedy had left behind.

She opened her eyes. “We must combine our efforts. Lady Montreve, will you douse the candles? Thank you. Now, clasp your neighbor’s hand and concentrate on the late Lord Stanhope. Use your will to call him to us.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, and the wind made a soft keening noise outside the glass windows. Phil lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “Keep concentrating, ladies. I can feel your will rising, calling out to Lord—”

The drawing room door burst open and the shadow of a large man loomed on the threshold. The circle of hands broke. Lady Stanhope gasped, Lady Montreve stifled a scream, and the other girls collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Philomena suppressed her urge to admonish them like a doddering governess and forced a smile instead. “If you don’t mind, sir, we were in the middle of—”

“I’m quite aware of what’s going on in this room, madam. If you will excuse the interruption, I would like to join you.” He closed the door behind him, shutting out the light from the outer room, allowing the soft glow of the fireplace to highlight his features. The giggles abruptly died, and soft sighs of admiration issued from the mouths of several young girls.

Philomena could hardly blame them. She had never seen such a striking young man. Dark hair liberally streaked with blond fell in waves past broad shoulders that strained his old-fashioned evening coat. The firelight reflected glints of gold in his large dark eyes and played across the angular planes of his face, outlining high cheekbones. Even white teeth flashed as he performed a courtly bow.

Phil’s stomach flipped and her hands broke out in a sweat inside her gloves. She struggled to hide her reaction before anyone noticed. Heavens, she was old enough to be his… well, older sister perhaps. But still, too old to be making a fool of herself by gawking at the beautiful young man.

Lady Stanhope recovered first. “I don’t remember the pleasure of an introduction, sir.”

Again, a flash of those even white teeth. Good heavens, were those dimples?

“I’m Sir Nicodemus Wulfson, Baronet of Grimspell castle.”

Soft gasps accompanied his words and several of the younger ladies actually looked frightened. All baronets were shifters and immune to all magic. The aristocracy hated that “the animals” could see through the spells crafted to maintain their superior social status.

“I don’t think…” Lady Stanhope began, ready to deny the gentleman’s request.

Phil quickly stood. “It would be a pleasure for you to join us, Sir Nicodemus.”

He turned those large, glittering eyes on her in surprise, his predatory gaze sweeping over her from head to foot. Phil felt heat rise in her cheeks. As usual, she’d dressed in the artistic style, eschewing the corsets and crinolines of her peers. Most of her friends were followers of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, but few of them had the daring to wear their medieval-style dresses out in public.

He surprised her with a sudden smile of approval. “Thank you, Lady…?”

“Philomena Radcliff.”

“The ghost-hunter,” he acknowledged. “I’ve heard a great deal about you. It’s a pleasure.”

The Adonis stepped forward and took her hand, sweeping his lips across the top of her glove. Thank heavens for that layer of material, for he surely would have burnt her skin with the heat of his mouth. Phil quickly snatched back her hand and resumed her seat at the table, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach.

The screech of wooden legs over marble made them all turn to watch Sir Nicodemus drag a chair over to the table and squeeze between Philomena and Lady Stanhope. He sat with stealthy grace.

He looked up and flashed that brilliant smile again, taking in the entire circle of women. “I’ve always wanted to experience one of these table-turnings. It’s gracious of you to allow me to join you.” Despite his apparent lack of social standing a few of the youngest girls leaned forward and licked their lips.

Philomena pressed her lips together to prevent the same reaction. It was all well and good for young debutantes to react to him, but she had to be at least ten years his senior and it would only make her look like a complete fool. She really should have allowed Lady Stanhope to reject him, for if she continued in her obvious fascination in him, she was sure to make a complete cake of herself.

But Phil’s sense of justice could not allow her to shun him. So when Lady Stanhope hesitated to link her hand with the baronet’s, Philomena hid her fear of the way she might react to his touch and slapped her gloved palm over his with forced bravado.

Tiny shivers traveled from his hand through her body. She’d been correct. His touch flustered her more than the caress of his gaze. For a moment Sir Nicodemus stared at their clasped hands, his dark brows raised in surprise. Then he turned and glanced at her, that wolfish grin back on his face.

Phil abruptly blew out the candle and closed her eyes. Heaven help her if he set his mind on exploring that instant chemistry between them. “Now concentrate, ladies… and gentleman. Lord Stanhope, we summon your spirit, please come to us.” A soft tapping sounded at the window, most likely a tree branch in the wind, but Phil grasped at it. “Lord Stanhope! Is that you?”

Sir Nicodemus made a small sound of derision, but she could feel the rest of the circle tense with excitement.

Phil opened her eyes, fully prepared to cast an unfocused gaze at the corner of the room where she would pretend Lord Stanhope stood. His wife only wanted to tell him that she loved him. Who was she to deny the lady that satisfaction?

But Philomena caught a movement from the fireplace and her gaze met that of Tup. The young boy sat atop the mantel, his bare feet hanging over the edge, the glow of the fire shining through them. His brown hair was a mess as usual, his face so dirty that his hazel eyes stood out in startling contrast. Really, such a ragtag street urchin! Phil’s heart squeezed a bit and warmth flowed through her.

“Tup,” she whispered, trying to rise but anchored to her chair by the grip of Lady Stanhope and Sir Nicodemus.

“What’s a tup?” murmured one of the girls.

“The ghost-hunter’s spirit guide,” Lady Montreve snapped.

Phil was vaguely aware of the shock that rippled around the table, including that of Sir Nicodemus. She could feel him watching her, like a predator studies his prey, waiting for the perfect moment to leap. But she ignored them all, intent on seeing Tup’s ghost again. He wasn’t strong enough to stay long in the material world.

The only thing she’d ever regretted about not marrying was that she would never have her own child. And then Tup had followed her home one day.