God will forgive me for what I am about to do. It is said He never sends us more than we can bear, but I find I have reached my limit. I want nothing more than to be with you, and the thought of you waiting for me beyond death is the only thing than enables me to even contemplate such an act.

Soon, my darling. Soon.

Your devoted servant, in this life and the next,

Jonathan


What could it be like, to love like that?

Amelia traced her fingers over the fine writing, wondering at the state Jonathan Lindsey had to have been in to even contemplate such an act. According to the family legend, he'd recreated Jane's suicide, hanging himself in the tower room. His manservant had found him and cut him down. The family had mourned for weeks, and that particular Lindsey line had died out.

Hugh had told her more about it, as she'd continued to work with the letters. She'd helped his grandfather preserve some of the older letters, which were crumbling with age. Jonathan and Jane's letters had been remarkably well-preserved in their small wooden box. She'd read them all in one sitting, had recognized Jonathan's passion, Jane's reluctance. Somewhere along the line, she felt the girl had either seen a marriage go bad, or been ill-used. She was not a woman who had planned on going to the marriage bed quietly.

Jane had led Jonathan on a merry chase, but he'd loved her, had tried to show her how deeply countless times. Then there had been an oblique reference to another man; then after Jane's suicide, countless letters Jonathan had written, trying to understand how he might have prevented the tragedy.

She'd read them all, many times. She'd called the museum, telling her superior that there was a lot more material here than they'd first suspected. Three months later, she'd had almost all of it cataloged.

Three months later, she'd been engaged to Hugh.

She'd never gone back to London.

Amelia ran her fingers over the packet of letters, then gently plucked the last one from the box. She closed it, then sat down in John's large leather chair. It smelled like him, leather and sandalwood, dogs and horses. He was a generous old man, and she felt he'd recognized a kindred spirit when she'd gotten off the train in the village.

He'd come to pick her up himself in an ancient, battered old Range Rover. She'd recognized his determination immediately, and been comfortable with it. Here was a man who really did want to get to the bottom of various family documents.

There had been other passengers that day, as well. An ancient Alsatian, a spaniel with only three legs, and a tiny Jack Russell terrier who sat in the front seat with the two of them the entire drive home.

"Arthritis?" she'd guessed, looking at the little dog. Though his dark canine eyes danced with mischief, his movements were stiff and painful.

John had nodded, never taking his eyes off the road. He drove fairly fast for a man his age. "Charlie's having a bad day. The vet says I'll have to be making my mind up about him soon."

Then there was nothing more to say until they reached the house.

It had astounded her, Lindsey House. Though her parents came from a certain amount of money, she hadn't dreamed such places existed. Her first glimpse of the estate had been in the late afternoon, close to dusk. The mist had been rolling in, and as they'd turned into the huge circular drive, she'd been overcome with emotion.

"You like it?" John had asked her.

"Very much."

"We'll get you settled in. No use looking at the letters until tomorrow-"

"Oh, I'd like to start right away, if I could."

She'd seen the delight in his face. They understood each other, after all.

Dinner had been in the kitchen, near the warmth of the Aga. She'd insisted on no fussing; she wanted him to maintain his usual routine. That first dinner was incredible. Homemade soup and freshly baked bread, thick with butter from the nearby dairy. A salad made with herbs and greens from the garden.

"Kind of a wreck these days," John had confided over the split-pea soup. "The deer get in and eat everything. What they don't eat, they trample. Hugh sent me the money for a brick wall, but I like to see them in the morning."

She nodded. This was the house of her dreams. A large, marmalade-colored cat lay dozing by the fire, and John's damaged dogs were everywhere.

"You live in a village where they know you have a soft spot for dogs, and you end up with the ones the others don't want."

She'd nodded, leaning down to scratch Charlie behind his ears. The little terrier was fiercely protective of John, but he'd decided to accept her. Knowing the temperament of most Jack Russells, Amelia was grateful.

The menagerie of animals living outside was quiet now, as night had fallen, but she could hardly wait for the morning, when she would come to know them all.

The kettle sang, and Mrs. Edwards, the cook, made them tea.

"We can take it up to the tower room," John informed her. She agreed. One of the handymen had already put her bags in one of the many bedrooms, and now all her attention was focused on the letters and what they might contain.

Several hours later, over yet more tea, she'd been moved to tears by Jonathan Lindsey's life.

"What happened after he died?" she asked John.

"He left the entire estate and all its holdings to several distant cousins. That's where my side of the family comes in. We took over Lindsey House, and quite a state it was in, let me tell you."

"What had happened?"

"The folks around here said Jonathan went a little mad before he died. Burned the west wing to the ground, along with the garden. He'd been quite the gardener; he'd even created a flower distinctly his own. It's in some of his sketchbooks and journals, the details about all that."

"Could I see them?" Now that she'd read Jonathan Lindsey's most intimate letters, she felt compelled to get to know the man through his work.

"I'd be delighted to show them to someone who's interested. Not many are, in these parts. Not many who understand exactly what it is I'm trying to do."

"And that is?"

"Break the curse."

That stopped her cold, but she schooled her face into acceptance and decided to give this delightful old man a chance to explain himself.

"A curse."

"The Lindsey curse. It's been hanging over this house since Jane took her life, and I'm determined to see it put to an end before I die."

She hesitated, aware that his full attention was on her.

"Come now. Tell me what you felt when you came up to this room. After the letters."

She wondered how honest she could be with John Lindsey, then decided to go for broke. The worst that could happen was that he'd pack her off on a train to London the following morning.

She swallowed, suddenly nervous. "That you all have a ton of money but can't find happiness."

"My point exactly. Now, my Hugh has started breaking the curse, though he doesn't know it. It all started when he refused to let the house go."

She'd heard of Hugh, his single-handed attempt to keep the creditors at bay, his financial work in London. He was a regular Scarlett O'Hara fighting to save Tara, but with a lot more ethics than that particular fictional character had possessed.

She didn't get to sleep until almost five in the morning, and woke at nine, the sun streaming in the large bedroom windows as a maid opened the heavy drapes.

"I didn't mean to wake you. Just thought you might like some air."

Amelia didn't want to waste a single day of her great adventure at this house. She got out of bed, showered, dressed, then headed for the kitchen. Taking a scone and a mug of tea at Mrs. Edwards's suggestion, she left the fragrant kitchen and approached the cow stalls, now dog kennels.

She found John there, working with a heartbreakingly thin, sad-eyed sheepdog.

"You have a way with them," she said, keeping her voice low. It wouldn't do to startle the poor animal.

"I do. I wanted to study veterinary medicine, but we didn't have the means. Now I simply try to do what I can."

They spent the morning exercising the dogs, then had lunch at a table by the garden. Afterward, they retired to the tower room, and Jonathan Lindsey's life. They worked nonstop for several hours, then John walked her through one of the hallways in his part of the great house.

Black-and-white photos adorned one wall, and Amelia made her interest known. John identified the various relatives, frozen in time in the photos.

One, of a little boy taking tea with his teddies and his obviously adoring mother, caught her eye.

"My daughter, Frances, Hugh's mother. That's Hugh, around three. He was an only child, though she wanted more."

"And she lives where?"

John paused, and Amelia was immediately sorry she'd asked.

“She was killed. A riding accident. Her husband was in a car accident shortly thereafter. He never got over losing her."

"And Hugh?" She thought of the little boy in the picture, with no parents or siblings to take comfort in.

"Came to live with me. I raised him, but it wasn't the same for him. He missed them terribly."

"How old was he?"

"Twelve. Not a good age to lose one's parents."

She placed her hand on John's arm, offering him comfort. "I don't think there's ever a good time for something like that."

Her days fell into a routine. Walking the dogs, exercising the two old horses that still lived in the stable. Enjoying tea every day at five. Working on the letters and journals. Enjoying Lindsey House and all that its eighty acres contained: the dovecote, the boathouse, the flower beds, the library and sitting room, the fresh herbs from the kitchen garden, Hugh's mother's watercolors, the sleepy river with its pair of swans.

The soft roll of the lawns. The beautiful misty mornings. A crackling fire on a cool day, the afternoon tea table set with beautiful china. Feeding the goats and rounding up the chickens. The distinctive scent of the lavender furniture polish the maids used. The exquisite smells of baking from Mrs. Edwards's kitchen.

She began to understand Hugh on a deeply emotional level, and why he'd fought to keep all this in his family. But nothing could have prepared her for actually meeting him.

She'd been breakfasting in the garden, throwing crumbs from her scone to one of the starlings, when she looked up and saw Hugh Lindsey in the kitchen doorway. He was studying her, and had the oddest expression on his handsome face.

He came forward quickly, offering her his hand.

"You must be Amelia. I can't thank you enough for the time you've spent with my grandfather."

She started to rise, but he gestured her back. He sat down in one of the other chairs, a mug of hot tea in his free hand. He was still holding hers.

It happened that instant. To both of them. But he was more honest than she was. She tried to deny it.

"It's fascinating work," she said quickly as she disengaged her fingers from his. She knew she was about to babble, but she didn't care. Anything to put some distance between them.

He was a glorious man, strong in both body and face. Hugh possessed the same dark coloring that had fascinated her in Jonathan Lindsey's portrait in the great hall. The two men looked rather alike, with their high, strongly defined cheekbones, fiercely intelligent blue eyes, and longish dark hair.

He seemed to read her mind.

"Yes, I do resemble him. I hope Grandfather hasn't bored you to tears with his ideas about the Lindsey curse."

"You don't believe in it?"

"No." He set his mug of tea down on the wooden table, leaned back in his chair, and studied her intently. "But I do believe we're here for a specific reason."

"I do, too." She felt slightly more relaxed with him- slightly-and took another sip of her morning tea.

"But I don't agree with Grandfather. I believe we are our own destiny. Through who we are, the choices we make day by day. What we show our children, what we pass on to them. We're constantly creating and molding the future all the time."

He fascinated her. He frightened her. She was due up in the tower room in less than fifteen minutes, yet they talked nonstop for over two hours. When Amelia finally realized the time, she glanced up toward the window of the tower room, which was clearly visible from the kitchen garden.

John, that rascal, was sitting in the window. He laughed out loud as he waved to them.


******************

Hugh's proposal was swift in coming. Within days, he'd shipped a fax machine, several computers, and a modem to Lindsey House, telling all who would listen that he wanted to spend a little more time with his grandfather.