SNEAK PEEK AT
GARDEN OF SHADOWS
Danger lurks in the Garden of Shadows for Julia Marsden, the daughter of the late vicar of St. Lodore’s in the quiet village of Borrowdale. Julia doesn’t believe in faeries or magic or dreams coming true, but odd things have been happening at the vicarage lately that cannot be explained. As Julia begins to fall under the spell of the powerful faerie king Cadeyrn, she realizes that only her love for Douglas Hawke, the Earl of Eastbourne, a man she considers an enemy, can save her. Is Douglas capable of loving Julia, even at the cost of his own life?
Chapter One
Lake District
Borrowdale, England
October 1816
Douglas Hawke, sixth Earl of Eastbourne, reined his mount at the crest of a gently rolling hill and peered into the distance to survey the quiet village of Borrowdale. The tiny enclave of golden thatched roofs and white stone walls blended serenely with the dark fells and high crags soaring above it, creating the illusion of a place lost in time, hidden from the outside world for the past six hundred years. “At last,” he said softly, turning to his companion. “We’ll steal the boy tonight.”
“Tonight?” Homer Barrow, the Bow Street runner he’d retained to search for his lost nephew, cast him an uncertain glance. “Ain’t that a bit quick, m’lord?”
“Miss Marsden had to know this day would come. As did you when you accepted the assignment, Mr. Barrow. Having second thoughts?”
Homer, reputed to be one of the finest runners in London, wiggled his bulbous red nose and grumbled. “No, but I gained her trust. We became friendly, she and I.”
That Homer had developed a soft spot for the Marsden girl was of some concern to Douglas, but the old man wasn’t needed to complete the hardest and most unpleasant part of the task, which Douglas knew could only fall to himself. “You’ve done your job and shall receive a hefty fee. You’ve earned it and I have no intention of cheating you out of it.”
“Fat fee or no, I won’t let ye harm the girl.” Homer jerked the reins of his horse as he clenched a beefy fist. “I could never look Mrs. Barrow in the eye if I came home with blood on m’hands. So I’m warning you, m’lord. That knife of yours had better remain in yer fancy black boot, or—”
“What? I might find it stuck between my ribs?”
“Never, m’lord,” Homer said with a contrite shake of his head that caused his jowls to wobble. “I expect you’re a reasonable man, but these delicate situations have a way of gettin’ out of hand right quick. I wouldn’t like to see anyone hurt.”
“Nor would I,” Douglas said, arching an eyebrow. Though Homer showed all the physical signs of age, for his hair was gray, his girth expansive, step slow and lumbering, Douglas knew Homer had lost none of his sharp deductive abilities. He was the perfect man to find the elusive Julia Marsden … and of course, the boy. For that reason, he indulged the mild outburst.
Over the course of their weeks together, he had grown accustomed to the Bow Street runner’s lack of diplomacy, in truth preferring his bluntness to the feigned admiration so often encountered by one in his position. “My nephew shall be rescued unharmed. As for the Marsden girl, what happens to her shall depend entirely on her actions. Now,” Douglas said, signaling the end of their dispute, “tell me more about her.”
Homer hesitated a moment before responding. “As I said in my report, she lives just outside of town, in the shadow of the mountain. Her father was vicar here until his death several years ago.”
“And you’re certain she still resides at the vicarage?”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Douglas shook his head. “A cozy arrangement with the new vicar, no doubt.”
“She lives there alone with the boy,” Homer replied with a frown. “The vicarage is little more than a cottage standing beside the more imposing St. Lodore’s Church. We’ll reach it by following the river out of town, then up a steep, wooded path. The route is quite treacherous when wet, particularly at this time of year when the leaves change color and begin to fall. ’Tis easy to slip and break one’s neck.”
Douglas sighed. “Mr. Barrow, you’re lecturing me again. Now, you’ve said in your report that she comes to market every Wednesday.”
“Aye, m’lord. She arrives around midday, punctual and precise. Rain or shine.”
Douglas gazed into the distance, noting the menacing red storm clouds that towered above the imposing crags. An odd, disquieting color. Those clouds would soon sweep into the valley on the quickening October wind. He drew his cloak about his shoulders as the sun, gleaming only moments ago, suddenly disappeared behind one of those gathering clouds. “Looks like rain today. Never seen such an ominous sky.”
“Aye, strange things go on in these parts,” Homer muttered, and then appeared to shrug it off. “We’ll have a downpour within the hour, for sure. But never you mind about ruining ’em fancy boots and fine clothes. If the skies open up, I’ll go to Julia and the boy on your behalf while you stay dry at the Ashness Inn. ’Tis an old place, been around since the days of Druids and pagan magic, but sturdy enough and the rooms are comfortable. I’ve secured the best they have, but in my name so as not to warn anyone of your arrival.”
“Julia, is it? You’ve become quite good friends… a fact you neglected to mention in your report.”
Homer’s face reddened. “You paid me to find ’er for you, m’lord, and I did. But she’s a decent sort, no matter what rot you hear from them’s that have never met ’er, and that’s just what I’ll say if I’m called to testify. No, Homer Barrow’s opinion cannot be swayed by coin and—”
“Enough, Mr. Barrow,” Douglas said with a light groan, surprised that the old man could be so easily swayed by a shy smile and a pretty face.
Eager to be on his way, Douglas spurred his mount down the hill and across a small meadow that ended at the bank of a gently rushing river that appeared little more than a small stream. He paused beside the river to wait for his slower companion, biding his time by watching icy swirls form over rocks lodged in the water’s path.
The swirls glistened like blue crystals, beautiful but cold … indeed, they almost seemed to be staring back at him like ice-blue eyes.
He dismissed the notion. Were his heart not so cold, were the betrayals by his loved ones not so deep, Douglas might have appreciated the beauty of his surroundings. But he had been betrayed, the boy hidden from him all these years, and someone had to pay.
He’d start with Julia Marsden.
END