Chapter Six

October 23, 1850

E dythe sat at the breakfast table, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her teacup. The events of last evening played over in her mind like a cherished melody. James's proposal shattered the doubt cast by her cousin Prudence. Spinster. Her life confined to the shadows of other people's happiness. Yet, here she sat with the promise of love and companionship from… She closed her eyes and imagined James and when he reached out from the train to help her aboard.

She glanced out the window, the morning sun warming the garden. A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the sincerity in his eyes. Could this really be happening? Her heart fluttered with excitement, joy, and a healthy measure of disbelief. Prudence's words were forgotten, replaced by the exhilarating realization of a future with James.

She raised her cup and sipped her morning tea. With James by her side, she knew that anything was possible. She set her teacup down, her smile widening as she imagined their journey. This is just the beginning . Her heart swelled with anticipation. But even as hope blossomed, a shadow lingered. In the back of her mind, Alistair and Isabelle's story kept ringing in her ear. Like Alistair, James was a peer of the realm, and she is simply a distant Cavendish relationship. He disagreed with her, but what else would he say? However, one of them had to be realistic.

"The morning post, Miss Cavendish." Mr. Hawthorne placed the salver with the letter next to her.

Edythe examined the post but didn't recognize the script. She opened the letter and saw the Northumberland crest. Would her plight be the same as Isabelle's?

"Good morning, Sweeting." James breezed into the room, planted a kiss on her forehead, and took a seat next to her. "Oh, dear. What is it? You look ill. I'll call Mrs. MacTavish." He began to stand.

"No," she said, showing him the letter. "I haven't read it."

"Well, how do you like that?" He smiled and said nothing further.

She looked at him as if he were crazy, or perhaps she was.

He gazed at her, his smile slipping. He took the letter from her, unfolded the message, and read it to her.

"Dearest Edythe, My mother writes, May the joy of your union with my James be as bountiful as the spring's bloom. We await with open hearts to welcome you into our family. Congratulations."

The letter was more than mere words—it was a bridge across the chasm of her fears.

"I discussed my feelings for you while I was in Scotland. My mother is very eager to host you and present you and me in court for a royal blessing. She wanted me to assure you that she understands your concerns. After all, she herself was not titled but the daughter of a military officer. She knows what it means to be welcomed into a titled family.

Had the stars themselves aligned in their favor? Edythe stared at James as he went on, and she loved him more.

"The king's blessing is a rare honor," James said, his eyes alight with the significance of the gesture. "It signifies not only acceptance but celebration of our union."

Edythe's heart swelled with joy and love. The support of James's family and the potential nod from royalty were not just symbols of acceptance but affirmations of her place beside James. Their love, once a quiet melody, was now ready to be orchestrated into a grand opus. She sat back and, for a moment felt as if Cavendish Hall itself let out a sigh of relief, a brief respite from the storm.

*

Yet, as the days passed, an undercurrent of tension began to permeate the manor. Two days later, Edythe and James were confronted with a tangible shift in the atmosphere. The hall, once a sanctuary of their budding love, now echoed with the stirrings of Alistair's displeasure. Objects moved mysteriously, and cold drafts haunted the once-warm rooms, a chilling reminder that their struggles with the supernatural were far from over.

As they combed through Alistair's sketchbook, they stumbled upon a hidden inscription. It was a message from Alistair, etched into the leather cover: " By the witching hour on All Saints' Eve, the curse must be reversed, or forever hold its peace. "

"That leaves us only eight days to solve the mystery and reverse the curse." Edythe frantically gazed at James.

"We will succeed," James insisted. "We haven't come this far to fail without a fight. There was another journal in the library dated 1746. We'll read that one next."

In the quiet hum of the following afternoon, Edythe overheard Elspeth's hushed tones sharing a tale with Mrs. MacTavish. "The Sommer Chronicle has quite the story today," Elspeth murmured, a note of skepticism in her voice. "They've interviewed Madame Sibylla, a clairvoyant who claims to see beyond the veil. She's visiting Sommer-by-the-Sea, they say."

Edythe, her curiosity piqued, paused unseen in the shadow of the doorway. She said nothing and made no judgment. In her mind, anything was possible, especially after dancing with a ghost. Could Madame hold the key to unraveling the curse binding Cavendish Hall? The thought lingered and refused to be silent.

As she walked away, her mind was awhirl with questions and speculations about the future. The ticking of the drawing room clock echoed the urgency of their plight, and Edythe knew conventional methods had yielded little.

"Perhaps it was time to seek answers from extraordinary sources. Perhaps, Madame Sibylla's visit to Sommer-by-the-Sea was fated."

"I read the article in the Sommer Chronicle, Edythe. The woman is a fake. She was run out of London," James implored at twilight, his voice edged with irritation and skepticism. "These charlatans prey on fear. I can't stand by and watch you be deceived."

Edythe's resolve was unmistakeable, her spirit unyielding. "James, I am not seeking a savior. I am seeking answers. If there's a chance this woman can help with our plight, I must take it."

"I forbid it," he declared.

The words were foreign to his ears even though she was aware they were driven by a visceral need to protect her. He was immovable, his belief in logic and reason clashed with her willingness to explore the unknown.

"Forbid me? I am not a child," Edythe countered, her eyes ablaze with the strength of conviction. "I am the mistress of this hall, and I will not cower in the shadows wringing my hands while our future hangs in the balance."

Their argument crescendoed, the discord threatening to shatter the harmony they had built. Accusations flew, defenses rose, and in the aftermath, a chasm of silence stretched between them.

Edythe retreated to the gardens, the mournful tune of Alistair's music box echoing in her head. She wandered to the back of the garden, a place Cooper hadn't attended to yet. There, amidst the roses, she discovered a barren patch of earth. At once, Alistair's words whispered through her mind. Is this the place where his love was lost and the curse born? It must be.

Kneeling, she touched the lifeless soil. "I will find the remedy and make this right. I promise."

She returned to the hall and found James waiting, his posture one of reluctant acceptance. "Despite our differences, my promise remains. We will face this curse together, and once the curse is lifted, we will decide if we part ways, but not before." His mood eased as did his tone. "I will not abandon you."

Edythe acknowledged his words with a simple nod, her expression somber. "Lift the curse? We have two days."

"We don't give up to the end."

He merely wanted to meet his goal. Nothing more. Did her love her, or were his feelings wrapped up in the curse? "No, we won't give up. I'll see you in the morning." Edythe retreated to her room. The day's events weighed on her, both their challenge and the strain on their relationship.

As she lay in bed, Edythe couldn't escape the uncertainty. Together they would confront the curse and the witching hour, bound by a promise to a ghost and each other. Beyond that, nothing was certain—nothing but their heart's song that played on.

Her dinner tray remained untouched in her sitting room. As night fell, Edythe sat in her room and drifted off to sleep. Once again, the soft melody played in the distance. The song called out to her. In her dreams, she danced once more with Alistair, far more smug than ever. "You should have heeded my warning," he whispered with a hollow finality. Tears filled her eyes at the reality of his words.

Edythe awoke with a start, the echo of the music still ringing in her ears. Clutched in her hand was a tear-stained handkerchief bearing the crest of Cavendish. Alistair's message was clear.