PARANORMAL ROMANCE: Shapeshifter Romance: The Vampire's Stolen Bride (BBW Fantasy Alpha Male Romance Books) (New Adult Vampire Fun Mature Young Adult Billionaire Steamy Love and Romance Novella) (59 page)
Authors: Sophia Hunter
Epilogue
Their wedding was stressful, but after Catharine and James exchanged vows in the town’s largest church, the rest of the day went perfectly. They invited all of their guests back to her father’s mansion, and it was there that her father’s chefs cooked and served succulent meals and a delicious white cake to them. Now this—the mansion full of her family and James’s family, eating and laughing together—this felt like a holy unification. More than that, it felt like home.
Sitting next to her husband at the dining table, Catharine Warner took one last bite of her cake. The various sweet flavors danced over her tongue, and she smiled with contentedness. When she turned to James, she caught him watching her.
“You look beautiful, darling,” he said.
Daring—full of love and delicious cake—she leaned over and kissed his cheek. While she was peripherally aware of the relatives sitting around them, she felt more in tuned to James than to anything or anyone else.
“Mr. and Mrs. Warner,” John greeted, a beautiful young woman following him. They walked up and stood beside where James sat. “I just wanted to say congratulations to the two of you in person. You both deserve happiness.”
Catharine smiled. “Thank you, John.” She turned her attention to the woman, who wrapped her arm around John’s arm. “And who is this?”
John tilted his head toward the woman. “This is my lovely companion, Nancy Brown.”
“Nancy,” James said with recognition. He nodded toward her. “It’s nice to meet you. John has told me a lot about you.”
Nancy blushed and smiled. “Good things, I hope.”
“Of course.”
Catharine watched Nancy curiously. Catharine and John weren’t particularly close, but she was still surprised that she hadn’t known her brother had been courting anyone. And yet James knew?
“Well, he has always been a kind, considerate gentleman,” Nancy continued, giving John a look of adoration. “On our first outing, he bought me diamond jewelry, and on our second one, he bought me a few gowns with an emerald. He is really a dear.”
“Really?” Catharine blurted, eyeing John suspiciously. “Father approved of these purchases?”
“Obviously, sister,” John said, narrowing his gaze while keeping a smile on his face. “But I don’t need father’s approval to spend my own money on gifts for a perfect woman. It’s my money. Obviously.”
Nancy’s blush deepened, and she giggled and glanced away.
Catharine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Though she was curious, she wasn’t fully invested in John’s mischief, nor his love life. She nodded politely and was ready for her brother and his date to walk away.
“Well,” John said, “I told Nancy I would show her the garden, so I bid you both farewell.”
James’s hand shot out and grabbed John’s arm before her brother could step away. “It was you,” James whispered venomously.
Catharine furrowed her brow, worry and bafflement jittering through her. She placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “James, what’s wrong?”
James was breathing heavily, his eyes glued on John. “He stole the money from our charity.”
It took Catharine a few seconds to comprehend what he was saying. She hadn’t thought about that incident in months, and for him to randomly accuse her brother seemed strange. But then she looked at John, and his expression of guilt confirmed that the accusation was accurate.
Catharine felt guilt churn within herself, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, John. How could you?” And how could she have blamed James? He had been so distraught that day. The memory of it made her cringe, self-loathing choking her a bit.
“Ow,” John said, regaining Catharine’s attention.
James was gripping John’s arm so tightly that he was forcing John to bend forward toward him. Nancy had taken a couple steps back, and she clutched her hands together over her heart.
“I almost lost her because of you,” James snarled at her brother. “I could kill you.”
John’s eyes bulged, but despite his obvious fear, he was still smiling politely. “James, brother-in-law, we are in public.”
“James,” Catharine whispered, reaching over and grabbing James’s other arm. “Darling, we are alright. Let’s not make a scene.”
“He—” James swallowed, lowering his head and turning toward her. He was still radiating anger, but he seemed a little more controlled now. “He stole from us. He made you doubt me.” A shuddering breath passed his lips. “He almost ruined my life.”
Catharine moved a little closer to him and pressed her forehead against his temple. She breathed him in, the scent calming her. “My love, I was partially responsible for that, too.”
“No, you—”
“I forgave you for past mistakes,” she said gently. “And you forgave me for wrongfully accusing you. Nothing good comes from vengeance and grudges, and I only want good things associated with our family.” She pressed her lips against his cheek again. “Please, forgive him and let it go. You have me, always. It worked out.”
James sighed, the tension in his shoulders going lax. After a few seconds, he slowly nodded. “Alright.” He let go of John and kept his attention on her. “I love you, too.”
Catharine smiled.
“I,” John said, voice oddly quiet. “I am sorry.”
James turned to him. And the look he gave John must have been frightening, for John jolted in place before taking Nancy’s arm and hurrying out of there.
“I’ll forgive him later,” James said, smirking at her.
Catharine smirked back. “Fair enough.”
THE END
Chapter 1
1863, Manchester
“Have a safe trip,” Marge said to her new husband as he walked down the front steps and headed for the carriage.
Merriweather hadn’t even glanced back at her, but to be fair, he had already said his farewells to her. Perhaps saying “farewell” more than once was inefficient and improper, especially for the Duke of Manchester.
A little embarrassed, Marge turned and hurried back inside the mansion before the carriage even left. She unintentionally slammed the door shut as she reentered her new home, and the abrasive sound made her flinch. “Apologies,” she said to the group of people before her.
They all stand in front of the large staircase that led to the second and third stories of this magnificent home. They were all immediate relatives of Merriweather—his brothers, his sisters, and his elderly mother. They, too, had just said their farewells to the duke, and now they were just standing around.
Marge swallowed as she glanced over her new family. They were an attractive-looking group, but sometimes their stares seemed too vacant for beings that were supposedly…well, alive. They were also much, much skinnier than she was, though perhaps that wasn’t saying much.
Self-conscious about herself all of sudden, Marge blushed. She continued to stare at the people before her, but she could not gage any reaction out of them—if they were judging her, or if they were trying to be welcoming, Marge didn’t know. Merriweather had told her it was proper to be indiscreet and indifferent, unless it was improper to be such. To this day, she still didn’t quite understand this kind of etiquette, but who was she to question such an important man?
“Does he have many trips?” Marge finally asked the family. She had spoken simply because she needed the awkwardness to end, but she regretted the words that had come bursting from her lips.
“He’s the duke,” Susan, the youngest sister, said. She narrowed her gaze at Marge. “Of course he has many trips. Were you truly unaware of this?”
Marge clamped her mouth shut. She waited for a moment in hopes that someone would come to her defense, but no one did. She thought about admitting that it was a foolish question to ask, but then she realized that would make her seem weak. Her indecision and discomfort made her temples throb painfully.
Sighing, Marge gave up and walked out of the entryway. “I’m going to go read.”
“You don’t need to announce your plans for the day,” her mother-in-law droned.
Marge’s lips twitched downward, but she didn’t slow as she made her way to the library. Homesickness weighed heavily upon her torso. She loved her own family very much, and it had been a couple of weeks since she had seen them. The letters that were sent back and forth moved too slowly for Marge’s liking, and they felt too silent. She wanted to hug her mother and speak with her father again. Paper and pens could only do so much.
She smirked bitterly at this thought as she entered the library. It held countless numbers of books—mostly biographies and works of that nature, but there was a small section of fiction novels, as well. She strode over to it—walking down a few aisles before she reached the shorter shelves of novels. Then she randomly plucked one of these books before turning around and heading for the exit.
As big as this mansion was, she had felt trapped in it for too long now. She needed fresh air just as much as she needed an escape from this drudgery.
Marge did her best to avoid people—her family and the servants alike—as she made her way through the mansion and to the backdoors. Once she was outside, she sighed with relief. The air was scented with flowers and grass, and it seemed to soothe her lungs as she breathed it all in.
The mansion was on several acres of private land, and every little centimeter of that land seemed to be manicured in some fashion. All of the bushes were trimmed into specific shapes, the flowers were presented in an orderly fashion, and even the trees were cut and shaped in a specific way.
Marge walked away from the mansion. Holding the book with both of her hands, she wandered down a cobblestone pathway—the one that led to the garden. This particular garden had been started by Merriweather’s great grandmother, and ever since, the family had had gardeners and such care for it. Marge had only been in it once before, and she decided it might be nice to see it again. Perhaps it could be her own special place amidst this new home of hers.
The more she traveled down the path, the more distinct a particular sound became…music? She craned her neck forward a bit as she walked. Yes, she could hear violin music. It was a lovely tune—melodic, calming. Intrigued, Marge moved a bit faster. When she reached the small gate to the garden, she quietly opened it in hopes she wouldn’t spook the violinist.
She practically tiptoed into the massive garden, tall bushes hiding herself from the violinist—or perhaps, hiding him from her.
Eventually, she found the man. He was standing with his back toward her, his front facing several rose bushes. Though he was several meters away from the large oak tree, its shade still slashed over his broad, muscular form.
Awed, Marge stared at him. He played the violin beautifully—moving his body, swaying with the wonderful music. The sight itself was mesmerizing. Marge couldn’t remember a time she had witnessed anything quite like this before. She dared to think of it as magical.
Before she even realized what she was doing, she was walking toward the violinist. Her grip on the book had gone fairly listless, and she jolted when she nearly let the book slip out of her hands. As she was gathering her wits—silently asking herself what she thought she was doing, approaching a stranger—when that very stranger turned, still swaying to his music. His gaze immediately snapped to her, and the music ended in one abrupt note as he lowered the violin and its bow to his sides.
“Pardon me,” Marge blurted, her face heating up. “I hadn’t meant to disrupt you.”
The man’s eyes widened, amusement glinting within them. “Disrupt me? Milady, you are too kind for this world. I would have thought you would have been disturbed to find a strange man in the duke’s garden.”
Weariness settled in her gut. It must have shown on her face, as well, for the man chuckled.
“I’m his neighbor,” he said, waving his bow out. “I assure you, I mean no harm. I just feel so inspired by this garden.” He glanced over his shoulder at the roses. “It is truly remarkable, how old and how beautiful it is. I feel more at peace here than I do in my own home.”
Marge smiled at him, her shoulders losing their tension. “I understand that. This is a peaceful place.” She raised her book. “I came here to read, myself.”
He beamed at her. “Ah, a woman who can read. How delightful and refreshing. What kind of books do you enjoy?”
“Romances.”
“A romantic, are you?”
Marge blushed and bit her lip. “No, not really. I just enjoy the stories.”
“Who wouldn’t?” He walked toward her, his eyelids lowering as he observed her. “Though I must say, I’m a little surprise. The rare times I have come across the duke’s sisters, they didn’t seem all that interested in works of fiction. Or any written works, really.”
Marge nearly laughed, but managed to restrain, herself. “I’m not the duke’s sister.”
The man cocked an eyebrow, a playful smile spreading his lips. “Oh? Are you an intruder?”
“No. You’re still the intruder, I’m afraid.” She giggled, laughing harder when the man joined her. “No, I’m the duke’s new wife, Marge.” She winced. “Um, Lady Patterson.”
The man’s eyes widened, his smile staying stubbornly in place. “Ah, yes, I heard he had a wedding some time ago. I should have realized sooner.” He bowed, the hand gripping the bow swinging around his torso. “My name is Victor Williams. My father owns many of the factories in Manchester, and I plan to inherit them soon.”
She curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Williams. I must say that you are awfully talented with that violin.”
He straightened, a bashful expression coming over his face. “I’ve played since I was a child. It is my true joy in this world. But I don’t think I’m quite good enough to make a wealthy living from it.”
“I doubt that’s true. I think you were amazing, just now.”
His smile widened, his cheeks reddening. “You are too kind—much too kind for this world.”
An awkward silence began to descend upon them, so Marge cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll let you get back to performing for the rose bushes. I’ll find a comfortable spot to read.” She turned and walked away, only to be startled when Victor ran up to walk beside her. A surprise laugh erupted out of her throat. “Goodness! Hello, again.”
“Hello,” he said cheekily. “Have you been in this garden before?”
“Only once.”
“Well, then what kind of man would I be if I didn’t give such a kind, special lady a tour?”
“Technically, this is more my garden than it is yours.”
“True, but I am more familiar with it, nonetheless.”
Humor bubbled within her. “Alright then. I am excited for this tour.”
He smirked at her, and a warm sensation bloomed within her belly. She didn’t think anything of it as she spent the rest of the afternoon with Victor.