Revenge of the Barbary Ghost by Donna Lea Simpson

Author:Donna Lea Simpson [Simpson, Donna Lea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Supernatural, Werewolves & Shifters, Women Sleuths, Romance, Historical, Historical Romance, Mystery & Suspense, Lady Julia Grey, paranormal romance, Lady Anne, Gothic, Historical mystery, British mystery
Amazon: B006X1FTCY
Publisher: Beyond the Page Publishing
Published: 2012-01-11T16:00:00+00:00

Twelve

The evening and night were long and grim, and Anne slept but little. Every time she drifted into slumber, a nightmare of poor Marcus’s dead face rose in her bewildered mind, and she awoke crying out. Several times she crept down the hall to huddle in the dark outside of Pamela’s door, and heard her friend weeping within. She would then tiptoe down the hall to Marcus’s room, where local women, expert in such things, had prepared his body and sat with him. Though Anne did not believe he was there with his corporeal remains—she felt that his soul was long gone to wherever souls went—still, she was relieved he was not alone. She had already guaranteed the local undertaker that she would pay for everything concerning St. James’s funeral.

She lingered outside his room for a moment, then tried to return to her own bed, only to be beset by horrors and trembling. Though never overly religious, she even spent part of the night praying. Out of sheer desperation she finally wound the blankets tightly around her, imagining them as Darkefell’s arms, and drifted into an uneasy asleep.

Strength returned to her the next morning, but her imaginary night in the marquess’s arms left her bemused, for what did it say about her, that she had resorted to such feminine weakness as to imagine his embrace as an aid to sleep? She blushed whenever she thought of it, and it left her faintly disturbed and oddly yearning for him: his voice, his touch, his kiss.

However, that was the subject for another day’s reflection. She spent part of the morning doing such tasks as needed to be done, as much as could be taken from Pamela to allow her some serenity, then spent an hour at Marcus’s side, thinking and praying. She would liberally reward the women who had looked after him, because he now looked serene and sleeping, a miracle after what his poor body had been through. He had been a good, if imperfect, man, and would be sorely missed, especially by Pamela.

But it was finally time to prepare for the mysterious journey Pamela was set on, and Anne sat patiently petting Irusan, while Mary styled her stubborn hair. Her dark tresses, though silken in texture most of the time, only required the addition of briny breezes to transform into a sea creature of mythological proportions. Mary entered a pitched battle armed with comb and pins, and with ferocious determination, she inevitably emerged triumphant, having subdued the beast.

Anne’s hair resembled mortal locks once more. “What slaves we ladies are to fashion,” she said, turning her head and gazing at herself in the mirror, “when even a plain woman will take so much trouble over her appearance. I’ll never be a handsome woman, but you make me tolerable.”

“Handsome is that handsome does,” Mary said, finally able to speak now that she was freed of the pins she held in her mouth while styling her mistress’s hair. She pushed the last one into place and stood back, giving a nod of satisfaction.

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