hand to the sun to stare at it. “Whatever in the world is this?”
His lips press to a thin line. “It is what is loosely referred to as a cramp ring .”
A flicker of memory as my mind recalls my governess, proper Miss Potts, and her scoffing derision over this very issue during a history lesson.
“From the 14th century? Was not their power to have been borne of a King’s blessing upon a ring? Mr. LeFroy, you surprise me. I would not take you for a superstitious man?”
He slides the band around my finger in a circle and the heat intensifies and the throb in my finger… quiets . I blink repeatedly and I shiver.
“That is not possible.” I flex my hand open and closed. Not a pinch of pain.
“The power was not from the King’s blessing. That portion was indeed a wives’ tale. There were a finite number of rings forged, with specific metallurgical properties—”
My eyebrows bunch and he amends, “Specific metals. Used for centuries in healing. Once known only to the Pharaohs.”
“And this ,is one such ring?” I stare at it with equal reverence and horror.
He nods gruffly. “Cannot have that precious cello-hand lame, now can we?”
My finger is noticeably less swollen. Mother was right about one fact, Charleston is special. Will the wonders of this place never cease?
“Where would one acquire such a ring?”
He ignores my question, his eyes scrutinizing my hair. “I see you used the Henna.”
“Yes.” I playfully turned my head right and left, wiggling my eyebrows, letting him admire my handiwork. “Better?”
He shakes his head. “No. I expect your true color is magnificent. I would very much like to see it someday.” His finger boldly strays to the dark ringlet of my wig, to ease it behind my shoulder.
My breath catches and I remind myself to breathe.
“Perhaps. Perhaps we might trade secrets.”
And you could tell me about those animals, about that island. About your Samson-like strength.
His eyes narrow and his expression turns as black as the storms he chases. He gives me a stiff tip of his hat. “Good day, Miss Teagarden.”
Without thinking, I clutch his arm. “ Allegra . Call me Allegra. And please don’t go. I’m—I’m sorry. You can keep your secrets.”
He pauses, turning back. His mouth tightens and his words slip out through gritted teeth, “I. Don’t want to. I have to.”
The sadness in his eyes cuts to my core. It is as deep and fathomless as the water’s where we both search for answers.
He strides from the bridge into the cover of the giant Oak tree.
I follow, pleading, “Please, Brighton, don’t go. Not yet.”
He halts and spins back and leans in—so close and so quick, his breath caresses my cheek.
The slight tremor in his voice betrays his emotion. “I would love nothing better to confide my secrets. To unload this heavy burden that weighs down my very soul. But…that would be best for me . Not you. There is safety in ignorance, Allegra.”
The cry of the animals fills my head . Could he be capable of such cruelty? But the rabbit stood up, in the end.
I stare at him. The stark tenderness in his voice; such sincerity could not be feigned. Could it?
He turns to leave, mistaking my far-away expression for a dismissal—but I slip my arm through his, securing it tightly. “Walk me to my rehearsal?”
He laughs nervously, staring at our linked arms, but his eyes concede. “Fine. No harm in that, I suppose.”
We stroll past the white swans and the workers scuttling back and forth, repairing various rides.
“Where have you been, Mr. LeFroy? You swept in, sketched me pretty pictures, inspired a symphony, left me breathless with a chute ride and disappeared. Why, I felt like a common strumpet.”
His face colors and he laughs loudly. His eyes dance as he regards me once again. “Oh, you, Miss Teagarden, are a truly dangerous creature.”
“Dangerous enough to handle the likes of you.”
My heart beats so fast I fight the swoon. I bite my
His lips press to a thin line. “It is what is loosely referred to as a cramp ring .”
A flicker of memory as my mind recalls my governess, proper Miss Potts, and her scoffing derision over this very issue during a history lesson.
“From the 14th century? Was not their power to have been borne of a King’s blessing upon a ring? Mr. LeFroy, you surprise me. I would not take you for a superstitious man?”
He slides the band around my finger in a circle and the heat intensifies and the throb in my finger… quiets . I blink repeatedly and I shiver.
“That is not possible.” I flex my hand open and closed. Not a pinch of pain.
“The power was not from the King’s blessing. That portion was indeed a wives’ tale. There were a finite number of rings forged, with specific metallurgical properties—”
My eyebrows bunch and he amends, “Specific metals. Used for centuries in healing. Once known only to the Pharaohs.”
“And this ,is one such ring?” I stare at it with equal reverence and horror.
He nods gruffly. “Cannot have that precious cello-hand lame, now can we?”
My finger is noticeably less swollen. Mother was right about one fact, Charleston is special. Will the wonders of this place never cease?
“Where would one acquire such a ring?”
He ignores my question, his eyes scrutinizing my hair. “I see you used the Henna.”
“Yes.” I playfully turned my head right and left, wiggling my eyebrows, letting him admire my handiwork. “Better?”
He shakes his head. “No. I expect your true color is magnificent. I would very much like to see it someday.” His finger boldly strays to the dark ringlet of my wig, to ease it behind my shoulder.
My breath catches and I remind myself to breathe.
“Perhaps. Perhaps we might trade secrets.”
And you could tell me about those animals, about that island. About your Samson-like strength.
His eyes narrow and his expression turns as black as the storms he chases. He gives me a stiff tip of his hat. “Good day, Miss Teagarden.”
Without thinking, I clutch his arm. “ Allegra . Call me Allegra. And please don’t go. I’m—I’m sorry. You can keep your secrets.”
He pauses, turning back. His mouth tightens and his words slip out through gritted teeth, “I. Don’t want to. I have to.”
The sadness in his eyes cuts to my core. It is as deep and fathomless as the water’s where we both search for answers.
He strides from the bridge into the cover of the giant Oak tree.
I follow, pleading, “Please, Brighton, don’t go. Not yet.”
He halts and spins back and leans in—so close and so quick, his breath caresses my cheek.
The slight tremor in his voice betrays his emotion. “I would love nothing better to confide my secrets. To unload this heavy burden that weighs down my very soul. But…that would be best for me . Not you. There is safety in ignorance, Allegra.”
The cry of the animals fills my head . Could he be capable of such cruelty? But the rabbit stood up, in the end.
I stare at him. The stark tenderness in his voice; such sincerity could not be feigned. Could it?
He turns to leave, mistaking my far-away expression for a dismissal—but I slip my arm through his, securing it tightly. “Walk me to my rehearsal?”
He laughs nervously, staring at our linked arms, but his eyes concede. “Fine. No harm in that, I suppose.”
We stroll past the white swans and the workers scuttling back and forth, repairing various rides.
“Where have you been, Mr. LeFroy? You swept in, sketched me pretty pictures, inspired a symphony, left me breathless with a chute ride and disappeared. Why, I felt like a common strumpet.”
His face colors and he laughs loudly. His eyes dance as he regards me once again. “Oh, you, Miss Teagarden, are a truly dangerous creature.”
“Dangerous enough to handle the likes of you.”
My heart beats so fast I fight the swoon. I bite my
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