Echoes of Angels

Julienne leaned forward until she was practically sitting on the edge of the car seat. Head turned to the outside, she craned her neck to take in as much of the view as the limited confines of the Rolls allowed. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, fingers laced. Her knuckles showed white with the great stress she was levering on herself. Her stomach was tied in a thousand knots, her emotions doubly so.

"I know I've been here before," she murmured in a reverent voice. "I wish I remembered it." Despite the absence of familiarity, this place proved she indeed had a viable past.

Her inquisitive gaze searched the enchanting view. Inside the boundary of a six-foot stone fence, elegant beauty surrounded a whitewashed, three-tiered manor. It nestled like a jewel amidst the splendor of sculpted gardens where an amazing variety of plants grew in lush abundance. Bluegrass stretched as far as the eye could see. The late flowers of summer were still in bloom, their delicate colors not yet yielding to the coming fall. Colorful petals quivered gently in the scented breeze rustling the long limbs of weeping willows scattered among magnolia trees and towering majestic old oaks.

The heart of the plantation, the manor, stood like a fortress, a proud memorial of a South that had been humbled but refused to be broken. The manor evoked the spirit of the splendid antebellum era that had flourished over one hundred and fifty years ago. The ample dwelling had been founded on some of the richest earth in the state, which was one of the original thirteen in the Union, soil which in bygone days produced bountiful crops of cotton and tobacco. In the last seventy years, the farmland had not been cultivated. Wrought iron fences led to the grounds at the back; outside them, trees and blackberry brambles mingled with wild ivy that threatened to smother everything it wound its choking stems around. Blackthorne Manor was truly isolated, gradually succumbing to the wilderness that wanted it back.

"What do you think?" His compelling words prompted her to look into his steely eyes.

"It's beautiful." Her words seemed inadequate to fully express her feelings.

Saint-Evanston leaned back against the leather seat, observing her reaction. His disposition had mellowed since he left the city, but not enough to allow an easy familiarity to develop. Unfazed by the grandeur he had seen time and time again, he wore imperturbable stoicism like an elegantly tailored garment.

Julienne used his retreat into silence to examine her impressions of the man thus far. It seemed to her that he was taking great care to remain aloof and detached. Moreover, he couldn't quite conceal the fact that he was ambiguous about welcoming her element into Blackthorne's fabric. She wondered why he'd even bothered contacting her. Was it because he harbored a deep guilt about the past? Perhaps a past he could not let go of until he'd made amends with Cassandra's daughter?

To better take in the sights outside, she lowered the tinted window. He shot her a glance of disapproval as the day's brilliance flooded the dim interior. He lifted a hand to visor his eyes and frowned, indicating the open window with a wave of his hand.

"Please, caile, the sun irritates me."

Julienne gave him a questioning look. She'd noticed he had an aversion to the daylight when they'd exited the airport. Given his pale complexion, it was clear that he did not spend his days out-of-doors. Perhaps he was allergic to the elements, or had vision trouble. She closed the window, asking, "How many years has the Blackthorn family lived here?"

He lowered the hand shading his eyes. "Over two centuries, since the bloodline emigrated from Hibernia."

Julienne's forehead wrinkled over the unfamiliar word. "Hibernia?"

"What the Romans called Ireland," he replied. "Look at your flame-red hair and green eyes. You hail from good Irish stock."

Julienne smiled, pleased by his offhand compliment. She felt the ice between them thawing a bit. He was slowly exhibiting some acceptance of her without flinging a verbal barb immediately after.

"I want to know more about my family." A wistful tone colored her words. "What an incredible history this place must have."