“Be well, be happy.”
The two of them began to fade.
“Goodbye Grandmother. Thank you.” Wesley responded, his voice heavy with emotion.
“Teach him love and to look beyond,” she reminded them and then both Her Grace and Uncle Jonathan were gone.
“She’s left me,” Wesley said after a moment.
As much as it broke Miranda’s heart, she understood that it was time. The two were together now, as they always wished to be.
“She’s happier as well,” he finally said.
Wesley pulled Miranda into his arms. “I promise now, that if my time comes before you, that I will haunt you as Uncle Jonathan haunted my grandmother.”
“I will do the same.” She looked up into his eyes. “However, I do plan on living a long life with you by my side, equally alive.”
“And we’ll tell our children of the ghost who lingered because love does transcend life, as will ours.”
Historical Romances by Jane Charles
The Tenacious Trents
Compromised for Christmas
A Misguided Lord
A Perfect Gentleman
A Lass for Christmas
A Reluctant Rake
Lady Revealed
Lady Disguised
Lady Concealed
A Tenacious Trents Wedding
Lady Admired
Tenacious Trent Connected Novellas
Landing a Laird
Devil in Her Dreams
Heart to a Scot
Courting the Scot
Kissing the Lass
Once Upon a Midnight Masquerade
Mistletoe, Whisky and a Rogue (coming soon)
The Other Trents
The Forgotten Marquess
The Spirited Storms
Christmas Spirits
Weathering Captain Storm
Ruined by a Lady
A Very Merry Viscount
Lady Hannah’s Holiday
Muses
Her Muse, Lord Patrick
Her Muse, His Magic
Her Muse, Her David
Her Muse, His Grace
Magic & Mayhem
Her Gypsy Lord
His Mistletoe Miss
A Spirited Courtship (Beguiled at the Wedding)
The Ghost & Miss Miranda
The Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies Series
To Walk in the Sun
Ghosts from the Past
The Witching Hour
Curse of the Mayfair Mummy
A Gentleman’s Guide to Once Upon a Time Series
His Impetuous Debutante
His Contrary Bride
His (Not so) Sensible Miss
His Christmas Match
Garden Brides
Lily, One Lord’s Temptation
New Adult / Contemporary
The Baxter Boys
Rattled
Rattle His Cage
All Horns & Rattles
Shake, Rattle and Roll
Rattling Around
The Christmas Rattle
Slightly Rattled
The Rattle Box
Baxter Academy of Art
Colors of You
Shadows of Memory
Casting Doubt
Between the Lines
Baxter Legacy
Valentine Wishes
About Jane
Jane Charles is a USA Today Bestselling author who has lived in the Midwest her entire life. As a child she would more likely be found outside with a baseball than a book in her hand. In fact, Jane hated reading until she was sixteen. Out of boredom on a long road trip she borrowed her older sister’s historical romance and fell in love with reading. She long ago lost count of how many novels she has read over the years and her love for them never died. Along with romance she has a passion for history and the two soon combined when she penned her first historical romance. What turned into a hobby became a passion. In addition to historical romances, she has been pulled to write contemporary romances and intends to continue writing both historical and contemporary.
JaneCharlesAuthor.com
Jane can be contacted at: janecharles522@gmail.com
Twitter and FB: JaneACharles
The Wicked One
Nadine Millard
Prologue
“A daughter. The seventh daughter. This one will be special.”
The fire in the hearth crackled, though it did nothing to ward off the vicious cold.
The babe didn’t make a sound. She didn’t cry. She didn’t squall. And for a moment, the woman worried the child would die.
She could feel her own life’s blood leaving her broken body and knew she would not live to see dawn break. The wizened midwife who helped her knew it as well as she.
“A daughter,” she managed the feeble words. “She does not cry.”
The sound of flesh meeting flesh and suddenly, the baby’s cry rent the night.
“Oh, she cries,” the old woman cackled. “She will cry and scream and make her mark on this world.”
“Give her to me.” The dying woman held out trembling arms.
The gentle slap the midwife had given the child was necessary, she knew. Yet she could not stop the spurt of anger that someone would dare hurt this precious babe.
Yes, she was the seventh daughter and the only one who lived.
Three of her sisters hadn’t made it past infancy. Three were killed in the gypsy purge that saw their caravans set alight and most of their clan burned within.
The clan had scarpered. Run far and wide.
The attack had broken the dying woman’s heart. She, who’d had so much heartbreak already. And had triggered a birth she was not yet ready for.
She’d dragged herself into the woods and had arrived on hands and knees at this cottage.
Mercifully, the old lady within knew the ways of the old country and was able to help, as she had with birthing all of her daughters.
“You are a seventh daughter yourself.”
It was a statement, not a question. And it was true.
The tiny bundle was settled in