his heir.”
“Exactly so,” Richard said agreeably, and Edwina suppressed her further annoyance. In the midst of all the nonsense about ghosts, she refused to be thought irrational—particularly since irritation at Richard for agreeing with her was irrational. Oh, if only everything he said didn’t feel like a needle digging into her flesh. She took another nibble of the biting, tonic rosemary.
“If she had not taken the necklace, all might have been well,” Richard said. “How can we know? In any event, not long after Sir Joshua imprisoned her in the tower, the boy sickened of a fever. She pleaded to be allowed to nurse him, but Sir Joshua refused, and within a few days the boy died.” He angled his chin toward the ornate stone bench in one of the squares. “That bench is a monument to him. Come, I’d like you to see it.”
Edwina sighed and followed him slowly down the narrow, curving path toward the center of the square. “Poor woman. How ghastly for her.”
“She believed he would have survived if she had been allowed to care for him, and perhaps she was right. We shall never know the answer to that either. In her grief she laid a curse upon the Ballisters—that no firstborn son would ever inherit.”
Edwina tsked. “How absurd, but one can’t blame her for lashing out.”
“There’s more to it,” Richard said. “The curse would remain in force until the necklace was returned to its rightful owner, the mistress of Ballister Grange.”
Edwina tried to summon another retort, but none came.
“Rather takes the shine of virtuous grief away from it, doesn’t it?” Richard said. “Particularly since when Sir Joshua married again, he flouted the curse by not giving the necklace to his new wife.”
Edwina huffed. “But as you explained earlier, he may have had to pretend the necklace had gone with the vanished lover. Besides that, he had no reason to fear the curse, since his firstborn son had already died.”
“But what of his descendants?” Richard said. “He could have bequeathed it to the current Lady Ballister, leaving instructions with his lawyer about where to find it.” He paused. “No, I think he was too proud to give in. He couldn’t let his first wife win.”
They halted in front of the bench. “I thought seeing the monument would help you believe the history of the Grange. The stone is quite worn now, but one can easily make out the cherubs—rather mawkish, I’ve always thought, and quite a contrast to the inscription.” He read aloud the words on the back of the bench: “‘Sacred to the memory of John Ballister, who died through the neglect of a faithless mother.’”
“Oh, how unfair of that horrid man. He wouldn’t even let her tend the boy!” She paused. “Another John. Is it a common name in your family?”
“No, but my wife’s father was also John, and she wished to name her son after him.”
Something inside Edwina tightened at the mention of his wife, but she quieted it. Surely she wasn’t jealous of a dead woman. “It seems that both Sir Joshua and his lady were dreadful people, but I don’t believe in curses any more than in ghosts.”
Richard’s voice was chilly. “Nevertheless, since that time, no firstborn son of the owner has inherited the title and estate. My uncle, the previous baronet, didn’t believe in the curse, or perhaps he thought it had at last outrun its course. He had three healthy sons until about a year ago, when his eldest son—a grown man of twenty-five—died suddenly. That spring, he, his wife, and the two remaining sons died in a yachting accident. The boat foundered in a sudden squall and sank.”
Edwina sucked in an appalled breath. So that was what Mrs. Cropper had meant when she’d said it wasn’t surprising that the eldest had died.
“Needless to say, I never expected to inherit the title. Even if the curse was real, only the firstborn of my male cousins need have died to fulfill its terms.”
“Oh, my God,”
“Exactly so,” Richard said agreeably, and Edwina suppressed her further annoyance. In the midst of all the nonsense about ghosts, she refused to be thought irrational—particularly since irritation at Richard for agreeing with her was irrational. Oh, if only everything he said didn’t feel like a needle digging into her flesh. She took another nibble of the biting, tonic rosemary.
“If she had not taken the necklace, all might have been well,” Richard said. “How can we know? In any event, not long after Sir Joshua imprisoned her in the tower, the boy sickened of a fever. She pleaded to be allowed to nurse him, but Sir Joshua refused, and within a few days the boy died.” He angled his chin toward the ornate stone bench in one of the squares. “That bench is a monument to him. Come, I’d like you to see it.”
Edwina sighed and followed him slowly down the narrow, curving path toward the center of the square. “Poor woman. How ghastly for her.”
“She believed he would have survived if she had been allowed to care for him, and perhaps she was right. We shall never know the answer to that either. In her grief she laid a curse upon the Ballisters—that no firstborn son would ever inherit.”
Edwina tsked. “How absurd, but one can’t blame her for lashing out.”
“There’s more to it,” Richard said. “The curse would remain in force until the necklace was returned to its rightful owner, the mistress of Ballister Grange.”
Edwina tried to summon another retort, but none came.
“Rather takes the shine of virtuous grief away from it, doesn’t it?” Richard said. “Particularly since when Sir Joshua married again, he flouted the curse by not giving the necklace to his new wife.”
Edwina huffed. “But as you explained earlier, he may have had to pretend the necklace had gone with the vanished lover. Besides that, he had no reason to fear the curse, since his firstborn son had already died.”
“But what of his descendants?” Richard said. “He could have bequeathed it to the current Lady Ballister, leaving instructions with his lawyer about where to find it.” He paused. “No, I think he was too proud to give in. He couldn’t let his first wife win.”
They halted in front of the bench. “I thought seeing the monument would help you believe the history of the Grange. The stone is quite worn now, but one can easily make out the cherubs—rather mawkish, I’ve always thought, and quite a contrast to the inscription.” He read aloud the words on the back of the bench: “‘Sacred to the memory of John Ballister, who died through the neglect of a faithless mother.’”
“Oh, how unfair of that horrid man. He wouldn’t even let her tend the boy!” She paused. “Another John. Is it a common name in your family?”
“No, but my wife’s father was also John, and she wished to name her son after him.”
Something inside Edwina tightened at the mention of his wife, but she quieted it. Surely she wasn’t jealous of a dead woman. “It seems that both Sir Joshua and his lady were dreadful people, but I don’t believe in curses any more than in ghosts.”
Richard’s voice was chilly. “Nevertheless, since that time, no firstborn son of the owner has inherited the title and estate. My uncle, the previous baronet, didn’t believe in the curse, or perhaps he thought it had at last outrun its course. He had three healthy sons until about a year ago, when his eldest son—a grown man of twenty-five—died suddenly. That spring, he, his wife, and the two remaining sons died in a yachting accident. The boat foundered in a sudden squall and sank.”
Edwina sucked in an appalled breath. So that was what Mrs. Cropper had meant when she’d said it wasn’t surprising that the eldest had died.
“Needless to say, I never expected to inherit the title. Even if the curse was real, only the firstborn of my male cousins need have died to fulfill its terms.”
“Oh, my God,”
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