FOURTEEN
Fourteen
‘Damn it!’ Lottie said, leaning back in her chair. She’d been working on her online store, but the internet had chosen today to have a hissy fit and kept dropping out before she could finish uploading photographs. She jumped slightly when a voice sounded from nearby.
‘Am I interrupting?’
She sat up quickly in her seat and instantly began gathering the scattered contents of her messy desk into a lopsided pile. ‘Damian. Hi. No, not at all. My internet is playing up. The joys of regional Australia and unreliable internet.’
‘I haven’t had any trouble with mine so far.’
‘You’ve been lucky then,’ she muttered, closing her laptop and standing up. ‘What are you up to today?’
‘I just thought I’d bring you some files that might be of interest. These ones have lots of stuff about Banalla in its heyday, during the gold rush era.’
‘Oh wow, thanks.’ He’d mentioned he’d drop in some of his research material, but she wasn’t sure he would remember.
‘I also wanted to see you again,’ he said simply. Lottie felt her breath catch a little as he continued. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about yesterday.’
She felt his gaze on her face almost as though he’d touched her. ‘Me either,’ she said, battling the urge to look away.
‘I’m usually pretty disciplined when it comes to work, but I’m struggling today.’ His voice lowered and he stared at her mouth. ‘All I can think about is kissing you again.’
A small shiver ran through her body. ‘Then maybe you should,’ she said softly.
A slow smile spread across his face before he leaned down and kissed her once more. The same stab of longing and zap of electricity raced through her veins. This is crazy.
‘Safe to assume yesterday was not a one-off experience then,’ he murmured as they pulled apart.
Lottie let out a small, shaky breath. ‘Nope.’
‘Maybe we should try again, though … just to make sure,’ he suggested, his voice settling again into that low, gravelly tone that made her stomach flip.
‘Better to be safe than sorry.’
‘That’s always been my motto.’ He grinned before his lips once more created havoc within her mind and her body.
Over the next few days, it became a routine for Damian to come in at some point through the day. They’d read through documents and old newspapers online, Damian in search of anything relating to Lady Catherine Compton and Lottie for anything she might be able to use in her book. They would read tidbits out to each other, giving voice to theories, both probable and far-fetched. The passion with which he spoke about his work, and his determination that stories and lessons of the colonial past not be lost, was sweet in a way that didn’t match his whole bad-boy vibe.
And the kissing. Oh heavens, it was her new favourite thing. Lottie wasn’t an overdramatic person, and she’d never bought into the whole romance novel sex scene, with rockets launching and fireworks going off, but every time that man touched her, she swore she experienced some kind of chemical–physical out-of-body experience.
So far, they hadn’t gone beyond kissing, allowing the heavy attraction between them to simmer. Lottie found the building anticipation frustrating, yet tantalising.
It was quiet in the shop and Damian had not appeared so Lottie, motivated by his enthusiasm for his work, had decided to do some work on her own book. She’d been making her way through the box of assorted things Marie had given her, bits and pieces kept over the years that had once held some sort of value—the odd postcard sent home from a relative, a novelty in a time when travel for a holiday was something most people couldn’t afford, meaning it was quite the big deal to receive a postcard from someone abroad—or, in this case, even an exotic place such as Coolangatta. Lottie smiled at the image of a woman dressed in modest swimwear with a significantly less glitzy Gold Coast than it was now in the background.
But it was the letters relating to Emeline that she found the most interesting. There were only two that Emeline had written to her cousin, Adelaide. Both were extremely difficult to read due to the poor quality of the photocopy and the faint, cursive writing that had been popular at the time. The handwriting was beautiful, without a doubt, but all the elaborate loops and intricate swirls made it incredibly painful to read.
Going by the dates, the letters had been written when Emeline had been in her early thirties. She seemed to be at odds with the rest of the women in Lottie’s family and the so-called curse. While, as far as Lottie could tell, the opal had started with Emeline, she didn’t follow the same trajectory as the rest of Lottie’s ancestors. While her husband had died, it was a good few years later compared with the other women, who’d mostly lost their husbands very soon after getting married, and usually before they gave birth to their first child. This was something Lottie liked to point out as a small hitch in her mother’s unshakable belief in the family curse. Not that her mother let that get in the way of a good story.
The earliest of the letters seemed to be the first correspondence between the cousins for a long time, judging by the number of questions Emeline was answering, presumably in response to a previous letter. She filled her in on her daughter, Hattie’s, achievements—it seemed Hattie had inherited her mother’s riding ability, which Emeline’s husband had thought was unladylike and tried to discourage, but she was growing into quite a spirited young lady who liked to question her father’s authority regularly, often putting them at loggerheads. Lottie smiled at that. It seemed tweens and teens went through the same rebellion, no matter the era. There were more pages of updates on Emeline’s life. She had apparently enjoyed a rather quiet life, happy to be a mother and wife and live vicariously through her daughter, followed by lots of questions about Adelaide and her children and various unfamiliar family members.
Lottie was intrigued by the letters, and also frustrated. She wanted details. She wanted to know what had really happened between Emeline and Jack. Had she really been the unintentional pawn in Jack’s attempt at escape? Or was there some truth in the family gossip? Had she been unfairly labelled as Jack McNally’s young lover or had she really been in love with him and gone with him, willingly?
Why didn’t Adelaide ask these questions?
The second letter at least made mention of a few more relevant things, but still didn’t give much more clarity on the situation. Although Adelaide must have brought up something in her responding letter, because Lottie reached a section of the letter that seemed unusual.
In regard to the unfortunate incident you mentioned in your letter, dear cousin, I have put that well behind me. I am fortunate to have a loving husband who is a good provider and wonderful role model to Hattie. My daughter shall grow up in a good home, loved and secure. When she is older, I will leave her the one thing given to me by her father, a symbol of our love that she may keep and treasure, as I have.
Lottie frowned as she reread the paragraph. Emeline didn’t actually say Henry was Hattie’s father; she said he was a good role model. Furthermore, she didn’t say Henry had given her whatever the special thing was that she was leaving to Hattie, just that she had been given it by Hattie’s father …
Was Lottie simply wanting these words to be ambiguous? Was she reading more into them because she wanted some kind of proof that Jack had fathered a child to Emeline? Had Emeline shared her secret with Adelaide and was simply being overly careful in what she wrote?
Lottie gave a small, frustrated groan. She had Emeline’s words right here on this page—a handwritten letter by the very person who knew the answers Lottie desperately wanted to know—and they only held more questions.
9 April 1863
Jack sat on his horse beneath the shade of a tall gum tree as he eyed the homestead below. The Grants were a moderately wealthy family, one that he and his men had robbed a few times in the past—occasionally relieving them of a mob of sheep to sell further afield. That’s when he met Emeline. He’d seen her briefly in town a few times in the past, before he’d become too famous to frequent town. She was barely sixteen the first time he saw her, with long rusty-red hair, huge brown eyes and skin like fine porcelain. The moment she locked those shy eyes on him, he knew he was going to marry her.
Of course, that had been almost three years ago, back when he’d had hopes of maybe making a life for himself farming. But his family reputation had preceded him and that fire in his belly—the one that raged at injustice and the system of the rich only getting richer off the backs of the poor—was too loud to ignore. He’d found more lucrative ways to make a living, though none as impressive as the haul he’d just taken from the stagecoach. That was a work of art. He was now rich beyond his wildest dreams, and the knowledge that he could buy this property outright from Emeline’s father, as well as pretty much any other land in the district that he desired, warmed his body, filling him with bravado and pride. Now people would respect him. Sure, he could gain their respect through fear when he pointed a gun at them, but this kind of respect was like an aphrodisiac. They’d look at him like he was nobility, like he came from somewhere. Like he was someone. He could give Emeline the life she deserved—better than even her father could give her. He could take her away from all this and together, they would build their own dynasty.
Movement at the stables caught his eye and a slow grin spread across his face. He could always count on Emeline being a creature of habit. Her daily ride was made rain, hail or shine. He knew how much she loved riding, her long hair loose and flowing behind her like a flag as she galloped across the open plains towards the river. He gave a click of his tongue, and his horse moved down the hill. He could already smell the lavender of her soft hair, feel the warmth of her lips against his own and breathe in the scent of her salty skin. His body hardened at the thought. God, he’d missed her. It had been close to three months since he’d seen her but now, in mere moments, he would feel her melt against him again.
Her horse sensed his presence before she did. She pulled the mare around and came to an abrupt halt, staring at him in disbelief. ‘Jack?’ she whispered, her eyes wide and bright before suddenly her lip quivered.
He’d dismounted and was at her side within moments. ‘What is it?’
‘Oh, Jack …’ she sobbed, and now he felt real panic begin to set in. ‘I had no way of finding you.’
‘Why did you need to find me?’ he asked, searching her face.
‘My father … he … I’m engaged,’ she blurted.
‘What?’ He was more surprised by the news than upset. ‘To whom?’
‘Henry Oldsfield.’
Now the surprise gave way to rage. ‘The judge’s son?’
She nodded her beautiful red head as more tears fell. ‘There was nothing I could do. I tried to argue with my father, but he wouldn’t listen.’
‘Well, there’s something I can do,’ he snarled. ‘If Oldsfield isn’t alive, they can’t make you marry him, can they.’
‘Jack, no.’ She slid down from her horse, like she’d physically stop him. ‘You can’t kill him. He doesn’t want this any more than I do, I don’t think. It’s our families that want the marriage. My father has always wanted me to marry into the Oldsfield family.’
Jack knew exactly why he wanted his daughter to align with the judge’s family. His plans to go into politics were widely known. Having a judge in the family would be extremely handy for his future aspirations.
‘Then we’ll just have to ruin their plans won’t we?’ Jack said, flashing her a wolf-like grin. He knew she hated that there was no real love where her father was concerned. He was a cold man, hell-bent on his own ambitions. She’d told him her mother was no better, even more ruthless than her husband when it came to the possibility of a life in the city and high society instead of out here. The prospect of getting exactly what he wanted and depriving them of what they desired was too enticing. ‘We’ll get married beforehand.’
‘What?’ Emeline stared at him with a look of almost horror.
‘I love you, Emeline,’ Jack said softly.
‘And I you. But my father would never—’
‘Your father won’t have a say in it,’ he said with a shrug.
‘Buthe’llnever let you win, Jack. He has money andconnections—’
‘I have money now too. We can build a life of our own, bigger than anything even your father could wish for. I came to take you away. Come with me now.’
‘Now?’
‘Right now. We can just leave, start somewhere new.’
‘But my family—’
‘We’ll make our own family. Do you want to be your father’s pawn forever? Marry me, Emeline,’ Jack said gently.
‘Yes, Jack,’ she whispered, fresh tears filling her eyes, happier ones at the thought of their future of endless possibilities. ‘I’ll marry you.’