Chapter Twelve
Lilith
Lilith turned down Brackenmere Manor Lane on the wrong side of the road, at least compared to what she was used to in America.
The rental car jostled over the barely paved path toward a rooftop peering above the overgrown trees in the distance.
A thick forest of oak trees crowded the fern-strewn ground in a way that was strangely, intimately recognizable. That familiarity
pressed at the edges of her awareness, demanding her attention.
“If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad.” Lilith had always been intrigued
by that line from Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey. Too bad, in this case, fate had decided there were not enough adventures to befall Lilith in Savannah.
Just over a week had passed since her discovery of the manor. In that time, Shelver’s Books had hired a full-time employee
and generously allowed Lilith to take two weeks off to explore Bury St. Edmunds.
Flying in an airplane wasn’t as terrifying as she’d thought—at least once the slight issue of her missing ticket had been resolved, thanks to the email she’d saved with her flight information.
The stomach-dipping disorientation of takeoff and landing, however, was not dissimilar to what she experienced when she fell into the nightmare.
Those dreams had become more frequent since visiting the fortune teller, more vivid and insistent, as if something dormant
had been awoken.
Traveling to England was only the first step. The next would be to visit Brackenmere Manor in the hopes she could pull a Nancy
Drew and uncover something that would crack the mystery open, so any of this made sense.
Lilith slowed the car, tires crunching over the gravel driveway as she parked before the two-story home.
The building was likely constructed within the last few decades, with creamy walls and slate-colored shutters. An arching
trellis of roses framed the door with pink blossoms big as dessert plates.
Mama would’ve killed for roses like that.
Lilith climbed out of the car and paused at the trunk, immediately regretting her heavy suitcase with all that gravel to contend
with. Before she could haul it from her trunk, the front door opened and a man about her age strode out.
A boxer loped along at his side, face tucked into grumpy folds that matched his owner’s stern expression.
The man’s gait was sure and confident as he approached, his blue eyes bright against the navy T-shirt that stretched over
his broad shoulders and revealed a muscular physique she couldn’t help but notice.
“Lilith, I presume?” he asked in a posh accent. But then, to her, all the accents in England so far had sounded posh.
Not only was he ripped, his head was as clean-shaven as his jaw. She’d been a sucker for bald men since that drummer she’d had a fling with during her first year of college.
She had assumed Asher was an old man, living alone with an even older aunt, but apparently she’d been wrong…
“That’s me.” Lilith smiled at him. “Asher?”
He gave a nod. “And this is Toby.” He stroked a hand over the boxer’s crinkled head.
While his welcome could use a dose of Southern hospitality, Essie would be delighted to hear the report on the hot bed and
breakfast owner.
“Hi, Toby.” Lilith beamed down at the boxer, who sat back on his fleshy rump and stared at her.
Asher reached for her luggage, biceps bunching as he lifted the suitcase like it wasn’t full of books and way too many creature
comforts. The red HEAVY tag fluttered from the handle.
He hesitated, still holding her bag. “I hadn’t anticipated you would be here so quickly.”
Lilith glanced at her watch. Half past eleven in the morning. “I’m actually an hour later than I said I would be.”
“I mean, from the time of your inquiry on the website to your decision to come to England.” He narrowed his eyes and the corners
crinkled in a way that suggested he might be slightly older than her twenty-six years. “Coming to Brackenmere Manor must be
very important to you.”
“Practically a matter of life or death.” Lilith gave an awkward chuckle.
His brow furrowed in what might be concern, but was gone in an instant. “I imagine you’ll want to see the manor today then?”
“If that’s okay?” She hated the question in her tone when her need to see the old house was borderline desperate.
Asher turned toward the bed and breakfast, and Toby grunted up, toddling after him.
Feeling a little unsure, Lilith followed them beneath the trellis where the scent of roses pulled at her and the leaves quivered
in her direction.
The house inside was light and airy, with sunlight spilling in through large picture windows. Potted plants were scattered
in various corners and on tables, their leaves lush and verdant. The scent of cinnamon clung to the room, as if a pot of tea
had been freshly brewed.
An old woman sat in a recliner with a green caftan draped over her lap, so only her blouse was visible. There was a slight
red stain near the top button. Her gaze caught Lilith and the clicking needles stilled in her hands.
“Lilith, this is my Aunt Jacqueline.” Asher spoke louder than he had earlier, likely for the benefit of his aunt. “The one
who so eagerly welcomed you to come.” He slid a glance at the older woman. “This is her establishment, but I’ve been persuaded
into helping her.” He said persuaded as if he really meant forced.
Asher’s aunt smiled. Her eyes were the same shade as her nephew’s, albeit with more warmth. “Welcome to Brackenmere Bed and
Breakfast.” There was a thready frailty to her voice. “I must say, we don’t have as many visitors as we used to. You’re here
for family history, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lilith replied. You could take the girl out of the South, but you couldn’t take the South out of the girl. “My
ancestor lived here back in the seventeenth century before it belonged to your family.”
The old woman’s face suddenly appeared stricken, but she blinked and recovered quickly. “Ah yes, I recall from your electronic
mail.”
“She means email,” Asher said under his breath.
“Legare…” His aunt tilted her head, pronouncing Lilith’s last name like Luhg-aire. “I don’t recall any French having owned the manor.”
“We pronounce it La-gree,” Lilith replied, saying her name like she always had.
The older woman grinned and set her knitting needles down. “Oh, I do love your Southern accent. Where are you from in America?”
Lilith suppressed a frown. Not everyone in Savannah had an accent. She thought she didn’t either.
Daddy had moved all over when he was a boy, never staying anywhere long enough to absorb an accent before returning to Savannah,
where he’d been born. But Momma liked to talk like she was old Savannah nobility, and Lilith had done everything she could
to sharpen the soft drawl from her speech.
“I’m from Georgia,” Lilith replied with careful enunciation. “But apparently, a Jacinda Brantham moved to Maryland in the
mid-1600s.”
Asher’s aunt nodded in understanding, as if this were the most natural thing to know. “Likely with the colony founded by Bartholomew
Gosnold. He was from Bury St. Edmunds.”
“Who is he?” Lilith asked, intrigued to learn more.
Asher reappeared in the doorway without her realizing he’d even left. He handed her a set of keys with a brass plate labeled
“Brackenmere” with the number one. “Aunt Jacqueline, I’m sure our guest would like to recover from her travel.”
“Actually, do you think we can see the manor?” Lilith asked, more intrigued to visit Brackenmere Manor than to learn about
someone who moved to America.
“You don’t want to unpack first?” Asher’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Of course she can go to the manor right now,” his aunt scolded in a light tone, even as she smiled at Lilith. “Why, that’s the sole purpose of your trip, is it not?”
Asher shot his aunt an irritated look, but Lilith grinned at her. “Thank you. It’s so nice to meet you.”
The woman nodded sagely, eyes twinkling. “And I’ve been waiting to meet you.”