Once Upon a Storm

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COPYRIGHT © 2023 by Kimberly Cates Published by Oliver-Heber Books 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Epilogue About the Author Also by Kimberly Cates CHAPTER 1 ENGLAND, 1843 The horse seemed formed of liquid gold, its coat shimmering in the sunlight, as exotic and hot-blooded as the spices that came from war-torn lands a continent away. Captain Simon Harcourt reined in the stallion, the horse’s restlessness like his own, a wildness and sinew-deep knowledge that he didn’t belong here. He raked back his windblown hair back as he focused on the sweeping red brick towers and creamy stone columns of Everdene Hall, the manor house that had been a gift from the Tudors to the Harcourts for loyal service, a conglomeration of additions fitted together and torn apart through four centuries of upheaval, civil war, and intrigue. It stood perched on the crest of the hill, gardens spilling downward in rich greens and rainbow-hued blossoms. Though it had been but five months since he had returned to England, it was nearly two decades more since he’d ridden from Everdene Hall, swearing never to return. Nor would he have, but one dared not ignore a summons from the Earl of Ravenscroft. Not when that formidable nobleman was your father. Simon grimaced at the thought that the old man loathed Everdene even more than he did. To his knowledge, his father hadn’t set foot on the estate for years, leaving it in the capable hands of a land agent. But a carriage accident en route to some political meeting had forced the Earl’s hand, leaving Simon’s father so badly injured there was no choice but to take him to his nearest estate. Something spooked the team, Simon’s brother had written. A ghost? There had been a time Simon would have laughed at the notion, but war and regrets had proven that sometimes hauntings were real. The estate of his boyhood seemed run-down and neglected, much changed from what he’d glimpsed in dreams that still mocked him, interspersed with those of battlefields littered with corpses, and villages burned to the ground. He would meet with the Earl as commanded, then make his excuses and ride away faster than he’d come. His horse had a race to run… such a simple excuse, but a good one. Caspian had only begun to make a name for himself. The first payment in a debt Simon owed. He steeled himself and continued up the tree-lined drive. In the manor’s courtyard, he dismounted, handing the reins to a freckle-faced groom. The servant’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he gaped at the horse. Simon had seen that star-struck expression before, had doubtless worn it himself the first time he’d encountered the breed. “Gor, sir,” the groom marveled, touching the stallion’s neck as if to prove to himself it was real. “Never seen anything like this beauty.” “You will soon see more of them if I have my way,” Simon said. “Cool him down. I will check on him ere long.” Simon watched the lad walk Caspian toward the stables. Then, he mounted the steps with a long-legged stride. Memory cut him, sharp and clear, the echo of laughter as his sisters hopped up and down the flagstone risers, singing a nursery rhyme, their golden curls bouncing. How was it that he’d charged into battle heedless, yet here, he paused at the door, uncertain whether to ring the bell. He wanted to turn back. Before he could, the door burst open, his brother meeting him there. Lucien Harcourt, Viscount Everdene’s lean countenance mirrored the planes of Simon’s own, his blue eyes bright with a mixture of relief and delight. “Simon!” The Viscount clapped him on the shoulder, the awkwardness of seven years apart making him seem almost a stranger. “By God, it’s good to see you. It’s been too long. I wasn’t sure you’d come even if you did receive my letter.” Simon shrugged one broad shoulder. “Duty calls, and all that.” He pasted on a wry smile. “You’ve changed so much I might not have recognized you on the street!” His brother seemed much the same as they entered the hall—his breeches and coat impeccable, his face closely shaven, his cravat tied with painful precision, as if one mistake might tip his whole world off its axis. Simon glanced in one of the gilt mirrors that flanked the entryway and rubbed a hand across the day’s growth of stubble that shadowed his square jaw, ever more aware of his own travel-disheveled state. Grit from the road dusted his coat, his dark hair badly in need of a trim. Years under blazing suns and enduring harsh conditions had left his skin weathered and dark, making his ice-blue eyes so vivid they seemed to