Ghost Bride
Cheri Chesley
Published by Chesley Books at Smashwords
Copyright2011 Cheri Chesley
Cover by Deirdra Coppel
This is a work of fiction. The characters, settings, incidents, etc. are products of the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real.
Learn about the author’s works at http://www.cherichesley.com/
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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The tasteless gossips at the wedding, cluttered around refreshment tables or seated in the garden, had the same topic on their lips. The same groom; a different bride. And another time.
“Suicide? How absurd. Why would a woman kill herself on her wedding night?”
“Perhaps he’d discovered her little secret.”
“Hardly a secret! My cousin claimed to be one of her lovers.”
“I can’t imagine marrying a man accused of murder!”
“Ah, but they never charged him. And she’s his former bride’s best friend; the only one to stand by him through all the trouble.”
“Personally, I think it’s brilliant of him to marry the last person to see Arianne alive. Makes me wonder if one, or both, knows more than they are telling.”
Genevieve moved to stand next to her husband. Let the gossips’ tongues wag. She’d heard it all before. Next she’d hear the unsavory comparisons of Arianne’s heavenly beauty over her own plainness. She’d suffered from that comparison all through her childhood; she barely felt the sting anymore. Besides, not one person at the reception could possibly feel as sublimely happy as she did in that moment. She had married Alfred at last.
She dared a girlish glance up at him. He had to be one of the most respected men of business in London. It had perhaps been that very reputation that saved him from a murder charge those five years ago. No one believed he could have harmed Arianne, especially in light of how her death had devastated him.
Together they moved through the few well wishers, family and close friends who genuinely wished them happiness. Genevieve hung on Alfred’s arm, a blissful smile on her face. She’d waited so long for this day. The dismal, gray of winter had finally given way to spring. Flowers and trees blossomed; the gentle breeze carried their scents through the air. She wanted to laugh, and cry, with sheer delight. She may not have Arianne’s delicate features, or long, flowing hair—but she did have Alfred.
The petty geese of society probably couldn’t help but wonder why a rich and powerful man like Alfred had chosen the dark, mouse-haired Genevieve, but she knew. They did not understand how Alfred valued loyalty. When all his friends had abandoned him in the wake of Arianne’s suspicious death, Genevieve stood by him. She supported him through his difficulties, offering only a kind word and a soft shoulder to lean on. She may not be as beautiful as other women, but she would always remain by his side.
Dusk gave way to night before the guests departed at last. Alfred and Genevieve would spend the night here at his townhouse before departing in the morning on their Europe-wide honeymoon. Giddy anticipation teased her senses. Genevieve hadn’t been farther than London or her family’s country home in her entire life. She yearned to see the world with Alfred; to share everything with him.
Genevieve went up the wide staircase first. On the landing, she noticed one of the windows had been left open. She crossed the hall to close it, but stopped as the view of the moonlit gardens entranced her. A breeze carried the scent of apricot blossoms to her, caressing her cheek as it blew by. She heard a whisper, a voice so familiar it chilled her. Turning, she saw no one. Genevieve reached up to close the window, but had to grasp the pane tightly as something pushed at her from behind. Then she heard something else. Laughter?
Quickly, she latched the window. The scent of roses clung to the air, Arianne’s scent. Genevieve looked at the table. Someone had placed a vase of roses there. She almost laughed to herself. How silly to let her imagination play tricks on her. Nothing could ruin her life now.
Alfred came up the stairs just as she reached the landing. “Hello, my darling,” he said. “What has you chuckling so?”
“My feminine silliness,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m letting my mind play tricks on me.”
He kissed her forehead. “Come; let’s go to bed.” But he stopped at the threshold of the master bedroom. “Oh, my dear, I’ve forgotten to give you one of your gifts. It’s in my study.”
Genevieve pouted. “Oh, Alfred.”
“Now, my sweet, don’t look at me like that. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Her frown deepened as she watched his back. Her pout hadn’t nearly the power other women’s had. Arianne, for instance, could have stopped Parliament with her pout. But Genevieve would never have that ability. Her stalwart, plain nature would see to that.
Alone before her mirror, her courage faltered a bit. Alfred had doubtless seen many beautiful women in the past. How would he react to her rather flat-chested and slim-hipped form? Clothes hid most of her imperfections, but how would it be to appear nude before him? Would he laugh? Turn away in disgust? Would he smile and humor her, but then later seek a woman with healthier curves on whom to bestow his affections?
Sighing, she sat at the vanity and pulled the pins out of her hair. A search for her hairbrush revealed it had fallen on the floor. She picked it up, vowing to scold her ladies’ maid the next day. She pulled the brush through her hair, still thinking of Alfred, then set it on the vanity. It fell off. Genevieve bent down to pick it up again, but this time bumped her head on the corner of the vanity.
“Nerves,” she muttered. “Get a hold of yourself.”
At that, a gust of wind blew through the open balcony doors and made a wreckage of her hair. This time, Genevieve slammed the brush down on the vanity. She stalked across the room and shut the doors firmly before returning to repair her hair. As she reached for it, the brush seemed to jump out of her reach and onto the floor.
Genevieve backed away, astounded. This was too much. She looked around, but could see no one hiding in the dark corners of the room. Had someone designed this clever prank? She went to the door and yanked it open, only to bump right into Alfred’s chest.
He caught her around the waist with one arm. “Genny, what is the matter? You’re all flushed. Are you ill?”
“Oh, no, Alfred darling,” she said as she tossed a glance back into the bedroom. “I only thought . . . .”
“Yes?” he prompted.
She took a deep breath. “Do forgive me; I know I’m being absurd and girlish. Could you search the room? I have this terrible feeling someone is watching me.”
Alfred kissed the tip of her nose. “Anything for you.”
A thorough search of the room yielded no one. Alfred even checked the halls for her. Nothing. He startled the upstairs maid right out of her bed when he verified all the servants were where they belonged as well. He then reported his findings to his bride.
Genevieve shook her head. “It must just be nerves, then. I’m so sorry, Alfred.”
“Now, now,” he said. “Let’s just forget all about it and go to bed. First, though, perhaps my gift may calm you.”
He withdrew from his pocket a small box. Genevieve eagerly took it and lifted the lid. What she saw inside made her gasp.
“Oh, Alfred!”
“It isn’t much,” he said, as though ashamed. “It’s only an heirloom, really. Husbands have been giving it to wives in my family for almost two hundred years. You needn’t ever wear it. I realize it’s hopelessly out of style. When we return from our honeymoon, you and I can go to the jewelers and buy whatever you like.”
Genevieve put a hand to his lips. “Don’t be silly, Alfred. It’s lovely. I’ll always treasure it.” She slipped the gold chain over her head.
Alfred kissed the top of her head. “You’re the treasure.”
Treasure it. As Arianne had? He must have had it removed from her body before the burial. Genevieve knew well Arianne had it on before she fell.
Genevieve wrapped her arms around her husband and held tight. No matter. She had what she wanted now. And she would never let him go.
Later that night, while Alfred snored quietly beside her, Genevieve lay awake reflecting. Her husband had insisted they re-open the balcony doors. The breeze rustled the drapes and the moon cast shadows on the far wall. She stared at these and thought of Arianne. A distant cousin with less-than-influential parents, Arianne had become a childhood playmate. Even then, Genevieve noticed that adults tended to dote on little Arianne, at times overlooking Genevieve completely. She pushed these little hurts deep inside, not wanting to dwell on them. When they came of age, she and Arianne had shared a Season—not that anyone had noticed Genevieve in her pastel ball gowns standing just behind and to the right of the glowing, impossibly lovely Arianne.
Genevieve had seen Alfred first, but he had eyes only for Arianne. For weeks, she nursed a hopeless crush on him as he flirted outrageously with her best friend. When they announced their engagement, Genevieve stayed in bed three days. But she rallied and helped Arianne with her wedding, even standing beside her on that fateful day.
Genevieve had accompanied Arianne to the bedroom as the reception drew to a close. It had been so easy. Arianne’s senses had been dulled by the excitement and wine. They quarreled. Genevieve insisted Alfred would have been hers had Arianne not stolen him. Arianne had laughed. Laughed! Don’t be silly, Genevieve. Alfred always wanted me, and only me.
She stepped onto the balcony for some air. Genevieve followed at a run. Arianne turned at her footsteps, but could do nothing. With all her might, Genevieve shoved against her friend’s shoulders. Arianne fell backwards over the railing and landed on the stone walkway. She died instantly.
Genevieve had smoothed her dress and hair, and left the room. She passed a lady’s maid on the stairs, claimed Arianne had requested a glass of water, and asked where she could find the kitchens. She stood amidst witnesses when she heard the screams that told her Arianne had been found.
Unfortunately, Alfred had gone upstairs seeking his bride. He’d heard the scream, and gone to the balcony to see what had happened. Those clustered over Arianne’s body had looked up to see his pale face. And the suspicion began.
It couldn’t have fared better for Genevieve, though. After she’d falsely confessed to Alfred how Arianne had shared her worries with Genevieve, it became easier for him to believe Arianne had preferred death to a life with him. They wept together. Soon he began to seek her company; her comfort. And then he was hers. Forever.
Murderer.
Genevieve shot upright.
Murderer.
The whispered accusations floated, along with the faint scent of roses, from the balcony. Genevieve glanced at Alfred, but he hadn’t been disturbed. She slipped out of bed and cautiously approached the open balcony doors.
“Who is there?”
But she needn’t have asked. Shimmering, sheer and furious, Arianne stepped out of the shadows. Hello, Genny. Care to join me?
Genevieve gripped her hands together. “I think not.”
Are you scared? Arianne laughed at her.
“What are you doing here?” asked Genevieve.
Arianne’s ghost drifted closer, her dark eyes glittering. You have to ask? You took everything from me, Genny. Everything!
“You stole Alfred first,” she said. “I only took him back.”
I was your friend! I loved you!
“You used me,” hissed Genevieve. “You think I never noticed how standing near me improved your appearance by comparison? My family had all the wealth and connections. You insinuated yourself into our lives, playing at being my friend, just to find a wealthy husband. Well, you chose the wrong man!”
Arianne’s form brightened as her fury grew. It wasn’t like that! I loved you like a sister! And I never stole Alfred from you. He wasn’t yours to begin with!
“He would have been, if you hadn’t interfered.” Genevieve smiled with satisfaction. “And he’s mine, now.”
Not for long. Arianne laughed, and drew closer. You stole my life, Genny. I will make you pay.
Genevieve felt Arianne’s coldness almost touch her before she could move. She turned to run, but she couldn’t go to Alfred. Arianne would tell. She raced to the bedroom door and the hall lights beyond.
Murderer!
She could feel Arianne’s breath on her ear. She closed the bedroom door to keep the ghost away, but it blew open with a chilling wind that extinguished all lamps in the hallway. Genevieve saw Arianne’s billowing gown glow in the darkness as it drew closer. She ran, but stumbled as she felt the edge of the stairs under her bare foot.
Genevieve grabbed at the railing, but missed. She fought for balance. “Arianne, help me!”
As you helped me? Arianne laughed. I think not. See you in Hell, Genny.
The rumors began again, but at least this time they were more kind.
“Oh, poor Alfred.”
“Two brides dead.”
“The hall was dark, but the maid swears she left a light burning.”
“Fell to her death, poor thing.”
“Poor, dear Alfred.”
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About the Author:
Cheri Chesley enjoys a good story, and hopes to share equally good writing. She currently resides in Utah with her husband and children. You can follow her blog at http://cherichesley.blogspot.com/to learn more about her print novels and e-books.