By Nora Roberts

Homeport

The Reef

River’s End

Carolina Moon

The Villa

Midnight Bayou

Three Fates

Birthright

Northern Lights

Blue Smoke

Montana Sky

Angels Fall

High Noon

Divine Evil

Tribute

Sanctuary

Black Hills

The Search

Chasing Fire

The Witness

Whiskey Beach

The Collector

The Liar

The Obsession

Come Sundown

Shelter in Place

Under Currents

Hideaway

Legacy

Nightwork

Identity

Mind Games

Hidden Nature

The Born In Trilogy:

Born in Fire

Born in Ice

Born in Shame

The Bride Quartet:

Vision in White

A Bed of Roses

Savour the Moment

Happy Ever After

The Key Trilogy:

Key of Light

Key of Knowledge

Key of Valour

The Irish Trilogy:

Jewels of the Sun

Tears of the Moon

Heart of the Sea

Three Sisters Island Trilogy:

Dance upon the Air

Heaven and Earth

Face the Fire

The Sign of Seven Trilogy:

Blood Brothers

The Hollow

The Pagan Stone

Chesapeake Bay Quartet:

Sea Swept

Rising Tides

Inner Harbour

Chesapeake Blue

In the Garden Trilogy:

Blue Dahlia

Black Rose

Red Lily

The Circle Trilogy:

Morrigan’s Cross

Dance of the Gods

Valley of Silence

The Dream Trilogy:

Daring to Dream

Holding the Dream

Finding the Dream

The Inn Boonsboro Trilogy:

The Next Always

The Last Boyfriend

The Perfect Hope

The Cousins O’Dwyer Trilogy:

Dark Witch

Shadow Spell

Blood Magick

The Guardians Trilogy:

Stars of Fortune

Bay of Sighs

Island of Glass

The Chronicles of the One Trilogy:

Year One

Of Blood and Bone

The Rise of Magicks

The Dragon Heart Legacy Trilogy:

The Awakening

The Becoming

The Choice

The Lost Bride Trilogy

Inheritance

The Mirror

The Seven Rings

Many of Nora Roberts’ other titles are now available in ebook and she is also the author of the In Death series using the pseudonym J.D. Robb.

The Seven Rings

NORA ROBERTS

THE LOST BRIDE TRILOGY

Book Three

Copyright

Published by Piatkus

ISBN: 978-0-349-43757-6

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2025 by Nora Roberts

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

Piatkus

Little, Brown Book Group

Carmelite House

50 Victoria Embankment

London EC4Y 0DZ

www.littlebrown.co.uk

www.hachette.co.uk

For Leslie and Amy, friends and partners

PART ONE

Madness

Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.

—William Shakespeare

Prologue

In the 1780s, Arthur Poole sailed across the Atlantic, a young man with great ambition. His journey took him to the rocky, sea-lashed coast of Maine, and this new world he embraced as his own.

He worked and he learned and he thrived.

This young man of ambition and vision built ships, and built the beginnings of a business. To enrich and expand that business, he, shrewdly, married for money and position.

In time, like flowers in a fallow field, love bloomed there.

With an eye toward the generations to come, he built his business to last. And above that rolling, thrashing sea, he built a grand house, and one to last, with stone and cladded walls, and turrets rising, with massive entrance doors of the finest mahogany.

With his love of the sea, he added a widow’s walk, and often stood there himself, watching his ships sail the fickle Atlantic waters.

His children drew their first breaths inside those walls, and played in the gardens, raced the wide halls, wandered the nearby woods, learned to ride, learned to sail.

Arthur Poole considered himself a successful man, not only a successful businessman, a man who’d risen from poverty to riches who lived on the cliffs above a village that bore his name. But a successful husband and father. A family man.

The family man held great pride in his children, and in the firstborn of his twin sons, who’d courted and won the heart of a lovely (and wealthy) woman.

Collin Poole would marry Astrid Grandville not for advancement, nor money, nor social position, but for love.

On the last day of his life, Arthur Poole rode into his woods in the brisk fall air with his mind, as it often was, on the future. Wedding plans—the most beautiful and elegant wedding Poole’s Bay had ever seen—entertained him. He thought of expanding the manor, making more room for the grandchildren to come.

But he would not attend his son’s wedding. He would never see his grandchildren. On that brisk fall day, he fell victim to the dark magic of a mad witch who coveted what he had.

Not the family, not the business, not even his wealth. The manor.

Hester Dobbs would stop at nothing, certainly not murder, to become the mistress of Poole Manor.

And all who knew and loved Arthur Poole grieved what they believed to be a tragic accident, a fall from his horse.

When this death failed to give Hester Dobbs her desire, she murdered Astrid Grandville Poole on her wedding day.

And with that vicious slaying, with Poole blood on her hands, on her tongue, with Astrid’s wedding ring now on her own finger, she laid a curse on the manor, on the future.

A bride in each generation of Pooles would die in the manor, and by her hand.

While she escaped the hangman’s rope, she in her madness returned to the manor. On a night when the clock struck three, and the moon sailed full over the water, she sealed her curse with her own blood.

And leapt from the seawall to the unforgiving water below.

For more than two centuries, the manor stood, stone, wood, glass, watching the great sea. Inside its walls, it witnessed generations of first breaths and last breaths. As Arthur Poole had imagined, the manor grew and held his grandchildren, and their children, and theirs for generations.

And each generation knew tragedy. One bride lost to the twisted lusts of Hester Dobbs.

Until there were seven lost brides, and seven rings on the hands of the witch who killed them.

So within those walls, their spirits remained, as did Dobbs, as did others who either chose to stay or had yet to find their way beyond those walls.

There they walked, and they worked, and they watched.

And they waited for the one who could break the curse.

She came, a woman of Poole blood who’d known nothing of that family connection. She’d known nothing of her father’s brother, his twin, or the heartless scheme to separate them after their mother fell victim to Dobbs’s curse following their birth.

Nor did she know anything of ghosts or curses or the part she had to play.

But she learned.

She came to the manor alone—though she wouldn’t remain alone—to learn of this newly discovered part of her family, to learn their history, to uncover how and why her father had been taken away from his brother.

How was it, though he’d never been to the manor before his own tragic death, that he, an artist, sketched it? How, though he’d never known of his twin, had he drawn a mirror framed with predators where he and a boy who looked like him stood on either side of the glass?

And as she learned, she walked and worked.

When the mirror called to her, she stepped through the glass. She witnessed the death of seven brides, and grieved for them. She witnessed the theft of seven wedding rings, and swore to retrieve them.

With what she’d once believed impossible now her reality, Sonya MacTavish understood the rings were the key to breaking the curse and forever banishing Hester Dobbs from the manor.

For all those who’d come before her, for the house she’d made her home, for those seven lost brides, she vowed to stay and hunt and fight.

Even as death woke all around her.

Chapter One

The dead filled the manor, but not as the spirits Sonya had grown used to, even fond of. They filled it now with blood and broken bodies, with agony and despair.

She felt their pain and their fear as her own as she looked down at Astrid Poole and the spreading red stain on her white dress. As she looked up at the first Collin Poole’s body swaying above his bride from the noose he’d fashioned through his grief.

And beside the first bride, the last, as Johanna Poole’s broken and bloodied body lay at the base of the stairs. And beside her, his hand over hers, the last Collin Poole, the husband who’d outlived her by decades before falling to his death down that same grand staircase.

Though he’d lived longer, grown older, Sonya saw her father in that face. Now grief, instant and fresh, joined the pain and fear.

Needing the life, the warmth, she gripped Trey’s hand. “It’s Collin. It’s my father’s twin.”

“Yeah, just the way I found him.”

To Oliver Doyle III—lawyer and lover—Collin Poole had been family. Remembering that, Sonya put her arms around him.

“I’m sorry. So sorry.” Then she squeezed her eyes tight. “God, God, can you hear them? Can you hear all of them?”

“I hear them. Owen.” He turned to his friend and Sonya’s Poole cousin.

“Hard to hear anything else, unless you add in the dogs howling.”

“Put me down.” Cleo gave Owen’s chest a nudge so he set her on her feet. “I dropped a glass. None of us are wearing shoes, so watch where you step.”

She moved to Sonya, took her closest friend’s hand and found it as icy as her own.

“I’ll clean it up.”

At Owen’s words, Cleo shot him a fierce look. “Don’t you go anywhere. Don’t you dare.”

“We have to stop it.” Unable to help herself, Sonya pressed her hands over her ears. “She’s torturing them. We have to stop it.”

“Fear feeds her,” Cleo reminded the rest. “I’m really trying not to give her a goddamn crumb, but …” She trailed off, looked up the staircase. “Oh Jesus.”

Johanna stood, as did the shadowy figure with her. Even with the din, they heard the snap as her head jerked. Her lifeless body tumbled down the stairs as it had on her wedding day.

“She’s killing them again. All of them. Everyone’s dying again. We have to stop it,” Sonya said. “Fuck fear.” And her anger burned out fear as she swiped tears from her face. “She’s making them feel it again, tormenting them to scare us.”

Even as she spoke, the first Collin Poole, the noose around his neck, leaped off the stairs. The rope snapped, and so did his neck.

“Brutal,” Owen muttered. “I’m in for a round of fuck fear.”

“A circle, join hands,” Cleo ordered.

“Why?”

“Look, Owen, I’m an amateur, but unity counts. What did you do when Pye ran off and up to the Gold Room door when that bitch was having another one of her fits?”

“Went after the cat.”

“You sang. So, hell, sing. Everybody, sing.”

“You want us to sing?”

She shrugged at Trey. “It’s better than standing here just watching and hearing all this. Clover uses music to communicate with us, so what the hell.”

“What are we singing?” Owen wanted to know, and took a firm hold on her hand and on Sonya’s as Astrid Poole, a hand pressed to the bleeding wound, staggered down the steps.

“I can’t think of every damn thing.”

“Are we pissed?” Trey demanded, and let that fury ride as the man he’d loved like a second father tumbled down the steps.

“Damn right.” Tears might’ve fallen, but Sonya repeated, “Damn right we’re pissed.”

“Then try this.” He lifted his voice over the cries, the weeping, the howling. “Keep you in the dark, you know they all pretend.”

His voice, which had once led a high school garage band, rang true as Owen’s joined it.

Digging for lyrics, Sonya came in on the verse with Cleo. “Send in your skeletons.”

It sure as hell fit the moment, she thought as they sang words of defiance and challenge. Words with no fear.

Lights flickered on and off; doors slammed. But slowly, gradually, the sounds of torment lessened.

When they reached the bridge, and she sang about being the hand that would “take you down,” she meant it.

By the time they finished, the house had gone quiet. No one lay at the base of the stairs; no one swayed from a rope above them.

“Foo Fighters.” Owen gave Trey a fist bump. “Inspired choice.”

“I figured ‘The Pretender’ was a solid choice because that’s all Dobbs is. A pretender trying to be mistress of the manor.” He brought Sonya’s hand to his lips. “You okay, cutie?”

“I will be.” Since Yoda pawed at her legs, she bent down to pet him. “You had a time of it, didn’t you? All you guys had a hell of a time.”

“So did my girl,” Cleo said as the black cat wound between her legs, then Owen’s. “They all might want a little fresh air. I could use it myself.”

“Just leave the door open,” Sonya suggested, “let the air in. I’ll clean up the glass.”

“I’ve got it,” Trey told her. “Stick with Cleo.”

As Sonya herded Yoda, Trey’s Mookie, Owen’s Jones outside with Cleo and the cat, Trey walked back to the kitchen for a broom. When he returned, Owen stood looking down where they’d seen Collin.

“You saw him fall.”

Owen nodded. “Yeah. I had this sick feeling maybe he’d just taken the leap, tired of living without Johanna. Or worse, that Dobbs did it to him.”

“He tripped. I had the same sick feeling, but he tripped. He was half-asleep it looked like, not real steady.”

“He’d had that cold deal for a few days.”

“Yeah, so not real steady. But something startled him. I think he saw—”

“Johanna,” Owen finished. “At the bottom of the stairs. Whether he really saw her, or imagined it, remembered finding her that way, it unbalanced him just enough.”

“I don’t think it was Dobbs. He just lost his footing, and he went down.”

“He had his hand over hers. When we saw him just now. I don’t think he did it on purpose, but I think he was okay with it. Dobbs made a mistake showing us that, because I feel better about it. Believing he just lost his footing, but he was okay with it.”

“We’re going to beat her, Owen.”

“Oh, fucking-A right we are.” Now he grinned. “I’ve got plenty of songs in me.”

Clover, the sixth bride and Sonya’s grandmother, chimed in with Rihanna’s “Don’t Stop the Music.”

“You got it, babe. And on that note, I want breakfast. I’ve got to get up in an hour anyway.” Owen glanced toward the open door. “What are the odds of talking Cleo into making some predawn omelets?”

“You tell me. You’re the one sleeping with her.”

“I give it fifty-fifty, and I bump that up if I have coffee waiting.”

Trey carried the broom and the dustpan of broken glass back to the kitchen. “Make the coffee,” he advised. “Everyone needs time to settle. This was different from knowing we’ve got a house full of ghosts. It was seeing them die, hearing it, feeling it.”

“Dobbs is quiet now. It had to cost her a lot of energy to pull that off.”

“She wanted to hurt them. Everyone in this house, alive or dead, wants her out. The only way we know of is to find the rings. Take them back. Break the curse, get her gone.”

“And Sonya’s seen all seven brides now. How they died.”

“Exactly. It’s going to get worse from here, Owen.” He sat at the kitchen island, shoved a hand through his tousled black hair. “We can’t be here twenty-four seven. But they both live here, work here.”

With the coffee going, Owen got out eggs, cheese, bacon. If he couldn’t talk Cleo into making breakfast, he’d toss some together.

“I get the worry. I’ve got it, too. But truth?” He looked at his lifelong friend across the counter. “I don’t know any two women—hell, people—who can handle it better than they can.”

“When the mirror shows up, it doesn’t give her a choice. Sonya has to go through.”

“And you can’t go with her.” Owen, Poole-green eyes steady, handed Trey a mug of coffee. “I can, if I’m here. But you and Cleo, you have to wait on this side. That’s a tough swallow for a guy whose nature, and skill set, has him helping people and fixing things.”

“It’s goddamn hard to take it on faith you’ll come back through again.”

“Here’s the thing.” Owen got his own coffee. “Considering it’s framed in predators, it looks like it could eat you alive, but you gotta figure it’s on our side, or why show Sonya what she needs to know to get that bitch out of here?”

“I tell myself that. Like I tell myself, from what we know or believe, Collin and Sonya’s father used it to communicate with each other. Maybe they never knew exactly how or why.”

“Sonya’s dad probably never did, but Collin had to figure it out after your dad did the genealogy. Once he knew he’d had a twin taken away, given up for adoption, he had to figure it out.”

“And by the time he did, and decided to contact Andrew MacTavish, MacTavish was dead.”

“So here we are,” Owen added. “Collin leaves the manor to his brother’s only child. You fall for her. She gets her pal to move in with her, and I fall for her. There’s a kind of symmetry going. I don’t know what the hell it means, but, man, it’s going.”

He heard the sound of dogs racing through the house.

“Let’s see if she’s fallen enough for me to make those omelets.”

Until she’d followed Sonya in the move from Boston to Maine, the only times Cleopatra Fabares recalled seeing the sun rise was after an all-nighter—work or play.

As for cooking breakfast—or anything else—that fell into the pretty-much-never area of her life.

But that was then, this was now.

She’d taken up Sonya’s offer of moving in, of making Collin Poole’s turret art studio her own without a second thought. But with the caveat she would also be in charge of the food shopping and cooking.

That posed a long, wide learning curve for the Louisiana-born artist and illustrator, but—surprise—she learned. And more, she enjoyed it.

And since the three a.m. wake-up call, and all that followed, stirred up her appetite, Owen didn’t have to work hard to persuade her to make omelets.

She bundled up her mass of burnt honey curls, sent Owen out to the herb garden for parsley and tarragon. And got to work.

It gave her something to do—and more, gave Sonya more time to smooth out.

Her friend still held a lot of anger, and Cleo was all for the mad. But Sonya also looked a bit pale yet, and her deep green eyes showed a fatigue that came from more, far more, than interrupted sleep.

She carried the load, and while the rest of them could help, did help, they couldn’t take it from her.

This helped, Cleo thought. Not just food, but the company, the routine. Trey and Sonya feeding the pets, Owen getting out plates and flatware.

Just the movement, the life—and the unity—helped.

When the oven timer dinged, Sonya walked over to take out the bacon. Trey put bread in the toaster—and watched Sonya.

Afraid she’ll break, Cleo thought as she slid the third of four omelets onto a platter and put it in the warmer.

But she won’t.

Any more than he or Owen would after witnessing a man they’d loved and respected die.

None of them would break.

When the last pat of butter she melted in the skillet began to foam, she poured in the egg-cheese-and-herb mixture.

“I think I’m going to paint out back today, do a study of the garden. The wisteria on the pergola.”

“You don’t need to stay near the house for me, Cleo.”

“I can if I want, but what I want is out back. Unless you want to blow off the day and go sail the bay in my beautiful little boat.”

“I’ve got a couple of jobs to juggle in with the Ryder Sports account. No day off for me.”

“Next weekend.”

Sonya smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Next weekend sounds good.”

With the last omelet on the platter along with bacon and toast, they sat together at the table while all four pets caught a predawn nap.

“These look amazing, Cleo.”

“You’ll convince me of that, Son, if you eat some.”

“I will. And I’m sorry I’m being such a drag on everything.”

“You’re not,” Trey objected, and deliberately lifted an omelet from the platter onto her plate.

“I feel like one. I … I’ve seen pictures, and he—Collin—was older when he died than my dad, but still, somehow, I wasn’t prepared for how much they looked alike. It had to be worse for you and Owen, but I can’t seem to shake that part yet. And we haven’t heard anything from Clover since right after it stopped. She always has so much to say, and I’m worried she’s—”

As she spoke, the tablet on the kitchen counter rang out with Elton John’s “I’m Still Standing.”

When tears sprang to Sonya’s eyes, Trey reached for her.

“No, no, it’s relief. It’s exactly what I needed to hear. So are we, Clover.” Now she forked off a bite of omelet, sampled it. And when she smiled, meant it. “And this is as amazing as it looks.”

They ate while three dogs and a cat slept, while music played on the tablet. By tacit agreement, they didn’t talk about what had happened, not yet. The time would come, but for now they let that rest, too.

“You’ve got a knack, Lafayette.” Owen polished off the last of his omelet.

“I believe I do.”

“You can give your knack a break tonight. How about I pick up something from the village?” Trey asked.

“Wouldn’t hurt my feelings a bit,” Cleo told him. “More time to paint, once I decide between a moody watercolor or a dramatic oil.”

“How do you decide?” Owen wondered.

“Whim.” She slanted him a look out of her amber eyes. “I do enjoy living on a whim.”

“I’m glad you’re taking the summer to paint for yourself.” Sonya leaned back with her coffee. “And you’re going to have a big bang of a show at Bay Arts this fall.”

“We’ll see about that, but it makes me happy. When fall comes, I’ll be ready to go back to earning my living and illustrating. Oh, I forgot to tell you, I got the sweetest note from Burt Springer after I sent a copy of his granddaughter’s favorite kids’ book signed by me and the author.”

“He’s a sweet man. I really like working with him again. I don’t live or work on a whim, but freelancing is taking me to many new places. A year ago, I couldn’t have imagined running my own graphic design company.”

“And kicking ass at it.”

She grinned at Trey. “Yes, I am. I couldn’t have imagined it, or imagined living in a big, gorgeous, haunted Victorian on the coast of Maine. Having a favorite cousin,” she added with a lift of her coffee mug to Owen. “Or being with you, a third-generation lawyer who’ll pick up dinner and tell me I kick ass.”

Sonya shook back her hair and sighed. “Nothing Dobbs can do changes any of that. And she’s not going to stop us. Cleo’s said it before, and it’s true. We bring the light and the life to the manor. We’re going to keep right on doing that.”

“Middle of the year’s not too soon to start planning a big, bust-out holiday party at the manor.”

Sonya pointed at Cleo. “No, it is not.”

“Man, they’re going to have us hauling around furniture again.” Owen rose. “I’m going to take off, but I’ll deal with the dishes first. Molly probably had a rough night, too.”

Cleo rose with him, then took his face with its night’s worth of stubble in her hands. Kissed him enthusiastically.

“You’re more a savory sort of man, Owen, but you got just enough sweetness in there. The sun may be up, but me? I’m going back to bed.”

“After a full breakfast and, what was it? Two cups of coffee?”

“Nothing stops Cleo from sleeping when she’s ready to sleep,” Sonya told Owen.

“Unlike my friend here, who, though it’s still shy of six in the morning, will go to work.”

“Things to do, people to please.”

From the tablet came Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash’s “Time’s a Wastin’.”

“That one ain’t about work.” On impulse, Owen grabbed Cleo, dipped her, and kissed her, also enthusiastically.

“Well, if that’s what you’ve got in mind.”

“I’ve always got that in mind, but Jones and I also have things to do and people to please.”

“Add me to that list.” Trey got up. “I’ll give Owen a hand before Mookie and I take off. I’ll grab a shower and change at my place. I’ll be back with dinner. Any requests?”

“Surprise us,” Sonya told him.

“Done.”

Now she cupped his face, looked into those deep blue eyes. “I could’ve gotten through it without you, because that’s what I need to do. But I’m really glad I didn’t have to.”

She wrapped her arms around him and held on a moment. “Really glad.” She pressed her lips to his. “I’m going to go up, pull myself together, and get to work.”

“You’ll call if you need me.”

“I will.”

“I’m going to let Yoda and Pye out for a few minutes before I go back to bed. We’ll all be up soon.”

Of course all four pets raced out when Cleo opened the door. She stood there a moment. “Looks like a lovely day to paint en plein air. She’ll be fine,” she added, still looking out at the lawn, the garden, the woods beyond. “She’s committed to this, and when Sonya’s committed, it takes a hell of a lot to shake her off.”

She turned back. “It’s why she stuck with Brandon even with all her doubts about marrying him. Finding him rolling around naked with her cousin in her own bed?” Cleo snapped her fingers. “Done. She might have forgiven him if he’d been contrite, but she’d never have gone back to him.

“I’m only using that asshole as an illustration so maybe you’ll worry a little less. She not only won’t give up, but when you push Sonya into a corner? She’ll come out swinging. Last night? A mistake.”

Cleo pointed up to indicate the Gold Room and Hester Dobbs. “Her very big mistake.”

“Why is that, especially?” Owen paused as he loaded the dishwasher.

“What she did before, to the seven brides? She has to pay for that. She needs to be stopped. But that happened before. Even though Sonya went through the mirror and saw it all happen, it already happened. Last night? Last night Dobbs hurt those we’ve all come to care about. That was immediate, that was now.”

“She just needed to shake off the sad and find the mad again.”

Cleo smiled at Trey. “You know her. I’m just saying this as someone who’s known and loved her longer, she won’t break. And she won’t stop.”

“There are times that’s just what worries me.”

“She needs this house and everything in it—with one exception—as much as this house and everything in it need her. We have the light on our side, and I have to trust that.”

“Just do me a favor? Stick close today.”

“I can do that. Now, y’all let Yoda and Pye back in before you get on, will you? I’m going to go get the rest of my beauty sleep.”

As she walked out, Cleo trailed a finger over Owen’s cheek.

Watching her go, Owen shook his head. “That woman’s got me, inside and out and back again. And she’s right, Trey. Everything she said was right.”

“I know it. I’ll deal with it. You, too.”

“Yeah, me, too. Text me when you’re ready to get the food. I’ll meet you.”

When Sonya came out of a long, hot shower, she found Yoda in the bedroom. A pair of cropped leggings and a roomy T-shirt lay on the neatly made bed.

Gripping the towel around her, Sonya breathed back tears.

“Thanks, Molly. Those are just right for today.”

The young Irish housekeeper from so long ago continued to serve. More out of love than duty, Sonya not only felt but truly believed.

As Jack, the boy who’d died in the manor before his tenth birthday, came out to play with Yoda when no one was watching. And Jerome tended to yard work, Eleanor to the plants in the solarium.

Their spirits, and others she couldn’t name, continued here, as much a part of Lost Bride Manor as the wood and the glass.

She had a duty to them, and to the seven brides. To Astrid, Catherine, Marianne, Agatha, Lisbeth, Clover, Johanna. For them, even more than for herself and Cleo, she would damn well hold the manor.

It would stay Poole Manor, as it had always been.

For them, she thought as she dressed, she’d stay, she’d work, she’d fight, and she would, somehow, take back the seven stolen rings and break the curse.

If it meant waking at three a.m.—the hour when Hester Dobbs had hurled herself from the cliff wall to seal the curse—then she’d wake at three a.m. If it meant walking through the mirror again and again to witness some horror, then she’d walk through the glass.

And somehow, she’d find the way to take those rings off the fingers of a dead witch.

Though she’d yet to dry it, Sonya pulled her brown hair back in a tail. If she had a call for a virtual meeting, well, she had her emergency makeup in her desk.

As she started out, Yoda jumped up to follow her through her sitting room and down the long hallway. She saw that Cleo’s bedroom door stood open a crack. To let Pyewacket come and go as she pleased.

Because she knew her old college roommate well, she expected Cleo could likely sleep until nearly noon.

She wished she had the same talent.

Instead, she walked to the far turret and the library where she kept her office.

She glanced at her mood board, then continued to the desk that faced the wide doorway.

So quiet now, she thought as Yoda wiggled under the desk to keep her company. She could hear the sea roll outside, had come to love the sound of it slapping against the rocks. The morning sun streamed through the windows. On the sill, Xena, the African violet Cleo had given her on the first day of college, thrived, its pink blooms drinking up that sunlight.

Here, in the two-level library, books and beauty and history surrounded her.

She’d been productive here, and would continue to be. She’d done good work, and couldn’t ask for more.

She had this room, this house, and all in it—and a ridiculous amount of money to live the life and do the work she wanted—because Collin Poole had chosen to give it all to his twin’s daughter.

Death had given her this life, and she couldn’t forget it.

She booted up her computer.

Emails first, read and answer. Do any updates or changes to previous work before moving into current jobs.

Then she pressed her fingers to her eyes.

“Oh God, Clover. I need to say all this, and I hope you’ll listen. I’m so sorry for what she put you through. I’m sorry for everyone, but especially you. She took your life, and Charlie took his. She stole not just your ring but all your dreams. The home you and Charlie wanted to make here. The art he wanted to make, the gardens you wanted to plant. All the children you might have made.”

Taking a breath, Sonya steadied herself. “And last night, hearing it and seeing it and feeling it all happening at once, it twisted up in me. If none of that had happened to you, to any of you all the way back to Astrid, and forward to Johanna, I wouldn’t be here.

“I wouldn’t have this. I can’t make it all not happen, but I swear I’ll find a way to make it right. Whatever it takes, I’ll make it right for you, for all of you. You’re the reason. You’re my father’s mother. You’re my family. I’m going to make it right for my family.”

The tablet played Taylor Swift’s “Invisible String.”

Sonya dashed a tear away, vowing it would be the last shed for the day.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s right. It ties us together. All of us. And I promise you, I won’t break it. Keep playing, will you? Whatever you want. I think the music’s good for both of us.”

And settled, finally really settled, Sonya opened the first email, and got to work.

Chapter Two

Sonya took her first break when the cat wandered in, sat, stared at her.

“Time to go out? Well, when you’ve somehow housebroken a cat, you have to respect that. And I could use a caffeine boost. Let’s go, kids.”

She walked downstairs, let Yoda and Pye out the front door. Stood a moment in the gorgeous sunshine looking out to sea and the boats plying it.

She went back to the kitchen for a Coke, then stood at the back door to look across the lawn and gardens and toward the thick green woods.

And turned when she heard footsteps.

“You beat my noon estimate by just over twenty minutes. And you’re dressed and loaded up. Before coffee.”

Cleo set down her Guerrilla Box, folding easel, and stool.

“I’ve still got coffee in the system from our insanely early breakfast.”

Ready for the day in a wide-brimmed hat, cropped pants, and loose tee, Cleo filled a water bottle. “Yoda and Pye can keep me company. If they want to come back in, I’ll take care of it.”

“All right. It’s gorgeous out, so they might as well enjoy it. So, drama or dreamy?”

“I know drama’s my natural default, but I think today calls for dreamy.”

“We had our share of drama for the day already.”

“And there’s that. See you later.”

Sonya got the door for her. “Enjoy.”

“Oh, every minute.”

Sipping her Coke, Sonya watched her friend walk toward the pergola while Yoda pranced and Pye slunk over to greet her.

It looked, Sonya thought, like a perfectly peaceful spot on a perfectly peaceful day. You’d never know that vindictive viciousness existed here.

“But I know,” she murmured.

She walked through the quiet of the house, into the library, where the music played.

She sat, and opened the next file.

By midafternoon her brain started to fuzz.

“Okay, maybe I need an hour, and some fresh air.”

Since the sun shined bright, she grabbed her sunglasses and a ball cap. Not as romantically sexy as Cleo’s painting hat, she thought as she pulled her ponytail through the back, but it would do.

She went out the front and to the seawall. The wind whipped just enough to blow at her tail of hair, and to whisk the clouds from her mind. The sea rippled with that wind so the boats on it rolled, and the waves crashed like thunder on the rocks.

Far out she caught a flash, then the leap and dive of a school of dolphins.

Her life had changed, she knew, completely and inevitably, that frigid winter day in Boston when Oliver Doyle II had knocked on her door to tell her an uncle she’d never known existed had left her all this.

And more.

She wanted it more than she’d ever imagined, this great, grand old house and everything in it. Ghosts included.

She turned now to look at it, how strong it stood, how fanciful. And saw a number of windows open.

Molly, she thought with a smile, letting the fresh air in. She wasn’t alone in her deep need to tend and protect Lost Bride Manor.

She believed, strongly, one way to do that was simply to live, to do what came next.

She walked, rounding the house to where the gardens they’d planted late in spring thrived in summer. Here the wind softened to a breeze, warm and fragrant with the flowers she’d helped plant.

The cat sprawled on the roof of the Victorian doghouse—complete with turret—Owen had built for Yoda. As she walked, Yoda eased out his brindled hot-dog body, stretched. Both animals joined her as she walked back to where Cleo painted.

On canvas, twisty vines wound up and over the pergola, and dripped, a blooming fountain. Behind it, the green, green woods stood like a misty secret. Below it, spent petals scattered.

It all stood under a sky so blue and pure it all but broke the heart.

On a sigh, Sonya said, “Cleo.”

“Dreamy works.”

“It’s so lovely. It catches in my throat.”

“When the hydrangeas really get going, I’m going to do a study of them. Same method. First, one of the bed where we put the goddess. And I think some small studies of individual flowers. Anyway, nearly done. I think.”

“Breakfast was a seriously long time ago. I’m going to put a snack together.”

“I could use one of those.”

“Good. I’ll let you know when it’s together. We could snack on the deck.”

The cat and dog followed her inside and watched avidly as she put a fruit and cheese tray together.

“You’ll get yours, too.”

As she added glasses of ice and a pitcher of lemonade, a door from overhead slammed three times, like bullets.

Sonya’s phone played “Rude” by Magic!

“Yeah, she’s all that. But we won’t be bullied.”

She put a dog biscuit and a handful of cat treats on the tray, lifted it.

The door opened as she walked to it.

“Thanks.”

After she walked out, it closed gently behind her.

So much good here, she thought. So much more good than evil.

She set the tray on the table on the deck and started to call to Cleo. But Cleo was already packing her Guerrilla Box.

“Good timing. The bitch is slamming doors.”

Cleo pulled sunglasses out of her pocket as she walked to the deck. “It must kill her—metaphorically—to see us both working and enjoying it. And boy, did I.”

After setting everything down, Cleo sat, let out a long, satisfied sigh. And the sky-blue toenails peeking out of Cleo’s sandals reminded Sonya she hadn’t had a pedicure herself in too long.

“I’m going to miss illustrating by the end of the summer, and want a good, interesting, fun job. But for now, this is heaven for me.”

She reached for a cracker, loaded it with Camembert.

“Snacking on the deck on a perfect summer afternoon doesn’t suck either.”

“It does not.” Cleo lifted the glass Sonya poured. “To more of this.”

“Lots more of this.”

“It seems Jack couldn’t resist the day either.”

Sonya snapped up straight. “You saw him?”

“No, but he was out here. I had a ball wing past me, with Yoda chasing it. But when I turned around—and it took me a couple of seconds to register—nothing. But for—oh, I don’t know how long—I could hear Yoda racing around, and I heard Jack laugh. It was eerie, but at the same time …”

“It made you smile.”

“It did. And I forced myself not to look around again because he’s obviously not ready. But here’s a kid who died over a century ago out in the yard playing fetch with the dog and laughing. It says a lot about us being here.”

Sonya sampled some pepper jack. “And why we’re here. Not just me. Yeah, things happened before you moved in, before Trey and Owen spent nights here.”

“But it’s escalated since.”

“It comes and goes, but yes. She’s gotten worse, and more of the others have made themselves known. On that part, I wasn’t receptive—at all. Thought I was losing it when I’d find the bed made, dishes done, Clover’s musical interludes, all of it.”

“The portraits in the closet.”

Such a jolt, Sonya thought, sipping lemonade, and such a strange joy to find those framed portraits in the studio’s storage closet.

“Some by Collin, some painted by my dad. And we’re back to Marianne Poole now. The third bride.”

“I checked the closet when I got up. No Catherine. Yet.”

“But one day we’ll open that closet and find her. And if Owen’s right, there’ll be one more. Astrid, another painting of Astrid. The one in the foyer isn’t part of the series.”

“More than that?” Cleo plucked a raspberry. “First, Owen’s right. And part of the reason he’s right is one of them has to paint her. Your uncle or your dad, and it needs to be hung with the other six brides.”

“I know—or have to accept—we’ll find them when we’re supposed to. In the meantime, I’m thinking about doing a full-house search—which, considering the size of the place, all the closets, drawers, trunks—all of it—could take frigging years.”

“I’m in.” After selecting a small branch, Cleo nibbled on tart green grapes. “You know that. We can draft the men, so that makes four of us. What are we looking for, Son? Do you think you’ll find the rings that way?”

“No, way too easy. Add we know she’s wearing them, all seven of them. But maybe, if we do a thorough search, we’ll find …”

“A clue?”

Sonya had to laugh at herself. “It sounds very Scooby-Doo, but yeah. The house, the mirror, the residents—past and present—keep doling out pieces. Maybe we’ll find more, and maybe a way to put those pieces together.”

“I repeat, I’m in. This house is full of treasures, and every time we poke around, I find something I adore. But.”

“You’re going to be logical, aren’t you?”

“In my way. We have a houseful of people who lived and died here over a couple of centuries. And Dobbs has been collecting the rings over that time. If any of them knew how to find the rings, get them back?”

“They’d have found a way to tell us already.”

Clover went with U2 and “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.”

“It doesn’t mean we won’t,” Sonya murmured. “But yeah, you’re right, the solution’s not going to fall in my lap.”

“But we look. Something may trigger something else. In fact, I say we finish this up, then pick a room and get to it.”

Sonya looked back and up. “Which one?”

Studying the house, Cleo ate another raspberry. “I’m voting for Collin’s office. He was the last person to live and to die here, so that’s one reason. We’ve concluded his death was an accident. He didn’t die by her hand, her will, her damn black magic. That’s two.”

“I’ve gone through it some, but not deep and thorough. It feels intrusive. And that’s silly, I know.”

Cleo gave Sonya’s knee a pat. “It’s sensitive, not silly. We’ll be respectful.”

“It’s a good place to begin. Sort of starting in the more now, then working our way back. And it would give you a sense if you wanted to turn it into your office.”

“It would. So?”

“Let’s get on it.”

“I’ll take my stuff up to the studio, and meet you there.”

Sonya took the tray back in, wrapped it for later, then made her way down the main hall in her labyrinth of a house to Collin’s office.

A lovely room, really, she thought. Roomy, good natural light, a view of the side gardens. A big, beautiful old desk and a good leather desk chair, and a second for visitors. Shelves holding books, mementos, photographs. None of which she’d had the heart to touch.

And the painting of the manor with her father’s signature in the corner.

How often, she wondered, had Collin looked at that painting and thought about their grandmother’s cruelty? Separating orphaned infants, demanding her own daughter claim the child she chose to keep as her own.

Patricia Poole had never paid a price for that cruelty. Maybe her daughter paid it, locked in a world of her own delusions.

But if any answer to the rings lay with either of them, they were beyond her reach.

So she’d start with Collin himself.

She sat at his desk, and did what she hadn’t pushed herself to do before. She used the passcode Trey’s father had given her and opened the computer.

When Cleo came in, she carried a couple of boxes.

“I thought there might be some papers that should go to Deuce and the legal team. Or other things you might want to pass through them.”

“Bound to be. The desk file drawers are full of paper files.”

“Then I’ll start there.”

“He paid bills here. And kept perfect records. I’ve got all his passwords.” She tapped the sheet she’d taken out of the middle drawer. “I put the list there so it’d be handy whenever I made myself do this.”

Cleo sat on the floor, opened the deep file drawer. “Everything labeled and in alpha order. I’ll put what it seems like you wouldn’t need in a box for the Doyles to vet.”

“I think I’m going to print out his records and do the same with those because we’ll need to wipe the hard drive. We should donate the computer. Neither of us can use it.”

“Here’s a thought on that. Wipe the hard drive, yeah, but maybe set up the computer in one of the sitting rooms upstairs. Like a guest office. Something Trey or Owen, or one of the family on a visit, could use if they have a need for a desktop.”

Lips pursed, Sonya nodded. “Taking ownership and making a purpose for another room. Good idea.”

“But that desk stays here. It’s beautiful. If I do use this room and you want to move your dad’s painting—”

“No, I’d like it to stay here. I’ve got correspondence on here, too. Emails, business, family—and that’s often one and the same, obviously. He kept a calendar on here, too. Birthdays, anniversaries.”

As she scanned, Sonya’s heart gave a quick lurch.

“Cleo, he has my birthday on here.”

“He thought of you.”

“He did. Mom’s birthday’s here. Her and Dad’s anniversary. He thought of all of us.”

“How does that feel?”

After taking a moment, she smiled. “Good. It feels good.”

“Correct answer. Son, I’m keeping the files on house insurance, truck info, appliances, and all that. But he’s got files on his health insurance, doctors, dentist, which I’ll put in the box.”

“Yes. Cleo, he has a file on me.”

“On you?”

“My schools, from kindergarten on, the house we shared our senior year of college, my degree, internship, employment. My duplex in Boston. He’s even got some of the accounts I worked on. My engagement announcement. When I resigned from By Design, when I started my company.”

Her heart broke a little when she saw his scribbled note.

“He’s got a note here, Cleo. Start the new year off fresh. Contact Sonya. He died before he could start fresh.”

“And thought of you,” Cleo repeated. “Kept track of you, and it doesn’t feel intrusive.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’m just sorry it all happened the way it did. He wasn’t alone. Not just because of ghosts. But he had the Doyles. He always had the Doyles.”

“But he could have had you, and your mom.”

“Yes.”

“He kept track of you, and he left all this to you not just because you were his twin’s daughter, but I think because he liked what he saw. He trusted you.”

“He’s got other notes here and there. My engagement announcement. He adds: Could and should do better.”

Cleo’s laugh was sharp and wicked. “Points for Collin.”

“When I started Visual Art by Sonya? He’s written Going places.”

“He got that right, too.”

“I feel, doing this, seeing this, I’m getting to know him a little. The thing is, Cleo?” She swiveled in the chair to look down at her friend. “We’d have liked him. Me, Mom, you. We’d have liked him.”

“Son, we do like him.”

“You’re right. Okay.” She let out a breath, swiveled back. “Okay. Let’s keep going.”

They went through another file, then another as time ticked away. When it struck her, Sonya stopped, sat back.

“We haven’t heard from Clover since we started. We’re going through her son’s things, through his life, really, file by file.”

It came from the music room, from the old Victrola.

Cleo lifted a finger.

“I know that one. My grand-mère sings it. ‘God Bless the Child.’ It’s Billie Holiday. If you ask me, she’s talking about Collin, and I guess your dad. But you, too, Son.”

“But she doesn’t want to be right in here while we do this. And that’s okay. I keep getting a clearer, better picture of him, and doing this adds to it. This file here? It’s a list of nonprofits he gave to annually. We’re going to keep that going.”

They spent nearly two hours at it, reading, printing, separating, boxing.

“Even though we’re keeping it, I’m going to wipe the hard drive. Meanwhile, the shelves. You should go over all that, see what you want to keep, if anything.”

“I’ll Cleo it up some, maybe shift some things to other rooms. But I’m loving that brass sextant, and that old time and tide clock. The truth is, I’ve got a fondness for him, and I’ll like having things that he liked in here.”

Clover went with Hall & Oates and upbeat with “You Make My Dreams.”

Cleo patted the phone in her pocket. “Well, he sure helped make mine come true.”

Sonya put an arm around Cleo’s shoulders, and felt, for a moment, all three of them connected.

“I’ve got another idea. The cabinet there.”

“It’s wonderful. I’d use it unless you want it somewhere else.”

“No, it’s perfect in here, but right now it’s full of photo boxes, and they’re full of photos or newspaper clippings, things he printed out from articles. I haven’t gone through them all yet. We’ll store them somewhere else for now. But later?”

Sonya went to the tall, beautifully carved cabinet, opened both its doors. She took out a box at random, set it on the desk.

“A lot of snapshots, and some more formal portraits. Spans decades and generations, from what I can tell.”

“I bet he planned to organize all of them by category at some point.” Lifting her hands, Cleo spread her fingers. “Who doesn’t have a project like that waiting for the time and the mood?”

“Exactly. More photos stored in the attic. So we could make a gallery. Go through them, pull out the best, go back as far as we have. A Poole family and friends photo gallery.”

“I’m liking that idea.”

Green eyes flashed determination with some defiance mixed in.

“And, when the time comes, we use the Gold Room. After we evict Dobbs, I still wouldn’t want to use that room for guests. It’s just … I just don’t. But a room, that room, dedicated to photos, and you know we’ll find tintypes, and probably miniature portraits. If there are any family members we can’t find, maybe we can reproduce portraits.”

“I say, this is genius. I’d white sage the room first. Three times. Then we clean it out. Get whatever we want in there out of storage, and make a gallery. And we turn the dark to light.”

“I know he didn’t live here, but he was born here. I’m going to put up some pictures of my father, as a little boy, and one of my parents’ wedding photos.”

“More genius,” Cleo began, even as Clover blasted out Tina Turner.

You’re simply the best.

“Let’s take a few of the boxes into the dining room. Big table.” Sonya pulled another out. “We’ll pour some wine, sort through. The ones we think we might use go in one box. Ones we won’t, the other.”

“I’m for that, especially the wine. We won’t recognize everyone, though.”

“Unsure, first box. Owen may know, or Deuce or one of the older Poole cousins.”

“This is a plan, a very solid plan. And it’s one more way to turn what she pulled last night on its ass.”

By the time the men arrived, Sonya and Cleo had photos spread out, others in designated boxes, and had just poured a second glass of wine.

“What’s all this?” Trey asked.

“Sonya’s genius idea. Once we kick Dobbs back to hell, we’re going to do a Poole Family and Friends Gallery in the Gold Room.”

“Look at this, Trey.” Sonya pulled one out of the gallery box. “It’s your dad with Collin, at, I’m guessing, late teens or early twenties. You look so much like him. They’re at the beach somewhere.”

“Couple of buff studs,” Cleo added as Trey grinned over the photo of Collin and Deuce wearing swim trunks and standing on the sand in front of the ocean.

“They used to talk about this. This has to be when they were in college, and drove down one summer to—I think—the Outer Banks. They tried to learn how to surf, and failed, but had a hell of a good time.”

“I guess you might not have a clue, yet, as to how many photos are socked away in this house.” Owen scanned what was spread around the big table. “How far back are you going?”

“Back to Arthur Poole.”

Now Owen scratched his jaw. “You do realize they didn’t have cameras back then?”

“They did miniatures, and I bet we’ll find some. Then you have tintypes. But we’re going to need your help to put names with faces.”

He gave Sonya a shrug. “I’ll help where I can, but not until I eat. We got lobster rolls.”

“Excellent choice.” Cleo rose. “We should eat on the deck. What did you get to go with them?”

“Potato salad,” Trey told her, “coleslaw, and at our favorite chef’s insistence, lemon bars.”

“Bree knows what she knows.” Cleo patted Trey’s cheek as she moved by. “Where’s the rest of our pooch family?”

“They’re all outside. Including the cat.” Since he didn’t intend to settle on a cheek pat, Owen pulled her in, took her mouth.

“Mmm, since you’re that hungry, you can help me set things up on the deck.”

“We’re really having fun doing this.” Sonya rose and put her arms around Trey as much for the hug as the kiss. “We actually started—well, after work—going through and clearing out Collin’s office so Cleo can use it.”

“That’s good.” He drew her out to the kitchen, where he got a beer for himself and one for Owen.

“I hope you think so when I tell you we have a good-sized box of papers we weren’t sure what to do with, and decided to dump it on the Doyle lawyers.”

“That’s fine. We’ll take care of it.”

“I went through the computer files. I’ll tell you about that over dinner. It’s mostly just sweet, and Owen should hear it, too. But I’m going to wipe the hard drive when we’re done, and we’re going to set up a kind of guest office in one of the sitting rooms. Anyone who stays here could use it if they need or want to.”

“More fine.” Studying her, he sipped his beer. “You’ve been busy.”

“I needed busy today. And ending with the photos, and the plans for them? As Cleo so elegantly put it, it turns what Dobbs pulled last night on its ass.”

“You know what one of the apparently endless things I find most appealing about you is?”

“Oh, do tell.”

He ran a hand down the tail of her hair that reminded him of rich maple syrup.

“You always bounce back. Whatever gets tossed at you, you bounce back from it and keep going.”

“And here I thought it was my elevated sense of style and winning personality.”

“Those make the list.”

In that moment, something in the way he looked at her had her heart trembling.

Owen burst in from the deck. “Take-out containers won’t do it for her. She wants bowls and shit.”

And the moment struck him, he looked from one to the other as he pulled out serving bowls. “What?”

“Just admiring the lady.”

With the moment broken, Sonya shot out a smile. “You’ll want serving spoons. And since it’s Cleo, she’ll want some hot sauce.”

And since she knew Cleo, Sonya added cloth napkins.

While they sat on the deck in the warm evening breeze and enjoyed the feast, Sonya and Cleo filled them in on the day.

“So after I worked and Cleo created her magnificent and dreamy watercolor, we decided to tackle Collin’s office.”

“So I hear.” Owen bit into his lobster roll.

“Sonya took the desktop, I took the file drawers. Your uncle was an organized and efficient soul.”

“He was an artist, sure, but also a businessman. Pooles, by and large, tend to be organized and efficient.”

“He didn’t break that rule. Every appliance in the house, all the electronics, the water heaters, the furnaces, all filed with date of purchase, manuals. If there’d been any maintenance or repairs, it’s in there.”

“That’s just SOP.”

On a laugh, Sonya shook her head at Owen. “Cleo doesn’t keep any of that.”

“Why do I need a manual when I’m going to call somebody to fix something anyway? And if somebody fixed it, then it’s fixed. But knowing Sonya, I kept all that.”

“The computer files. Correspondence. I printed out emails I thought someone might want a record of, or just for sentiment. He had a file on me. You’re not surprised,” she said to Trey. “Did you know?”

“Figured. I knew from my father he’d kept track of you. Being he was efficient, he’d have kept a file. Does it bother you?”

“No. It gave me the feeling if I’d needed it, really needed it, he’d have stepped in to help. He added little notes here and there, and that felt … sweet. He also had a file of his annual donations, and I want to continue those. Is there a way to make them in his name?”

Touched, Trey put a hand over hers. “We can arrange that, sure.”

“Great. And all that led us to the photographs, which is where you came in.”

“I like the office,” Cleo added. “I put off using it because I didn’t know if it would feel right. But spending the time in there today, it did. And I’m better off not mixing office stuff with art. I tend to get scattered that way.”

“Really?”

Cleo gave Owen the hard eye. “Amusing.”

“If you were efficient along with everything else, you’d be perfect. Anybody who wants perfect is stupid. I’m not stupid.”

She lifted her wineglass, sipped. “And somehow, strangely romantic. In any case, we had a damn good day.”

“One door-slamming incident’s all she managed.”

“Oh, she shook the walls a little on the third floor.” Cleo waved it off like a gnat. “Weak sauce.”

“She’ll never be stronger than the two of you.” Because he believed it absolutely, Trey lifted his beer in a toast. “Meaner, but not stronger. You’re doing more to squeeze her out every day. Sitting here like this, having a good meal, dogs—and cat—in the yard. It counts.”

“Going through Collin’s office counts, too,” Owen decided. “Needs to be done. He loved that desk—who wouldn’t? Solid mahogany, custom-made for one of the Pooles—can’t remember right off, but late eighteen hundreds, near the turn of the century. Pristine condition.”

He started to take a drink, then set down his beer. “You’re keeping it, right? In the office.”

“Are you worried because it likely weighs a metric ton and we want you to move it?”

“I am,” Trey said immediately. “My back and I are definitely worried about that.”

“There’s that, but mostly, come on, man, it’s freaking magnificent. It suits the room, the purpose.”

Genuinely amused now at his passion, Cleo arched her eyebrows. “Then you’ll be pleased I feel the same. I fell for it at first sight. Now I have two magnificent desks. And this one, you don’t have to muscle up or down stairs.”

“Good. That’s good.” But he kept those green eyes on her amber ones. “And the cabinet in there. Jacobean.”

“Also staying.”

With that, he relaxed enough for another swig of beer. “That’s the right choice.”

“Look at that, will you?” Trey nodded toward the yard where the dogs, after a break to flop awhile, were up and running again. “I just saw the cat jump on Mookie’s back.”

“Hitching a ride,” Owen said with a grin. “And Mooks’s as into it as she is.”

Cleo let out a roll of laughter as she watched. “Just How about a ride, big guy. And he’s giving her one.”