Three Rich Men: House of Midnight Fantasies / Forced to the Altar / The Millionaire's Pregnant Mistress. Michelle Celmer

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СКАЧАТЬ homed in on the man seated in a wheelchair, his shock of gray hair contrasting with his mocha-colored skin. He wore a neat brown suit and a number of years on his thin face. “The one in the bow tie?”

      “That’s him. And good luck.”

      “Thanks.”

      After Tisha departed, Selene stepped into the room and cleared her throat. “Mr. Gutherie?”

      He glanced up from his cards, mischief calling out from his light brown eyes. “Well looky here, boys. I have a guest. And a mighty pretty one at that.”

      All eyes turned to Selene and, after the rest of the card players muttered polite greetings, Mr. Gutherie said, “Could you give us some privacy, gentlemen? We’ll take up where we left off after lunch.” He spoke with Southern sophistication, his voice as clear as the summer skies.

      The men pushed back from the table, stood and passed by with greetings and cautions not to believe a word Gutherie said. After they’d filed out, Selene approached the table. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Gutherie.”

      “Call me Jeb,” he said as he gave her offered hand a gentle shake. “And forgive me for not standing. My legs don’t work well, but my mind’s still as sharp as a steel trap.”

      Selene took the vacated chair next to him and set her purse on the floor beside her. “I’m here about the House of Midnight.”

      His expression turned somber. “The House of Sunshine, you mean. Or at least that’s what it was called a long time ago.”

      A piece of the puzzle had already fallen into place, and that pleased Selene greatly. “I didn’t realize that about the name. In fact, I know very little about the plantation’s history, and that’s why I’m here.” She briefly explained her role in the restoration, and then asked the first question that came to mind. “Someone told me you might know something about the previous owners, specifically a woman named Grace. Her portrait hangs in the rotunda.”

      “Ah, Miss Grace.” He tented his fingers beneath his chin and tapped them together. “She lived in the house a long time ago and died before I was born. But my grandmother spoke fondly of her. They grew up together and remained good friends, even after the war.”

      “Which war would that be?”

      He chuckled. “The Civil War, although it wasn’t too civil.”

      Selene tried to hide her shock but doubted she succeeded. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

      “I’ve seen one hundred years as of this past May,” he said proudly. “Miss Grace was my aunt.”

      Another surprise among many. “Your grandmother and Grace were sisters?”

      “No. Miss Grace and my father were half siblings by Stanton Gutherie, a heartless bastard. He owned the plantation next to Sunshine House and thought he owned everything and everyone, including his workers. My grandmother, Effie, was one of his slaves, orphaned at a young age when her parents died after the war. She had no place to go, so she stayed on at the Gutherie plantation. And when she was only fifteen, Stanton got her with child. That child was my father.”

      Selene had never expected such a disturbing history. “How did Grace come to live at the plantation?”

      His face lit up with remembrance. “Ah, Miss Grace was as pure as her father was evil, according to my grandmother. She fell in love with Zeke Cormier, the owner of Sunshine House and a man Stanton hated. But she defied her father and married Zeke against his wishes.”

      Now Selene knew the identity of Z. in the journal—Grace’s journal. “And your grandmother continued to live with Stanton?”

      “Luckily, no. Grace took Effie and my father to live with her after she married.”

      Jeb went on to explain how Grace had become pregnant two years into the marriage, how Effie had described the pure joy in the house, until Grace passed away from black fever a few weeks before the baby was born, a little boy who perished as well.

      Jeb sat back and shook his head. “Mr. Zeke went crazy after that. He painted the house black. He refused to let my grandmother clear out the nursery.”

      Selene recalled the sad little cradle in the corner. “How awful.”

      “It only got worse,” Jeb said. “Mr. Zeke took to the bottle. He eventually drank himself to death. My grandmother tried to help him, but he wouldn’t let her. He did leave her the house when he died.” Again his expression softened. “I spent summers at the plantation when I was growing up. Many of my fondest memories are tied up in that place. In the grove at the west of the property, my father built a tree house.” He rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful. “I wonder if it’s still there.”

      Selene didn’t know, but she would find out. “And your grandmother—”

      “Died in a rest home back in the sixties. I owned the house until Giles Morrell bought it in a public auction because I couldn’t pay the back taxes. I haven’t been back since.”

      “You probably wouldn’t want to see it now,” Selene said. “It’s in a sad state, but I hope to change that soon.”

      “I wish you luck.”

      She took Jeb’s hand into hers. “Thank you so much. I don’t know how to repay you.”

      He patted her arm. “Treat the house with kindness, Miss Selene. Bring back the joy and the sunshine.”

      If only she could promise him that, but unfortunately more sadness resided there, resonating from Adrien, although she still didn’t know any of those facts yet. But she hoped eventually to come by that information.

      Selene had one last question she needed to ask, although she felt a little foolish. “Did your grandmother ever claim to have seen any ghosts?”

      Jeb chuckled again. “She swore she talked to Zeke after he passed until she told him to go to the light and find Miss Grace and their boy child. He supposedly left after that and she didn’t see him again. Might seem crazy to some folks, but I believed her.”

      Zeke accepting the call to glory was definitely good news. Selene had one wounded man to deal with; she didn’t need another. Especially a ghostly man. “I don’t think it sounds crazy at all.”

      He gave her a questioning look. “Most people don’t believe in the ability to talk to the dead.’”

      “I’m not most people, I guess.”

      “Because you have that ability, too.”

      “I …” How could she possibly respond without lying to him? “I don’t talk to ghosts. Let’s just say I have strong intuition.”

      He gave her hand a squeeze. “Miss Selene, I spent my life as a cultural anthropologist, traveling the world. I’ve seen things that can’t be explained, frightening things. Wondrous things. I also know how cruel people can be when I learned early on the meaning of quadroon and mulatto. But I also learned that what makes us different only makes us unique, and we should be proud of those differences.”

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