Shadows

Prologue

Shadows loomed large from vacant corners, suggesting ghosts—my ghosts. How long it seemed since I last thought about Everstow. Perhaps I did not wish to remember the laughter, the tears, and the day Joel's return from Oxford stained our family's honor.

Grayson and I came home for the first time in thirty years. Everstow Manor's old bones stood at the end of the evergreen-lined boulevard—a broken reminder of its former grandeur. The vast iron-studded oaken door squealed open at my brother's slightest touch, and we entered the once magnificent great hall, now a shadow of its former self.

"It's still here," I breathed, pointing to the stone fireplace. Above it hung our family tree, a testament to our long-dead ancestors. "Our names, Gray. Can you see them near the top? They are the last of an honored family."

Grayson craned his neck and peered through his half-glasses. His whitening hair receded from his high forehead and whispered against his white collar. Thin crow's feet spread from his dull blue eyes, and the deep wrinkles on his cheeks etched hollows in his once fair skin.

Gray was always tall and thin, his legs spindly and his chest flat. He wore a dove gray suit with a black shirt and a white vicar's collar. I recalled his youth and the close brother-and-sister ties that once bonded us. How our lives had changed since Everstow's last fatal days.

Henry VIII bestowed the Everstow charter upon the first Sir Joel shortly following the dissolution. Sections of the old monastery were incorporated into the grand house, including the great hall, which was once the monk's refectory. The Manor grew throughout the years to include Elizabethan additions along with Georgian, creating a mishmash of different eras. Gray and I often wandered around with Miss Young and Mr. Blanchard, who instructed us on Everstow's history.

Papa held Joel to a higher standard than his two younger children. As a result, our elder brother lorded his position over us. We were mere specks in the perimeter of his greatness. Mr. Blanchard—the tutor—paid special attention to Joel's education. He was trained specifically to follow in Papa's footsteps. Grayson and I walked forgotten in his shadow until Joel's departure. Traditionally, the eldest son studied jurisprudence at Oxford. When he left, the pressures of the schoolroom changed in our favor.

"We were happy here, weren't we, Prissy?" Gray asked, turning his sorrowful eyes in my direction.

"Yes, Gray, we were happy," I answered dolefully. "We were happy...until Joel returned."

"Joel. God rest his soul." Grayson turned. His cane tapping against the flagstones echoed eerily in the silent hall.

I continued to study the painted tree above the fireplace. The name Joel traveled through the centuries. Names often change in a titled family. In ours, one dominated throughout the generations: Joel. Papa frequently stressed the importance of continuing it throughout the Everstow heritage.

The last Joel Everstow lay in the churchyard crypt. His legacy ended with one final heartbeat. My oldest brother—a broken man.

Duty brought me back to Everstow. I would not have returned otherwise. My life lay far away in the Australian Outback. If Grayson had not telegraphed urgently, I would have remained there and never set foot in Everstow again.

The overseas journey was long and tedious, but not as long as the one that took me to the other side of the earth. I went reluctantly and with no choice. The judge decided my fate: transportation and seven years of servitude for a crime I did not commit.

Grayson stood up for me in court—the only member of my family to take my side. Joel—heavily influenced by Charlotte Plumb—turned his back upon the blood ties that bound us. He, and he alone, could have exonerated me. Instead, my oldest brother bore witness against me.