The Aura of the Crescent Moon

By Patricia Catacalos

England, 1854... Charity appears as a mysterious, veiled woman insisting upon an interview with Hugh Morgan for the position of governess. Hugh was cuckolded by his deceased wife and no longer trusts women, doubting that ‘his’ child is truly his own and achingly withholds love from the little girl. But once kind-hearted Charity lifts her disguise, she will teach Hugh to trust and love once again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patricia Catacalos
• Release date: Jan 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301355648

Patricia Catacalos

I hold a BA in Theatre from Seton Hill University and a MA in Theatre from the University of Denver. Years ago, when still single, I acted in and directed plays in the Philadelphia area but suffered the fate of many artists, struggling financially. So I entered a career in sales. But, my creative spirit needed to express itself and several years, ago, I started writing historical romances. I discovered that writing historical romances is my passion. I love weaving historical personalities into my plot, interacting with my fictional characters. Recently, I began writing historical mysteries/intrigue and again, love the aspect of interspersing historical fact and personalities into my story line.I am married to a loving and supportive man with a Greek heritage (which influenced a couple of my novels) and we live in southern New Jersey.

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The Aura of the Crescent Moon

Patricia Catacalos

Copyright © 2013 by Patricia Catacalos

License notice: All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2013 by Patricia Catacalos

Published at Smashwords.com

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

All rights reserved.

Chapter One

England, 1854

Sir, there is a lady here to see you.

Hugh Morgan looked up, bleary eyed from his calculations recorded meticulously into ledgers spread haphazardly across the polished surface of his mahogany desk. He squinted at his aging butler, confused both by his abrupt interruption and his odd announcement. An errant strand of jet-black hair kissed Hugh’s furrowed forehead, giving Hugh a boyish look belying his mature age of one and thirty.

A Lady is here? What Lady? Do I have an appointment of which I have forgotten? Hugh asked, perplexed as he pulled out his gold watch from his brocade waistcoat pocket and flipped open its cover to check the time. It was 4:00 in the afternoon and he had been working diligently on his business ledgers since early morning, requesting not to be disturbed. Yet, here was Dickens standing stiffly at the double pocket doors to his study, blatantly ignoring said request.

I do not believe she is a Lady, sir. Dickens placed verbal emphasis on Lady as a member of the peerage would be addressed. But she carries herself with great poise and comportment that I would readily describe her as a lady. She is most gracious. Dickens had been charmed by the woman’s radiant smile, her affable and confident personality.

Hugh smiled his crooked smile, shaking his head while dangling his watch on its gold fob, "I believe that you would call a bawdy tavern wench a lady if she merely smiled at you, Dickens. You do have a definite fondness for all ladies. Hugh frowned, remembering his disregarded orders and cleared his deep voice for dramatic effect. I had asked not to be disturbed, Dickens, and as usual you have ignored my request. Who is she and what does she want?"

Dickens had been with Hugh since Hugh’s early childhood. He was hired by Hugh’s father, the Viscount Maywood, as a tutor to prepare the young boy for Exton and later, for Oxford. Once Hugh reached his majority he requested, of his irascible father, the opportunity to employ Dickens as both his valet and butler. The short man with the balding pate, large sensitive eyes and overactive imagination fit both roles well but often overstepped his bounds, all in the innocent guise of ‘helping his young Master’ whom Dickens was particularly fond of.

Dickens sighed but appeared completely unrepentant. He replied confidently, She is here in response to your advertisement in the broadsheets for a governess.

Ah, yes. Well, send her to Carson. He is handling all interviews. I’m sure he will select the perfect candidate and not require my approval. Hugh replaced his timepiece into its customary pocket and looked down at the nearest ledger open for his perusal while dismissing the butler with a wave of his hand.

She insists that she must meet with you, sir, and not with your Man-of-Affairs. She is waiting in the parlor, patiently anticipating an audience with you. I sense that she may wait an indeterminable amount of time until her request has been granted. I noticed that she possesses a lovely but very stubborn chin. Dickens smiled his impish grin, priding himself on his innate ability to judge accurately the character of each person with whom he encountered.

Dickens liked this woman, immensely. There was something special about her and he sensed that it was important for his young Master to meet her. Why, he wasn’t certain. But something in his gut dictated that he should enthusiastically encourage this unscheduled and impromptu meeting.

She insists, does she? By her very insistence, I am ready to conclude, without a doubt, that this is not the perfect candidate for the position, Hugh responded succinctly. If she refuses to meet with Carson then so be it. Send her on her way, Dickens. Again, assuming the matter had been settled, Hugh’s focus and interest returned to the figures penned with painstaking care into his ledger with only the occasional ink blot marring the page.

I think you should meet this lady, sir. There’s a bit of mystery surrounding her, I give you that. But her soft spoken, gentle manner makes me hesitant to injudiciously dismiss her. And you did observe my fondness for the ladies and that said, I would hate to disappoint her. Dickens’ shoulders slumped in dejection as his large, expressive eyes offered a silent plea for Hugh’s acquiescence.

Looking up once again from his task, Hugh cocked his head to the right, in his habitual pose when in contemplation. Another long strand of hair fell forward, tickling his right ear. Hugh absentmindedly tucked the misplaced hair behind his ear and smoothed his long black hair, hanging straight to his shoulders, with an open palm. Perplexed by Dickens insistence that he meet the ‘lady’, he pointedly inquired, And what, pray tell, is so special about this woman cloaked in mystery that I should deem it necessary to meet her and interrupt my work? There must be more to the lady than a soft-spoken manner to have captured your interest. Hugh thoughtfully tapped the top of his quill to the deep cleft in his own very stubborn chin.

Indeed, sir, I dare say there is. But I am at a loss to determine what exactly it is that compels me to insist upon this meeting. Perhaps it is her genuine mien wholly without artifice.

Pushing back his leather desk chair, Hugh stood his full five foot eleven inches and crossed his arms against his expansive chest. Why do I keep you around, man? You are a greater annoyance than you are worth. Very well, I shall meet this mysterious woman. Raising his hand to halt the inevitable correction, he rephrased his statement. Beg pardon, this mysterious lady and gladly send her on her way, myself. Without further ado, he crossed with wide strides across the length of his carpeted study to the double doors, shaking his head in a state of annoyed bewilderment that Dickens got exactly what Dickens wished…his Master’s compliance… once again.

~ * ~

She stood facing the French windows overlooking the small but ornamented garden awash with golden and crimson leaves scattered and swirling in the early autumn breeze. She sighed and closed her eyes in reverent prayer. Please, God, keep my fear in my stomach and off my tongue. She was completely unaware of the tall man who stood leaning against the door jamb in a relaxed, nonchalant manner, quietly observing her until she heard someone clear their throat.

Hugh had stood silently watching her for several long seconds. It afforded him the opportune moment to evaluate this lady. She stood in profile to him, facing the large French windows, unaware of his presence with her hands clenched before her chest as if in prayer. She was taller than current fashion dictated, perhaps five foot five in her stocking feet. She was dressed from hat to toe in black but the somber color did nothing to disguise her shapely figure. Rather, the dark color accentuated her slender body, the curve of her breasts, those appearing not too large but not too small, her tiny waist and slight curve of her posterior. Her posture was straight with her shoulders held back in proper alignment, jutting out her firm breasts.

Her dark choice of garments appeared starkly somber in a parlor awash with varying shades of pink and maroon wallpaper, drapes and cushioned furnishings.

Hugh smirked when he realized that the only portion of her facial profile that he could see was her chin. No wonder Dickens commented on its lovely stubbornness. The chin was all that could be seen of her face, along with her rosy lips, whilst all else was hidden by the bonnet’s wide brim and the attached black veil. Hugh wondered if she was in mourning.

Hugh cleared his throat to draw her attention away from her private thoughts and to announce his presence. She turned to face him with a gasp, surprised by his unexpected attendance in the parlor.

Realizing who he must be, she responded to his sudden unannounced appearance with a brilliant smile that nearly took Hugh’s breath away. He eased himself away from the doorframe as she spoke in a sweet, breathy voice so melodious that he thought an angel was addressing him.

Good afternoon, sir. She curtsied gracefully with a slight tilt of her head. Mr. Morgan, I presume. Please accept my apologies for this spontaneous visit. But it is imperative that I speak directly with you regarding the position of governess rather than with your Man-of-Affairs.

Hugh stood mute, mesmerized both by her stunning, genuine smile and her lyrical voice. He could listen to her speak for hours on end. He thought perhaps she was an actress, schooled in her craft to captivate audiences with her lilting tones. She was certainly captivating him.

Sir…? She fidgeted slightly, appearing uncomfortable with his prolonged silence. My name is Miss Charity… She hesitated a moment, her infectious smile disappearing. She appeared unsure as to whether it was wise to divulge her surname but decidedly continued, …Bacon.

Hugh’s eyes narrowed. So, she was not a widow but dressed in widow weeds, hesitant to give her full name. Why? Hugh suddenly felt somewhat bereft at the loss of her radiant smile and certainly intrigued by the air of mystery surrounding her. He crossed to stand before her and offered a slight bow. "My butler, Dickens, explained that you were somewhat insistent that I must interview you rather than my Man-of-Affairs. May I ask why? Carson has complete authority to select a suitable governess for my…for Athena."

Charity frowned slightly, realizing that he had stopped short of saying ‘my daughter’ but instead emphasized ‘…for Athena’. Pushing her thoughts aside, she smiled once again. She had promised herself that she would not lie. But, truth with omission was still a lie, was it not? Yet, what option did she have. She must secure this position. And, it was best that Mr. Morgan assumed she had not yet met his Man-of-Affairs and been speedily dismissed.

Since this will be my first position as a governess, it was important for me to meet the person to whom I would directly report. I realize that the position of a governess is but a step above a servant but I will not work for someone who is unkind or unethical.

Charity had heard the many stories of governesses seduced by their employers, subjected to their unwarranted attentions and although she needed to secure a position immediately, she would not be mistreated. She had suffered enough mistreatment at the hands of another. And it was a propitious excuse warranting an interview with the employer.

Charity was surprised by the slow, crooked smile appearing upon her potential employer’s handsome face and the wicked twinkle in his hooded eyes. Astonishingly, she felt gradual warmth spread throughout her body like the rays of the sun pouring forth from her very core.

Hugh clearly understood her reference to the ‘unethical’. I am not in the habit of consorting with those in my employment. You, however, might prove the rare exception. Hugh blinked, startled at the improper direction of his thoughts. His smile abruptly faded and his demeanor turned businesslike. You mentioned that this would be your first position as a governess. So, you have no references, I take it.

Charity’s smile slowly melted and once again Hugh felt inexplicably robbed, denied a delectable treat rightfully his to enjoy. Mentally brushing away the errant feeling, Hugh assumed his role as interviewer. Gruffly he inquired, What propitious qualifications do you possess that makes you believe that you are suited to this position?

Oh, I am more than qualified to teach your child. She began to smile again but her smile froze as she sensed his unease at her statement. He had almost visibly flinched at the mention of your child.

She continued, I am highly educated, sir, being the daughter of a respected Vicar. I speak fluent French, can read and write Greek and Latin, conjugate verbs and tally numbers with proficiency. Plus, I can teach Athena how to paint, play music, dance and comport herself properly in Society. She spoke with utter confidence, tilting her chin at a proud angle. She had purposely called his child by name rather than referring to her as your child.

The right corner of Hugh’s mouth hinted of a smile. The young woman had been very perceptive. She had sensed his awkwardness at the mention of ‘your child’ and she skillfully refrained from referring to Athena as such. He wished he did not always bristle at that phrase but he always did.

Charity’s breath almost caught at the boyish appeal of his affable half-smile. She suddenly wondered how old he was…certainly not as old as she had expected. And, he was far more handsome than she could have ever imagined.

When she had met briefly with Hugh’s Man-of-Affairs, Mr. Lore had explained that Hugh Morgan had been widowed several years, ago, and had one child, age ten. That was before Mr. Lore politely asked Charity for her nonexistent references. When she was unable to produce them, he very kindly but firmly ushered her to the door. Such a rude dismissal prompted Charity to take bold action and come directly to the potential employer, Mr. Morgan. What other choice did she have? She must secure employment immediately as her funds had dwindled to only a few pounds.

You claim that you can teach Athena how to conduct herself in Society and yet you unceremoniously and impulsively intruded upon my home, seeking employment, rather than following the proper procedure of applying through my Man-of-Affairs as dictated by my advertisement in the newspapers.

Quickly Charity averted her eyes, looking out through the paned glass of the French windows to the barren garden beyond. Her fingers tightened on the string of her reticule. She had acted boldly but again…what choice did she have?

Since she still wore the veil, covering her face to just above her full, naturally tinted lips untouched with rouge, Hugh could not see the blush he imagined now spread across her cheeks. Grinning, his eyes sparkled mischievously as he observed her obvious embarrassment. He suddenly wished to see her eyes…no, not just her eyes but her entire face."

Since you introduced yourself as Miss, I assume that you are not a widow. But your apparel suggests differently, especially the veil covering your face. Why do you dress all in black and hide your face behind that opaque veil?

It was her turn to flinch. Charity was indeed hiding behind her veil but to hear this man voice her intentions startled her. Her response was hesitant as she angled her face toward Hugh but she spoke with clear projection. As I mentioned earlier, my father is a Vicar. I often assisted him at both funerals and weddings. This is my funeral garb but it is also the most appropriate garment I own for an interview.

I see. It is definitely an austere garment, properly modest, Hugh commented as he examined her veiled bonnet effectively masking her face.

She smiled again, ingenuously, and lightheartedly asked: Does it not make me look the part of a stern governess who is serious about her future charge?

He raised his eyebrows at her teasing statement, again unwillingly enchanted by her genuine smile utterly without affectation. Ah, but I think perhaps a bit too serious. Please remove your veil, Miss Bacon. I do not like to interview potential employees without looking directly into their eyes to determine both their character and their honesty. The eyes are the window to the soul, are they not?

With a soft sigh, she turned her focus back to the garden, spying a rose bush still proudly flaunting the last of its blooms. Yes, you are correct. The eyes are the window to the soul…and every rose has its…thorns.

Somewhat confused by her vague reference to a rose, Hugh watched as she gradually lifted her dark veil while still focusing her attention, outside, to the bush rooted in the garden.

His first glimpse of her profile filled him with pleasant surprise. She was beautiful. Loose tendrils of honey blonde hair floated past the brim of her bonnet. High cheekbones and a delicate, sculptured nose, brushed lightly with freckles, gave her profile an ethereal quality.

Then, with a slow deliberation she turned to face Hugh, offering full frontal view of her face and in that moment, Hugh understood her confusing statement… ‘every rose has its thorns’.

The left side of Miss Bacon’s face was indelibly scarred.

Chapter Two

Hugh’s instantaneous reaction, to Charity’s facial disfigurement, was an audibly involuntary intake of breath. He cleared his throat, once again, fearing she was as embarrassed as he was. Stammering, he apologized, I…I beg pardon, Miss Bacon. I was taken by surprise at your…beauty.

The crescent scar, on Charity’s left cheek, began at her high cheekbone and curved toward her left nostril. The discolored scar was no wider than a thin line, resembling a knife cut, and extended perhaps two inches in length. It was not a recently inflicted wound and was quite noticeable in stark contrast to her otherwise perfect alabaster complexion gracing a delicate heart-shaped face.

Charity laughed heartily at Hugh’s stammered and falsely uttered comment. Hugh was stunned by her musical laughter. He felt self-consciously uneasy. He had expected her to utter some self-effacing statement but instead, responded light-heartedly with totally unexpected glee. He did not know what to say. And, Hugh was never at a loss for words. Never was he without a quick banter, a witty repartee.

"I am not without my vanity, sir. But I know I do not possess a beautiful face. Do not be embarrassed. Your initial reaction is a common one. I usually wear a veil in public not from shame but rather to discourage notice and undesirable curiosity. People tend to ask questions I do not wish to answer. Charity emphasizing not" was obviously meant to discourage Hugh from satisfying his curiosity.

She felt disappointed by the pitying look in his eyes. She hated to be pitied, especially by such a handsome man. She had her pride and she knew that she possessed other attributes that made her special and unique. But most people, men singularly, could not get passed the scar and their pity. Their insufferable, fawning pity!

I often tell children that I carry a crescent moon with me, right here upon my cheek. She smiled warmly as she touched the scar, gently tracing it with a graceful, gloved fingertip. And if they look very closely, they may see twinkling stars in my eyes.

Hugh was taken aback by both her candor and her whimsical acceptance of the flaw marring an otherwise beautiful face. Recapturing his composure, he decided to continue with the interview as if the passing, embarrassing moments had not occurred.

He moved toward the fireplace and leaned his right elbow on the marble mantle as he faced her, looking directly into her almond-shaped eyes. You may very well be highly educated, Miss Bacon, but you are still without experience and references. I cannot hire an inexperienced governess for Athena. She needs a proper education with a governess of the highest standards.

Charity returned his direct gaze with her blue-green eyes challenging his large dark hazel eyes so dramatic in appearance that they appeared outlined in kohl, accentuating long thick lashes, and the lids seemingly dusted with slate colored powder. The eyes are the window to the soul, he had said. Charity wondered how pure was this man’s soul?

He wore his straight black hair unfashionable long and loose, not tied in a queue. His features seamed chiseled to perfection with his straight nose, full lower lip, a strong angular jaw and dimpled chin. As Charity stood before such a man so masculine and confident, without the concealing benefit of her veil, she felt uncharacteristically self-conscious. Her bravado and confidence were beginning to wane.

But she could not suffer a rejection. Here stood a man she could respect and with whom she could enjoy a safe employment. She could feel it in every fiber of her being. At least, that’s what she thought she was feeling in every fiber of her being, never having felt this way before in the presence of a man.

Please, sir, if you may, describe for me this paragon of a governess. Does she smile when a child smiles? Does she laugh at the delight in a child’s laughter? Does she listen to the child’s hopes and encourage the child’s dreams? Does she open the child’s eyes to the wonder of the world, the presence of miracles in every day simple things? Does she love the child and protect that child with her very heart and soul?

Hugh blinked, surprised at her impassioned words. Yes, yes, of course she does. Very prettily put, Miss Bacon.

Then, I am that governess, Mr. Morgan. And, I can offer you a recommendation from someone you know. Someone’s whose opinion should weigh very heavily in my favor.

Who might that be, Miss Bacon? Do we have an acquaintance in common? Hugh sounded doubtful yet he felt equally hopeful.

I have yet to make her acquaintance but I am sure once I do, she will recommend me for the post. Charity smiled her brilliant smile and as if by magic, the crescent moon etched upon her face seemed to disappear within the healthy roundness of her rosy cheek. Athena will recommend me.

Athena? Hugh coughed back a chuckle. You believe I will hire you at a ten-year old child’s recommendation?

"Yes. Who better to determine my qualifications than the very child I will be governing? Her opinion should be of the utmost importance. After all, if she does not like me or trust me, she will be unwilling to trust the knowledge I hope to impart to her. She will question my motives, resist my efforts."

Hugh turned his gaze toward the fire, blazing in the hearth, as if to seek answers in the flickering flames. Her argument was sound albeit a bit unconventional. He, himself, had not yet earned Athena’s trust or affection. And, she did seem to always silently question his every motive. So, perhaps this woman could teach the child… to trust and love… him.

Love him…? The errant thought startled Hugh. When had he begun to wish for a normal father-daughter relationship with a child who may or may not be his own progeny? Damn the child’s mother. Mary’s selfish games placed permanent and irretrievable doubts in Hugh’s mind.

Your suggestion is most bizarre, Miss Bacon, completely beyond the norm. But… Hugh tugged the cord by the mantel, perhaps a bit too hard, to summon Dickens.

Hugh smiled his crooked smile and Charity felt the floor move, sway beneath her wobbly knees. I shall allow you the opportunity to make Athena’s acquaintance and we shall see if she recommends you.

Dickens appeared at the parlor door rather quickly, in response to the summons, as if he had just been outside the portal with his ear to the keyhole. Yes, Mr. Morgan, you wish me to escort the lady out? He feigned innocence, pretending not to know the reason for his summons when in fact, he did. He was skilled at eavesdropping. But he could not admit foreknowledge of a conversation to which he was not