The Duchess of Haverford, renowned for her progressive views and enlightened mindset, epitomizes a refreshing departure from society’s expectations. Unlike many of her peers who cling to rigid social positions, she possesses the ability to discern a person’s true worth beyond their title or wealth. Growing up, she was undoubtedly a spirited child, characterized by her openness to embrace people from all walks of life.

Recently, the Duchess, a close friend of Lady Margaret Blanefield, had the pleasure of receiving her friend’s daughter, Lady Elizabeth, and her new husband, the financier James Alexander. The Whispering Hollows haunting was well established. Some say that the town, as well as the Duke, had paid a pretty penny for someone to come in to ‘remove’ the ghost, but it came to nothing. It took Lady Elizabeth and her James to put things right and the ghost to rest. Eleanor was eager to meet the brave duo, and this was her chance. They were returning from their travels abroad following their nuptials and would only be in the area for a few days.

“More tea, Mr. Alexander?” Eleanor asked, holding the pot in her hand.

“You can warm mine.” James smiled and lifted his cup.

“Lady Elizabeth?” she asked as she warmed James’s cup.

“Please, Your Grace. That sounds much too formal for friends,” Elizabeth began. “Elizabeth is fine.”

“And James for me, if you please.” He dropped a cube of sugar into his cup.

“Very well, please call me Eleanor.” She put the teapot down. “Now that that’s all settled, should we celebrate Thomas’s passing?”

James stopped stirring his tea.

Elizabeth’s hand froze her teacup inches from her lips.

Putting his teacup back on its saucer, James turned to Eleanor. “Thomas will not be joining us. The curse that held Thomas here after he passed has been lifted. Thomas is now at rest.”

“That is a relief.” Eleanor’s shoulders eased as she sat back. “I worried about the poor man. How did you manage to free him?”

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “The entire event was somewhat supernatural. My mind was on James’s return. He had been away in the Black Watch for six years.”

“And I couldn’t wait to see Elizabeth. Her letters were what got me through all those years, the good ones as well as the bad ones.” James cast a loving smile at his wife. “I am a very lucky man that she waited for me.”

“Was that the supernatural part?” Eleanor asked, trying to stifle her smile.

“Not at all. I got myself turned around in the patch and encountered a man. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I realized who and what he was.” She glanced at James. “Thank heaven James was at my side.”

“The man suffered for twenty years, and for what?” James wasn’t angry as much as he was disappointed. “In anger, he was left to die and cursed to boot.”

“It was when my parents were young. Mother was much in love with Father. He teased her about his conquests.”

“Let me guess,” Eleanor said. “She was left thinking she was wanting.” Eleanor let out a deep breath.

“My grandfather gave her a lovely necklace that a local boy, a childhood friend of my mother’s, designed.”  Elizabeth nervously smoothed out her skirt, unable to face Eleanor.

“And your mother allowed your father to think she was involved with Thomas…to make him jealous.” The Duchess leaned close and gently put her hand on Elizabeth’s. “My dear, you are not responsible for your parents’ actions. They must face the consequences of their actions, whether intentional or not.”

“You were the one who made them take action,” James said calmly. “If you hadn’t gone into Thomas’s pumpkin patch, he would still be chained to this earth. With your help, he found peace.”

“Oh, how so?” Eleanor asked.

“I picked a pumpkin from the patch, intending to give it to my younger sister. You see, she dropped the one she carved, and it smashed on the floor. That started everything. In the end, both Mother and Father confessed what they had done.”

“Retribution for Thomas was them admitting the truth,” James said. “It lifted the curse and resolved an issue between Elizabeth’s parents that had haunted them for twenty years. That, too, was resolved.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Elizabeth asked Eleanor.

“Oh, dear. I do not believe in ghosts, but I do believe in skeletons, and I have loads of them in any number of my closets!”

That set all three of them into a bout of laughing that lasted, on and off, the rest of teatime. Their conversation continued for another hour or so until James glanced at the mantel clock. “It’s getting late. It’s time for us to leave.”

Eleanor stood. “I’m glad you helped Thomas, ” she said, turning to Elizabeth. And I’m thrilled that you waited for your James. Your story is a great adventure. I am honored and want to thank you for sharing so much with me.”

Eleanor walked her guests to the door. “The two lessons I learned from your story are insightful ones. First, in life, one must take responsibility for one’s actions. Second, true love can endure time and distance.”

She hugged Elizabeth and James. “Please, you must visit me again.”

An Excerpt from The Ghost of Whispering Hollow

Part of The Spirit of Love of Hearts Through History Anthology

 By Ruth Casie

In the haunted hollows, love dances with destiny.

Amidst the moon-dappled oaks of Blanefield Manor, where ancient secrets whisper through time, James returns from war—a soldier scarred by battle and longing. Elizabeth, his childhood friend, has been his solace through ink-stained letters. But as they unravel a family curse impacting both their lives, they face a haunting love, and Whispering Hollows reveals its true magic. In a dance of shadows and moonlight, their hearts reignite—a love that defies both time and spectral secrets.

Buy Link: Amazon

Chapter One

Glenmore, Scotland
October 31, 1786

In the depths of the Scottish countryside, nestled at the western end of Loch Morlich, lay the village of Glenmore. A day’s ride north of Sommer-by-the-Sea, it thrived as it had for over a century. The quiet, picturesque community was dressed in colorful autumn decorations, all to create the haunting atmosphere of the annual All Saints’ Day celebration. The village elders, their memories steeped in Samhain celebrations, recounted the tales of donning costumes to outwit devilish spirits. Today, the air buzzed with anticipation as the children prepared to dress as ghosts and carve pumpkins, rather than turnips, for the annual contest.

Blanefield Manor, the home of Edward, Duke of Blanefield, his wife, and two daughters, stood proudly beyond the village. Within its stone walls were generations of secrets and whispered confidences. Some secrets were murmured during the harvest moon when the veil between this world and the next grew thin.

In the grand foyer, Lady Elizabeth, the Duke’s eldest daughter, flinched as her sister Nancy’s grasp faltered and the carved pumpkin slipped, smashing on the marble floor. Nancy had labored over her creation all day, carving intricate patterns, certain she would win the contest. Now, her breath caught, and for a moment she stood frozen, tears trickling down her cheeks as Mr. Paris, the butler, and several footmen took charge and worked quickly to remove the mess.

“Don’t worry.” Elizabeth pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed away her sister’s tears. “I’m sure we can find another pumpkin for the evening’s contest.”

“I held it tight.” Nancy, her lips quivering, glanced at Elizabeth. “It slipped out of my hands. We’ll never be able to replace it now.”

“We won’t. But I will.” Elizabeth turned to the butler. “Mr. Paris, my coat and shawl, please. I’ll meet you at the Hollow’s gate.”

Her father, the Duke of Blanefield, appeared from the drawing room, his presence commanding attention. His eyes, usually stern and calculating, softened with concern.

“What’s happened?”

Elizabeth and Nancy spun around and faced their father.

“A small accident,” Mr. Paris, ever the unflappable servant, made it sound as if smashing a pumpkin on the foyer floor was an everyday occurrence. “A small accident,” he said. “Your Grace, Mr. Hughes has arrived. I’ve settled him in the library, as you requested.”

Her father turned to his younger daughter, a warm look of understanding on his face.

Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Nancy, still in shock. “It slipped out of my hands, Papa,” Nancy confessed, her vulnerability laid bare, “Elizabeth said she would find another one and meet you at the gate to the Hollows.”

“You’ll recognize me. I’ll be the one with the winning pumpkin.” Elizabeth took her coat and shawl from the butler. “Thank you, Mr. Paris.” She glanced at her sister. “What do we say if James arrives?”

James Alexander was a name whispered in the halls of Blanefield Manor these past six long years. A steadfast friend to Elizabeth, he had been absent, called away to war. She exchanged ink-stained letters with him, the only way they could bridge the long distance. Over time, those pages contained their shared dreams, secret confessions, and unspoken promises. It was through these pages that their hearts grew.

Nancy’s question hung in the air.

“James isn’t returning until tomorrow,” Elizabeth said. One more day. After all this worry and waiting, just one more day. She opened the front door, ready to slip out into the fading twilight.

“Wait!” Nancy called in a shallow gasp.

Elizabeth, impatient, turned to her sister and rolled her eyes.

“Where will you find a pumpkin now? We were in the village earlier today. There are no pumpkins anywhere.” Nancy paused. The color drained out of her face. “You’re not going into the Hollow,” she said, her eyes wide, her voice trembling with fear.

“Have no concern. I will find one.” Elizabeth called over her shoulder. “Now, let me leave before all the pumpkins are gone.” She didn’t wait for a response. Instead, she rushed out of the house before anyone asked her any more questions.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and set her sights on Whispering Hollows or, as the village boys referred to it, Haunted Hollows. Nonsense, that’s what all this ghost stuff was. For decades, the Gabriels, a fine, respected family, had tended the land that yielded a bounty of vegetables for the village. Twenty years ago, Thomas, the last of the family, left without any explanation. The villagers picked through the fields, but soon, the fields were left unattended, and the neglected vegetables grew with great hopes only to wither on the vine. Whispers of ghosts and hauntings kept trespassers, especially the children, away. No one ventured into the Hollow.

With the sun beginning to set and the sky a soft pink, the village celebration would start soon. Elizabeth had no choice but to turn to the Hollows for a pumpkin. Time was running out.

How difficult could this be? There were plenty of pumpkins at the Hollow. They were clearly evident in their cozy furrows when she passed the pumpkin grove yesterday. It was curious that after years of neglect, the pumpkin patch still flourished. That was a thought for another time, right now the miracle was to her advantage.

A gust of cold air caught her by surprise as she left the shelter of the village buildings. She pulled her shawl tight to keep what little warmth it provided. Farther down the lane, the mist lying over the hills spread along the path and seemed to grow taller and thicker with each step she took.

Elizabeth’s footsteps crunched the fallen leaves as she moved through the woods. The waning gibbous moon hung in the sky, casting a sliver of silver against the quickly fading blue. She clutched her shawl tighter, the hem billowing as if it, too, sought refuge from the chill.

She told herself repeatedly all she had to do was choose the winning pumpkin and bring it to the Hollow’s gate. Nancy was clever. If Elizabeth were quick about it, her sister would still have time to carve it into something special.

But as Elizabeth stepped deeper into the mist-shrouded clearing, she had her doubts. The fog clung to her like an embrace, spirals curling around her ankles, urging her to stay, trapping her in place. Yet she pushed on, her resolve unwavering. She would not fail her sister.

Shapes materialized, phantom creatures that defied classification. Were they ghosts of lost souls, their features softened by time and sorrow? Or were they figments of her imagination, conjured on the eve of All Saints’ Day?

All Saints’ Day had weighed heavily on Elizabeth’s heart, a somber reminder of James’s departure six years ago. The waiting felt like a lifetime. Her long wait would be over soon. He would be home tomorrow.

Her breath hung in the damp air as she continued on, her boots sinking into the mossy ground.

Fear whispered at the edges of her mind, urging her to flee—to turn back and seek the safety of Blanefield Manor. But Elizabeth was no stranger to fear. She had faced it on moonless nights when the wind howled through the branches and the owls called out. She had faced it in the letters from James, written from distant battlefields.

The twilight sounds of the forest quieted. Elizabeth stopped. Her cape fluttered, a dark silhouette against the fading light, as her gaze swept in all directions. The forest murmured its enchantment, and she listened. There was magic here—the kind that defied reason, that danced on the edge of reality and called to her.

A glance at the darkening sky prompted her to move on. These last months, she had kept herself busy helping her mother and her sister. She’d do anything to make the days go faster. And now, here it was, All Saints’ Day Eve. Elizabeth didn’t need to re-read James’s message. She knew it by heart.

“Dearest Elizabeth, I have been blessed. I shall arrive at Blanefield Manor on All Saints’ Day. The journey has been long, but the thought of seeing you again sustains me. Yours always, James.”

Her heart raced at the thought of it. He and his friend Finn Elliot had left to serve in the Black Watch and had been garrisoned in America.

His letters were a comfort. His words danced off the page, echoing the warmth of his Scottish burr. He told tales about him and Finn, new friends, and the sights they encountered. Yet he spared telling her what their battalion did or where they were.

Two years ago, when she opened one of his letters, an uneasy sensation had crept over her. Her eyes had darted across the paper, desperately seeking any reassurance that her fears were unfounded until the stark truth leaped out at her.

Finn passed away this morning.

The two were like brothers despite the lack of a blood connection. Since that message, the laughter had gone from his letters. She ached for him and, at times, cried herself to sleep, concerned about him. She wanted one look, one touch. She needed to know he was well. As much as it frustrated her, she reached out through her letters and ensured he realized that she cared, that she loved him.

After the war, the remaining Black Watch regiment garrisoned in Nova Scotia. For three years, she waited and wondered if James would return to Glenmore as the same man he had been when he left. Others who had returned were often mere shadows of their former selves.

Enough worrying. With one deep breath, she pushed aside her concerns for now. They would be together soon—tomorrow. At the moment, she needed to find a pumpkin. The Hollow’s pumpkin grove was around the next bend.

As she went on, the mist thickened, swallowing the bottoms of the fence posts. Gusts of wind raced along the path, growing stronger and colder. The closer she got to the grove, the more an ominous sensation settled over her. Stopping in her tracks, she shook her shoulders. Stop being silly. She started walking again, her pace quicker in defiance of her growing apprehension.

Reaching the edge of the grove, she paused. The Hollows had always been a place of mystery—a threshold between the mundane and the magical. She’d never thought about going into the patch before.

In the distance sat several winning-size pumpkins. A sense of relief flooded through her. With a tentative step, she pushed open the gate and ventured into the patch.

She picked her way across the fallow field. Despite her caution, the hem of her day dress snagged on brambles. As she stepped around a small thicket that wasn’t more than fallen branches covered with leaves, her foot sank into the thick mud. She turned to make her escape, but thorny twigs caught her shawl. She tugged at it, not willing to leave it behind. Finally free and frustrated, for a moment she considered going home. She glanced at the pumpkin and relented.

She found a nicely rounded, golden-orange pumpkin. Relieved that her search was almost over, she reached to pick it up but quickly pulled her hand away. Worms and insects had eaten out the back, leaving only a shell. Disappointed, she took out her handkerchief and cleaned her hands.

Suddenly, a rustling sound and frantic scurrying drew her attention. A mouse darted out from the underbrush, startling Elizabeth. Her handkerchief slipped from her grasp. As she reached for it, a barn owl swooped down. Its talons grazed the earth, capturing the unsuspecting mouse.

Her heart raced, and her breaths came in shallow spurts. The brutal attack had shaken her to her core. Without looking back, Elizabeth hurried off, her footsteps stumbling over gnarled roots, her handkerchief forgotten.

The second squash was not much better than the first. Elizabeth’s disappointment grew as she went on to a third, which was too flat, and a fourth, which was too small. With each step, she went deeper into the grove until she discovered herself surrounded by dense foliage. Finally, she found a plump, beautiful pumpkin.

Satisfied, she turned to leave but stood rooted to the spot. The sun now dipped below the horizon, coloring the sky a deep purple. The mist closed in, forming a wall around her.

As evening settled in, Elizabeth’s unease grew. It wouldn’t be long until the sky was completely black. There would be little light to guide her way to the gate.

With the ground soft beneath her feet, Elizabeth hoped to retrace her steps, but the forest had swallowed her tracks. The once familiar path blurred, and shadows merged, creating a disorienting maze. Which way had she come? Which was the way back? The darkening evening pressed on, and her sense of panic began to build.

“Take a deep breath,” she reminded herself, forcing her racing heart to slow. “That’s it. Again. One more time.”

Calm at last, she glanced around and put together a plan. The pumpkin grove was laid out in neat rows like other vegetable patches. With a little concentration, she should be able to follow the furrows. She chose a row and began to walk, determined to find her way to the gate and her parents.

The path became more treacherous, and the undergrowth grew increasingly gnarled as she went on. She trudged through puddles and mud. The pumpkin in her arms grew heavier with each struggling step. The hem of her skirt repeatedly caught on brambles and thorns. Her saturated skirt weighed her down and made it more and more difficult to lift her feet.

Tired, wet, and cold, Elizabeth stumbled over one of the roots and fell hard to the ground. She let out a startled scream, more from surprise than from any serious injury.

She sat up and paused, catching her breath and taking stock of her surroundings. Should she wait for the others to gather and find her or attempt to find her way to the gate alone? But which way to go? She looked in each direction for some sign but found none. She glanced at the ground as an unsettling sensation came over her. She picked up her handkerchief. A shadow of alarm ran through her. She’d been walking in circles.