Hidden Time Spell Chapter
For those of you who haven’t read Time Spell, the hidden chapter you’re about to read is an early
account of Helen and Holden Chadsworth. It will give you a bit of insight into
this dynamic couple who plays a pivotal role in the story within the story of
the book.
The Chadsworths surface in 1968 when Ivy first observes them
in Las Vegas. This excerpt provides a little background into how they first met
in the early 1950s, and sets the stage for their very tumultuous relationship.
It’s told from Helen’s perspective, so the dialogue and observations are
different from Ivy’s first-person accounts in the Spell Series. Don’t worry there are no major plot spoilers. This is
truly a hidden chapter and can’t be found in any copies of Time Spell. I hope you enjoy it!
Helen and Holden—Time Spell Hidden Chapter
Stonevine, Connecticut, 1952
Helen
I strummed my fingers along the
edge of the baby grand piano, and exhaled a stream of smoke into the already
stuffy room. I nodded at George as his fingers banged out the notes to Blue Tango on the piano. The band was
taking a ten-minute break and George jumped at the chance to show off his play
list on the ivories.
This party was dull. Carolyn
Crawford’s engagement was the talk of the town, but this soiree was turning
into a drag. Her parents had filled their upper Stonevine home with the town’s
most prestigious, wealthy, and affluent families to celebrate their only
child’s upcoming wedding. Of course my family, the VonRues, were included. No
doubt, we were at the top of the list.
The VonRues were at the top of
everyone’s list. My father, Charles, had a hand in the success of Stonevine.
There wasn’t anyone at this party who didn’t owe him something, and he knew it.
One of the waiters walking by
offered a bubbling glass of champagne. I greedily accepted the chilled beverage
and surveyed the room for a rescue from George’s singing. He had moved on to an
Eddie Fisher song. Where was Peter? Why
couldn’t I find him in this crowd?
I did my best to take tiny sips
of the champagne, but it was sweet and cold and I was bored. I knocked the
glass back and heard an instant chuckle from over my right shoulder. Someone
was watching me. I turned to face the man who had found my boredom so amusing.
I caught my breath and reigned in
my smile. Surely my perfect, creamy skin had turned bright pink as I flushed
from the thoughts of him and those devilish eyes. I had never seen eyes that
color before. It was like flecks of diamonds were glinting at me. Who was he? I was confident I knew everyone
Carolyn invited. Maybe he was a cousin or perhaps someone’s date. Whoever the
stranger was, he certainly wasn’t from Stonevine.
Daringly, I thought about
introducing myself or asking him if maybe he played the piano, but the instant
I glided forward he turned his back to me and began shamelessly flirting with
the girls crowding around him. Really, those girls are indecent—throwing
themselves at a man like that. Let them make fools of themselves. Who would
want to bother with someone like him? His tux didn’t fit quite right, he
laughed a little too loudly, and it looked like he had straight bourbon in his
glass. He most certainly was not from any of the families I had spent my life
socializing with.
I reached for one more glass of
champagne floating by on another waiter’s silver tray and turned toward the
door. I stepped on to the Crawfords’ front porch and inhaled the Connecticut
spring air. I wanted to shake off how that man stared at me, but at the same
time, I wanted him to do it again.
Looking through the windows of
the house, I saw my friends, arm in arm, gathering around George and his silly
singing. Carolyn and Phillip were at the center of the circle. Truly, they made
a lovely Stonevine couple. That will be Peter and me in a few months.
My mother was already planning
the precise details of our engagement announcement. She had chosen my deep blue
cocktail dress for the evening—she liked to plan. I couldn’t believe it when
she told me it was the same one Princess Margaret had worn. As if it was
designed especially for my tall thin frame, the folds of the silk hugged my
hips swishing like an airy cloud when I walked. We were waiting until after
Carolyn’s party to break the news to our friends. Stonevine can only handle one
lavish wedding at a time. And the VonRues were not going to let my engagement
to Peter Willoughby be anything less than spectacular.
I sighed and leaned against the
column closest to me. At nineteen, I knew I was ready for marriage. Two years
at Briarcliff had taught me how to achieve the necessary duties my socialite
wife status called upon me to perform. All Briarcliff girls knew how to do
those things. Me, I just knew how to do them better.
Peter would give me a wonderful
life. We’d honeymoon in Paris for the summer then come back to Stonevine and
find a charming home, probably close to my parents. Father had offered Peter a
position at VonRue Holdings as the Vice President of Operations. There would be
parties, bridge every week, and trips to the city for the theater. We had
already decided we would have one boy and one girl. What more could I ask for?
It was all planned, all settled, and all tidy.
I pulled out a cigarette from my
matching blue clutch when the door opened and a giggling girl scurried past me
with an eager suitor in tow. Her curls bobbed up and down as they darted into
the shadows created by the corner of the house. “Shhh.” She giggled some more.
I don’t think they saw me perched on the porch.
I had no interest in listening to
this nonsense. I stuffed the unlit cigarette in the silk purse and turned to
rejoin the party. I might as well search for Peter. Shouldn’t he be looking for me? Irritated my future husband hadn’t
noticed my absence, I huffed and pulled on the door handle.
“Whoa, pretty kitty. Where are
you going in such a hurry?”
He was there, filling up the
doorframe in his ill-fitted tux. The beautiful stranger with the mesmerizing
eyes. The reason I needed fresh air. The man who made me lose my senses for an
enthralling five seconds. And there were only inches between us.
“Cat got your tongue?” He teased.
I snapped back, “Certainly not.
I’m looking for my…my…date.” I tried to step past him, but he remained planted
in the doorway. “Excuse me. I’m trying to return to the party.”
He laughed. “Now, just wait. If
you have to go looking for your date, it’s apparent he’s the wrong Joe for
you.”
My eyes dropped to the floor. I
was equally vexed and embarrassed that this man I didn’t even know said exactly
what I was thinking.
“You don’t know Peter. He’s quite
the gentleman and quite the catch. He
would never leave in the middle of a conversation. That would be rude, wouldn’t
it?” I glared at the stranger and his perfectly carved cheekbones. He looked
like a flawless statue I had seen in my art history books. “I’m sure he can’t
just break away from his current company. Besides, I’m more than capable of
entertaining myself.”
He laughed again, and I absorbed
every vibrating note ricocheting between us. “I can see that you are. Defend
him if you like, but if my date was as gorgeous and sexy as you are, I wouldn’t
let you out of my sight—not even for a second.” His eyes dipped toward the V in
the sweetheart line of my dress.
Did he just say I was sexy? Out
loud so everyone within earshot of the Crawfords’ porch could hear him? I felt
his pale icy eyes undressing me right out of my couture gown. My head was spinning.
This outsider was crossing all kinds of lines I couldn’t even fathom. He was
dangerous. He radiated something undeniably sinful and powerful. I smiled as I
felt it encircle me in slow undulating rings.
I took a step back, and then
another so that the tall handsome guest had room to close the door. There was
just enough light from the windows to allow me to see his wicked smile and
captivating eyes, even though most of him was a mysterious silhouette cloaked
in darkness.
In one long stride, he cut the
distance between us, and his hand reached for the column my back was now
pressed against. I heard the band start up again, and the words to You Belong To Me suspended in the air
between us.
Avoiding the bright headlights
beaming onto the porch as a car cruised past the party, I turned my head to the
side. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw and felt the intensity of his stare
bearing down on me. I no longer heard the incessant giggles of the couple in
the shadows. We were alone.
“I guess I should properly
introduce myself. That’s how you all do things out here in Connecticut, right?”
I nodded lightly, eagerly waiting for the name to tumble from his perfectly shaped
lips. The name of the man who was holding me between a place of balance and the
edge of a spiraling dark cliff. Tipping my chin toward him, I leaned in closer,
and traced the curves of his mouth with my eyes. I couldn’t stop
staring—wondering what it would feel like on mine. He was taunting me, dragging
this charade on for what felt like endless tension-laden seconds. “I’m Holden
Chadsworth.”
I cleared my throat. “Helen
VonRue.” My rehearsed and rigid social upbringing bubbled to the surface. Instinctively,
I extended my gloved hand to take his, but he brushed it aside, knocking it out
of his way. I bristled at the rough contact, but felt prickly, intoxicating heat
stirring within me.
His voice sliced through the air
between us. “Now that formalities are out of the way let me show you how we
introduce ourselves where I’m from.” Both slapping him and kissing him seemed
like acceptable solutions to quell the burning sensation taking hold of me. Searching
my instincts for direction, I felt his presence arresting my every decision. I
didn’t recognize the hunger trembling through my body or the overwhelming
craving for this outsider to touch me. What
was he doing to me?
He pressed his lips against mine roughly,
and I squirmed from the weight of his body crushing into me. I tried to free
myself from his overbearing frame, but dropped my protest when his arms
encircled my waist and pulled me toward him. I knew at any moment someone from
the party—maybe
my parents—maybe Peter—could walk onto the porch and see me lip to lip with
this stranger, pressed against the Crawfords’ column, not resisting the touches
that should only happen behind closed doors. But there was something wickedly
delicious about Holden Chadsworth, and I was willing to taste every last
drop—no matter what the consequences.
