The House Of Secrets. Elizabeth Blackwell

      

      “I need to understand what happened.”

      Alissa paused, gathering her thoughts. “I know it sounds crazy, but I feel a connection to them. They were happy here once. I feel like I owe it to them to bring that happiness back.”

      “You already have,” Danny said.

      She glanced at him, but his face was turned away, looking up at the maple leaves that hung above them. This was the closest he’d come to revealing any feelings for her. She could ask him what he meant. Find out if he thought of her as someone more than the person who signed his paychecks.

      Or she could let the moment pass.

      Continue living a life without complications.

      Dear Reader,

      I’ve always been fascinated by historic homes. As I walk the halls, I like to imagine the previous owners taking those same steps. What were their lives like? Were they happy here? While I don’t believe in ghosts in the stereotypical, chain-rattling sense, I’ve often wondered if a home’s past owners leave some trace of themselves behind. That curiosity was the inspiration for The House of Secrets.

      By tracing the story of two women—Evelyn Brewster in the early 1900s and Alissa Franklin in the present—I wanted to explore how two seemingly different lives can share certain parallels. As a history buff, I believe we can all learn from the past—and if you can solve a long-buried mystery along the way, all the better!

      Thanks for following along.

      Happy reading!

      Elizabeth Blackwell

      THE HOUSE OF SECRETS

      Elizabeth Blackwell

      TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

      AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

      STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

      PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      As a magazine writer and editor, Elizabeth Blackwell has written about everything from designing a dream kitchen to fighting a duel. She lives outside Chicago with her husband, daughter, twin boys and a vast collection of long underwear. Her first novel, The Letter, won first prize in eHarlequin.com’s epic romance contest and was published by Harlequin Everlasting Love in 2007. The House of Secrets is her first Harlequin Superromance book.

      To Robert, a wonderful handyman

       and even better husband

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      “I LOVE IT.”

      It was ridiculous, this sudden desire Alissa Franklin felt for the dilapidated old house. It was far too big for one person: six bedrooms, a huge dining room, a formal parlor the size of a ballroom. It was also a good thirty miles from her office in downtown Baltimore, which would mean a nightmare commute. Not to mention the building’s shabby condition—sagging front stairs, paint peeling off the siding, scrapes marring the wood floors and water damage on some of the upstairs ceilings. It must have been beautiful once, a classic wood-frame Queen Anne with a wide front porch and oversized windows that welcomed the sunlight. Now, the elegant silhouette was all that remained of its past glory.

      But as Alissa walked through the rooms and stared at the overgrown garden in back, she felt she belonged. She imagined the gloomy spaces transformed by fresh coats of paint and new curtains. The power of the vision was so strong that she turned to Brad before they had even left the second floor. “I love it,” she whispered.

      Brad gave her the look he always did when confronted with one of her spontaneous enthusiasms. His mouth curved in a half scowl, his scornful dark eyes piercing her. Once, that look had been able to stun her into silence. Now, after four years of on-again, off-again dating, it only irritated her. It had lost its power.

      “Shh,” Brad whispered, nodding his head toward the Realtor walking a few steps ahead of them.

      Alissa followed Brad up to the third floor, where the servants’ quarters were crammed under the roof’s sloping eaves. Although now nearly empty, the rooms were a testament to a time when this was a vibrant home, bustling with life. Through a tiny window, Alissa looked out over the town of Oak Hill, spread out below her. The servants may have been stuck in the smallest, stuffiest rooms, but they’d had the best view.

      Alissa moved silently behind Brad and the Realtor as they descended the narrow stairs to the second floor, then along the grand staircase that wound down to the foyer. An elaborate cut-glass chandelier—hazy under a layer of dust—signaled that this was a space designed to impress, even intimidate. Alissa imagined someone from town arriving here, climbing out of a carriage on the circular drive, walking through the entrance and being confronted with this foyer. Taking in the glittering chandelier, the marble floor and the statues that would have been displayed in the now-vacant wall recesses. The people who lived in the simple brick houses of the town would have been dumbstruck by the scale of this mansion. Yet despite its opulence, the place still felt like a home, somewhere Alissa could see herself living.

      “So?” the Realtor asked. She was a tall, slim woman who obviously took pride in her appearance, from the ash-blond hair swept into a sleek chignon to her immaculate black patent-leather heels. Her highlights and expertly applied makeup camouflaged her age, which could have been anywhere from forty to sixty. When Alissa had called the phone number on the For Sale sign in front of the house—“Let’s just take a peek,” she’d told Brad, pulling her cell phone from her purse—the Realtor had answered on the second ring and offered to show them the place immediately.

      “I live only a few houses away,” she’d said. “It’s no trouble.”

      Brad had protested, of course, saying he didn’t want to be driving the country roads after dark. But Alissa knew the real reason behind his impatience. After what was supposed to be a romantic weekend getaway—a last-ditch attempt to smooth over the fault lines in their relationship—Brad was ready to give up the pretense of being a happy couple. Touring this house would only postpone the inevitable, awkward conversation about their future. Perhaps delaying that moment was what made Alissa so anxious to see the house.

      The Realtor introduced herself as Elaine Price, and Alissa explained that she was an interior designer interested in historic homes.

      “I’d be happy to show you around,” Elaine said as she led them up the front steps. “It’s quite a treasure.”

      Brad had scowled as he took in the state of the house, which clearly hadn’t been lived in for years. Elaine led them briskly along, showing