Thirteen
“Quit snickering.” Lombard, Rain’s lawyerly brother-in-law, elbowed him. “Had Alicia dumped that pot by herself, you would have taken off her head. Admit it, you’re smitten by the countess.”
Recalling the image of his normally cautious steward and his baby sister slopping an entire urn of stinking flower water on a baron and a viscount, Rain struggled to keep a straight face. The inexperienced combatants circling the ring were still damp.
“I don’t know if smitten is the word.” Rain couldn’t help grinning. “That requires being hit. I don’t think the lady hits people, precisely.”
Lombard shot him a disgusted look. “Drunk with lust, perhaps? Ladies don’t do that. She shouldn’t be encouraging your sister to behave like a rag-mannered hooligan.”
“You didn’t notice, perchance, that Alicia was right there with Bell every step of the way? My sisters were born rag-mannered.” He didn’t mention Salina’s tendency to fling things when angered as a youth. Her husband was apparently under the illusion that his wife had been cured of her temper. “Had the pot been smaller, Alicia would have done it on her own. I suppose that means we’ve been going about this all wrong. Perhaps we should invite men who are a little less civilized to entertain her.”
Considering the train of proper young ladies who had been paraded before him, Rain thought he might understand Alicia a little better now. They had been taught propriety, but they’d also been taught to think for themselves. His other sisters had accepted their protected roles as ornaments, but Alicia was resisting—as he was. Cosseting a perfectly healthy female was an utter waste of his valuable time.
When it came to marriage, honesty was a necessity, he decided. Pretending to be what one was not did not build a solid foundation for the future.
Lombard gave up and returned his attention to the ring where the two gentlemen were enthusiastically practicing their boxing moves. “They seem to have lost the urge to kill and maim.”
“Do we have any idea what the argument is about?” Rain shook his head at an offer of a wager on the outcome. At least he’d provided the evening’s before-dinner entertainment. He would have enjoyed pounding a few heads, but he was the host.
“Cards were mentioned, but I can’t say if they’re talking playing cards or dance cards or both. It wasn’t as if I was paying attention.”
Estelle’s husband, Garland, joined them. “It started out with a card game, but the argument had more to do with the bidding on the dance cards, I believe. The red-headed bloke decided he’d been cheated out of a dance with Alicia and demanded the blond prig repay him for the lost opportunity. Words ensued.”
“Is Alicia considering either of the cads?” Rainford remained skeptical.
“Can’t say. You’ll have to ask your sisters. They natter on, but I don’t pay much attention.” Garland chomped on his cigar and watched the ginger wallop the blond.
Not paying attention to his sisters was dangerous, Rain could have told their husbands. But they had to know that by now. They weren’t stupid men.
“I’m ready for dinner,” Garland complained. “Can we throw water on them again?”
Rain snorted but sympathized. Once the blond was on the mat, Rain took command and stepped into the ring. “Go clean up for dinner, gentlemen. We’re keeping the ladies waiting. If you wish to continue your argument later, the gymnasium is open for your use.”
The combatants looked relieved to have the brawl ended. The ones posting wagers argued over the results, but fortunately, they were all ready to eat and didn’t carry the complaints to open hostility.
As he dressed for dinner, Rain had to wonder if the current outbreak of anger meant the countess was correct and the spirits were fighting to be heard. It seemed far-fetched, but last night’s other-worldly experience had almost made a believer of him. He might doubt the motives of most women, but Bell could not have conjured the vision he’d seen in his bath. Something weirder than usual was happening.
His first instinct was always to protect and defend his family. He needed to crush whatever enemy might harm them. But how did one crush a ghost? Should he send Bell away? Would that help?
He didn’t want to send her away. Bell was a good steward. And Lombard was right, he lusted after her. Which meant he probably ought to send her away. That just didn’t seem as satisfactory as potentially knocking a ghost to the ground and grinding his heel into its manifestation.
Alicia caught up with him as Rain descended the marble stairs after he’d dressed for dinner. “Don’t do whatever it is you’re thinking until you consult whoever you mean to maim.”
Rain slanted her a dark look. “What the devil does that mean?”
“Everyone thinks you’re expressionless, but I know that look.” She lifted her silk skirt and hurried to keep up with him. “It’s your off-with-their-heads look. Peter and Paul don’t normally behave like that. They will apologize. I’ll make certain of it. There is simply something wrong happening. You need to persuade Bell to hold a séance.”
“Peter and Paul.” Rain refrained from rolling his eyes. “I suppose there’s a Mark, John, and Matthew about as well?”
“Quite possibly. I did not inquire as to all their given names. I’ve known Peter and Paul since infancy. That is irrelevant, and you will not distract me from my point.” She caught his arm as they reached the bottom. “Bell said spirits hover when someone is dying. Father is dying. We all know it. What if they are trying to tell us something important?”
She may as well have slashed him with a sword. Rain clenched his jaw as he led her into the larger formal drawing room where the remains of the house party gathered. Several had left earlier, so the guest list was somewhat diminished. He scanned the room for Bell, but it would be just like her to hide after this afternoon’s pot-tossing episode.
“Bell does not wish to give a séance,” he murmured to Alicia. “I will not persuade her otherwise, understood? She does not like making a spectacle of herself.”
Of course, that was precisely what she had done this afternoon. Unusual.
“Hmmm, maybe we could disguise her. I’ll talk to Estelle.” Alicia abandoned him to rush off to her sisters.
Rain had a very bad feeling about this, but he had a horde to entertain, a dying father to attend, and a ghost to slay. Plus a woman he couldn’t have whom he wanted in his bed. His life was fun and jollies these days.
He noted several of the gentlemen hovering near the door, watching the stairs. Spitefully, Rain hoped Bell stayed in her rooms.
But, of course, she didn’t. She wouldn’t wish to make work for the servants, of whom she thought of herself as one. Damned woman. She descended in a perfectly respectable amber gown with few frills beyond a colorful shawl to keep off the drafts.
The young gallants jockeyed for her attention. She looked vaguely bemused, nodded politely to their comments, and aimed for the safety of his sisters.
Disgruntled, one of Rain’s friends poured himself a brandy and stood beside him. “If she’s holding herself out for you, Rainford, just say so, and we’ll back off.”
“She’s already told me in no uncertain terms that I’m manipulative and rude.” Rain swirled the brandy in his glass while he watched Bell sit quietly on a settee and listen to the parrots around her—the male ones, not the fowl ones belonging to his aunt.
“Well, you are that.” Harry sipped his drink and watched the ladies. “But I’m not. I offered flattery. I offered archery and books and talked flowers and a ride in the snow and. . .”
Rain glanced down at his friend’s fair head and snorted inelegantly. “She’s a Malcolm and values honesty. Since when have you ever been interested in archery, books, or flowers?”
“Well, since never, of course. But she’s a fetching thing, and my father’s been after me to settle down. She’s short, so she’ll fit well on my arm when we enter a room. I know you, so I’m not afraid of Malcolms. Good family to know, actually. And as I understand it
, she has no interfering dowager or pater to breathe fire down my neck.”
“Well, that’s honesty.” Rainford chuckled. “I’m fairly certain she’ll be unimpressed. Why don’t you set your sights on one of the sweet young things eyeing us ravenously? They’re of good family, and some even have dowries. Lady Craigmore has only a barren estate in Inverness and is more interested in accounts than ballrooms.”
“Accounts? Women don’t do math. My sisters barely know the meaning of a shilling. Can you imagine discussing the value of a pound over the dinner table? Should I try?” Harry appeared intrigued.
Rainford contemplating telling his thick-headed friend that the countess was haunted, but she sat there looking so demure, serious, and interested in the talk of others, that he figured no one would believe him. Bell was entitled to her secrets.
“Try talking mathematics to the countess? Certainly, be my guest. Expand your conversational repertoire.”
Harry looked at him with suspicion. “You’re having me on. But I’ll try, just the same. Lord knows, it’s tiring enough coming up with ways to compliment a woman’s eyes.”
“While pretending the flattered miss doesn’t have a mole on her nose. I should imagine ladies must be equally weary of the foolishness, except for the very young ones. Or the silly ones,” Rain added, although he didn’t believe his sisters had invited silly women. Teddy’s guests now. . . suited the non-marriage-minded bachelors well.
He gritted his teeth as Harry crossed the room to sit beside Bell. Rainford accepted that it was lust fixating his interest on his steward. He had no right to be jealous of her attentions—unless she agreed to be his mistress.
That would certainly put a damper on any relationship with any lady he wished to court. Out of respect, he’d deliberately surrendered his mistress when he’d begun courting Araminta.
He needed to beat up a punching bag.
Bell was aware of Rainford glowering in her direction. She was also aware of his reputation as an undemonstrative ice king, and that she was the only subject for his scowls. She actually basked in his attention. She’d developed all sorts of perversities since moving to Castle Yates—or perhaps the castle offered opportunities she’d never experienced before.
When the marquess’s friend joined her on the settee to discuss investments, she almost laughed in delight. Rainford had sent the poor man to her. Sir Harrison was a pleasant man with a boyish round face and a superficial knowledge of finance superior to her own. She only understood pounds and shillings.
But she agreed with his statements, asked questions where she could, and he seemed pleased. She did need to learn intelligent conversation, she supposed, if she meant to dine frequently with this family.
It was only when a young widow stopped to speak with Rainford that Bell understood the fallacy of that particular dream for the future. Rainford must marry. His wife would not necessarily welcome her to his table.
She needed her own life.
Teddy entered the drawing room with his latest conquest, a wraith of a woman draped in gauzy shawls and filmy fabrics lacking appropriate undergarments. He steered her over to Bell.
“I’ve been telling Lady Pamela of your vision. She’s interested in ghosts, says one has haunted her all her life, ain’t that right, my dear?”
Bell recalled being told the woman was an actress, the daughter of a bankrupt earl, although the last part may have been exaggerated. But she’d been assured Lady Pamela was so famous that she was accepted in all drawing rooms.
“A weeping woman,” the actress said in a faint voice that would never carry a theater. “It is most distressing. Sometimes, I weep with her.”
“As one must,” Bell murmured solemnly.
“You are so sympathetic, my lady! Those of us sensitive to the other side must weep for the long forgotten. Teddy, my dear, would you fetch me a small glass of wine?”
“You mean ratafia?” Teddy looked perplexed at the request. Ladies did not generally drink anything stronger before dinner.
His lady wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Champagne, Chablis, something French, preferably.”
Hiding a smile, Bell rose. “I’ll find some.” Any excuse to escape. Teddy’s artistic instincts did not lead to wise choices of companions.
She knew how to quietly order servants to do a guest’s bidding. She might be unprepossessing. She might prefer sitting down for fear of keeling over. But she’d run her own estate for years. Guests were simple.
Glowering hosts, not so much. Even though Rainford was working his way around the room, politely speaking with everyone—she could feel his gaze following her.
She arranged for the actress to have her wine. She encouraged a young man to speak with Alicia about music. She discussed child-rearing with Lady Estelle and a doleful widow, Lady Dalrymple, apparently another cousin.
And when the dinner bell rang, Rainford was at her side, offering his arm.
She refused his offer. “If you will not show attention to the ladies brought here for your perusal, then I must take my meal in my room.”
“You are the highest ranking female in the room. I am only being proper.” He appropriated her hand and placed it where he wanted.
“And when has propriety ruled your actions? Your sisters are entering with their husbands and will sit with their particular friends. No one else is standing on propriety.” She stopped near Lady Estelle’s chair when his sister waved at her.
“I do not wish to discuss fashion, gossip, and the price of eggs,” he retorted, dragging her onward. “You would think at least one bloody female would express concern for my father’s health.”
“That would be rude, as is your language.” Knowing he truly was hurting to speak so, she gave in and let him seat her at his side. “Such a question would be akin to asking how soon do you anticipate being a duke.”
He laughed curtly. “That was blunt.” He tasted the wine the footman offered and nodded approval. “I suppose you’re correct. I do not know any of these ladies well, and they do not know me.”
“If you made some effort, that could be remedied.” Bell sat primly with her hands in her lap as others were served. “You could have found one among the guests each night and conversed on subjects of mutual interest.”
Looking down on her, he wrinkled his long nose and spoke in an exaggerated drawl. “My dear Lady X, I had a patient today who drank his mother’s rubbing alcohol. He was only ten. It took two purges—”
Bell kicked him under the table. “My dear Lord Rainford, I paid ten invoices for grain and feed for your horses and wrote to York asking the current price of oats because your provider’s prices are too high.”
She beamed when he scowled. Perverse. She was indeed perverse.
“My feed provider’s mother is ailing and his wife is expecting their sixth child. He knows I can afford to pay more for his oats. And why the devil are you paying accounts my agents should handle? You can’t ride into the village to pay them!”
“Because one of your agents has an encyclopedic knowledge of fields and tenants but no mind for mathematics, and he’s being cheated. The other has been helping him with his books, but he is apparently away visiting family over the holidays. Is this the kind of conversation you wish at your dinner table?”
“I can think of better.” He turned his attention to the lady on his other side.
Undeterred by his curtness, Bell turned to the gentleman on her right. She remembered he had a coin collection he liked to talk about. Before she could ask about doubloons, a door slammed above.
The chandelier creaked into motion.
And in accompaniment of an enraged shriek, a silver platter of canapés flew from a footman’s hands, landing on Teddy’s head—and beard.
Fourteen
“I think it is time we discussed ghosts.” Rainford attempted to keep his voice neutral as he led Bell down the wing reserved for female guests. Without clamping his roiling emotions into a modicum of control, he feared he m
ight shout his fear—or worse yet, laugh inappropriately.
Teddy’s expression as smoked salmon slid down his beard had turned terror into hysteria at the table. His guests had chosen to believe the shriek was no more than the swinging chandelier and the footman had been frightened into dropping the platter.
Rain knew his servants better than that. From Bell’s pallor, Rain guessed she knew better as well.
“I will leave,” she said in resignation. “I’ve never had a problem this. . .”
“Insane?” he suggested. “It’s this house, I’m certain. My family is willful enough to reach beyond the veil. I do not blame you.”
“I fear Teddy does. Although Alicia’s hysteria was inappropriate. She had too much fun. And perhaps too much wine.”
Rainford patted himself on the back for his restraint in not joining his sister in her delirium.
The countess continued. “It was very bad of her to suggest I instigated the incident to get even with Teddy for his bad taste in consorts. Even if it did divert your guests.” Bell’s fingers dug into Rain’s arm, indicating the extent of her hurt, but her voice was as polite as usual.
They were both polite to a fault. Perhaps he should have laughed—to see if she might join him. “You must admit, my cousin makes horrible choices, but my sister is simply bored and looking for trouble. The lot of them have tried for years to communicate with our ghosts. You are frustrating Alicia by having the talent and not using it.”
“And she thinks, like you, that I am depriving you of a chance to save your father. I understand. And no amount of assurance that spirits don’t know any more than the rest of us will convince you otherwise. Where, exactly, are you taking me?”
He gestured at the empty hallway. “I am attempting to be honest and direct with you and speak with you as if you were a man, except you’re not. Which means I need your help in making a few necessary decisions.”
She raised her light-colored eyebrows and waited without comment.
Captivating the Countess Page 12