“Angelica, you really must come and see what I’ve found.”
It was Miss Harlow. Her voice, louder than necessary, forced Randolph to take a step back. “You should join her.”
“Yes.” She blinked in rapid succession.
He smiled, dropped his hand, and forced himself to step aside. “I’m sure she called you for a good reason.”
“Yes,” she repeated as if slightly dazed.
How could he not feel ten feet tall when she reacted to him with such innocent wonder? A comforting warmth unfurled right over his heart. “You should go.”
As if recalling herself, she snatched the volumes of Northanger Abbey from the shelf and hastened toward the front of the shop, arriving there right before her mother came through the door. “I bought some lovely pieces of lace,” Lady Bloomfield said. She paused and Randolph imagined her looking around. “Where’s Lord Sterling?”
“At the back somewhere,” Miss Harlow informed her. “I’m sure he’ll join us once he’s ready.”
Randolph smiled to himself. He’d known he could count on her helping him out. Grabbing the book he’d come to purchase – a new account of Egyptian relics – he approached the ladies with what he hoped looked like an amicable smile.
The last thing he wished was for Lady Bloomfield to notice the desperate desire he felt for her daughter or to suspect they’d just been kissing. Not because he minded the repercussions. He meant to marry Angelica; his mind was firmly made up. But he sensed she needed more time to adjust, time to understand what was happening between them, and time to realize that he could fulfill her every need and make her gloriously happy. She would not appreciate being forced into something she wasn’t yet sure of.
“I hope you like strawberry tarts,” he said once they’d finished making their purchases. “The teashop I mentioned serves the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“I gather you have a sweet tooth, my lord?” The question was posed by Lady Bloomfield.
Randolph discreetly brushed his fingers against Angelica’s, grabbing them only briefly before releasing them once again and adding distance. “There are some confections I cannot resist.”
Angelica’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red. She gave him a chastising look, but all he could do was grin. He was enjoying himself far too much and considering the kiss they’d just shared, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to manage a serious demeanor even if his life depended on it.
“What will you do?” Lucy asked Angelica the following afternoon. They’d been divided into groups of four—she was with Lucy and both their mothers— and were presently on their way to the music room in search of their next clue. While Angelica did not like Mrs. Essex, she had to give her credit for creating a well-planned treasure hunt. The riddles required a great deal of thought to solve them.
“About what?” Angelica and Lucy trailed behind, allowing their mothers to hurry ahead like eager young girls. It was quite entertaining to watch, and it allowed Angelica and Lucy to speak more privately with each other.
“Lord Sterling, of course. He will ask you to stay and then he will ask you to be his wife. Have you decided on your answer yet?”
Angelica sighed. She gave her friend a tentative look. “I’m not certain. On one hand, I must marry him for my mother’s sake, but on the other I do not wish to remain here one day longer than necessary.”
“I don’t know why you dislike this house so much. Most women would be honored to call it their home. But whatever your reason may be, does it really matter where you live as long as you’re getting him? Is he not worth sacrificing your taste in a home?”
Angelica gave her a deadpan stare. “I’m not in love with him, Lucy. It’s a bit too soon to be speaking of sacrifices and such.”
“Are you sure? That look in your eyes yesterday when we left the bookshop—”
Angelica cleared her throat. They’d entered the music room and the last thing she wanted was for her mother to be provided with additional reasons for getting Angelica to the altar. At least not until she’d made up her mind about what she wanted for herself and figured out her options. If there was even more than one to consider.
Thankfully, Lucy fell silent and broke away from Angelica in order to help search for the next clue. They eventually found it inside the piano and, upon deciphering it, headed toward the conservatory.
“Do you think you could grow to love him?” Lucy asked when they were once again able to speak discretely.
“I do not know.” Or so she told herself, but the truth... The truth was she feared she might already be on her way to losing her heart and… “I cannot risk it. Not yet.”
Not until she understood what she was getting herself into.
Lucy grinned, oblivious to Angelica’s turmoil. “I’m not sure love is something one can control. You simply…fall.”
This was followed by a sigh – an extremely telling one.
“My goodness,” Angelica murmured. Lucy’s lack of interest in Randolph suddenly made so much sense. “Who is he?”
“What?” Lucy glanced about quickly, her eyes no longer glazed over with longing but sharpened by panic.
Angelica drew a bit closer to her friend and lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Who are you in love with?”
A wash of red colored Lucy’s cheeks. She stammered a bit, then managed to compose herself and say, “Mr. Elliot Thompson. He is a friend of my brother’s. But it hardly signifies since he has never shown any interest in me.”
“Oh, but he must. I do not see how he cannot.”
Lucy smiled. “You’re very kind, but the truth is I always turn into a bashful ninny whenever he’s near. As you know, I’m already soft spoken and shy, but with him… Dear lord, it’s so much worse.”
Angelica pondered that for a moment. Clearly Lucy would need some help opening Mr. Thompson’s eyes. “We will find a way,” she promised. “Somehow, you shall have the man you want, Lucy.”
Because really, what was the point if someone as sweet and kind as her friend could not have her happily ever after?
“And what about you?”
Angelica tried to ignore the shift in the air and the chilling embrace that followed. She still hadn’t figured out who had been at her bedchamber window the previous day, but a definite unpleasantness permeated Colchester Hall. It hung in the air like a damp smell, clinging to the walls in various shades of grey.
Of course, no one but she could see it or feel it, and that was perhaps the worst part of all.
The chill curled over her shoulders and slid down her arms. The soles of her feet felt damp. She glanced down and took a step back. Where were her stockings and shoes? Why was she barefoot and why…
Trembling from head to toe, she stared at the frozen ground, at the hem of her gown, no longer made from light green cotton but white and breezy, like a nightgown.
She sucked in a breath as a hard gust of wind whipped her back. Her hand curled around something crisp. Letters. Dozens of them fell from her hands until she was just clasping one.
I saw what happened. Meet me at midnight, by the entrance to the east wing if you want my help – a friend.
The cold sank into her bones, intensifying in strength until she cried out in pain. “Help me.” But her voice was too weak. The wind so strong it swallowed it up. She staggered forward and fell. Her hand reached for the door and her nails raked helplessly over the wood. “Help me.”
Her breaths faltered until just a wheezing hoarseness remained. Her heartbeats slowed, the pain subsided. A lock of red hair curled over her shoulder as she slumped sideways against the exterior wall. Her vision blurred until all she saw was the white misty air of her last exhalation.
A hand clasped her arm. “Angelica?” It was Lucy and she was shaking her hard.
Angelica gasped, drawing in air as if she’d been drowning. She stared at Lucy whose face filled with concern. “What happened?”
“I’ve no idea. You stopped walking and did
n’t respond when I spoke. It was almost as if you weren’t there.” Lucy shuddered and glanced around. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I think so.” Still reeling from shock, Angelica prayed her friend would believe her so she could move on, avoid additional questions, and figure out what was happening to her without being labeled mad. “I just have to speak with Lord Sterling.”
Now, more than ever, she had to uncover the truth.
Chapter 5
Seated behind his desk in his study, Randolph considered Mrs. Essex’s words. Perhaps it had been unwise of him to request her opinion, but his butler was an elderly man who always said what he thought Randolph wanted to hear and his valet… Well, he was no better. So he’d turned to his housekeeper as a last resort.
“It is not that I find them unsuitable,” she added with that pleasant smile she always wore. “Rather, I worry they won’t make you happy.”
He appreciated her concern, even though he believed she was wrong. “I think there’s a chance Lady Angelica might.”
Her eyes held his. “Is she not a bit too unpolished for the position?”
Randolph couldn’t help but laugh. “You speak as though we’re looking to hire a new servant.” Although to be fair, he had made it sound much the same in his invitation.
“Well, the process you’ve chosen is not so very different, is it?”
He instantly sobered. “No. I don’t suppose it is.” He’d been interviewing the women, judging them, taking his time to carefully gauge compatibility. Only two had shown potential: Miss Harlow and Lady Angelica, with Lady Angelica as the clear winner.
“Perhaps I am wrong about her. Although…” She sighed and dropped her gaze. Her smile slipped a little.
“Although what?”
Looking uncharacteristically uncertain, Mrs. Essex glanced back up. “She was in the gallery the other night.”
“And?”
“She wanted to see your wife’s portrait.”
Numbness, starting at his fingertips, spread up his arms and reached inside his chest. “Curiosity is a natural thing.” His voice sounded hollow even to his own ears.
“I don’t think she will relent until she has all the answers.”
His jaw tightened and his teeth clenched. “What answers?”
Mrs. Essex drew back, visibly surprised. “Forgive me. It is a sensitive subject and I… I did not mean to overstep.”
“You should go.” He knew his voice was harsh and he knew he was being unfair when all she was trying to do was help him, to warn him.
Something disturbing flickered within her blue eyes. There, then gone. She’d composed herself completely. Her smile was back in place. “Very well, my lord. I shall leave you to ponder your decision.”
Randolph leaned back in his chair and did precisely that. Angelica was inquisitive and direct. She liked to know things and if she suspected there might have been foul play involved in his wife’s death, she’d want to look into it. She’d want to know every detail.
Steepling his fingers, he considered the possible dilemma she posed. If she were his wife, would she stand by his side and protect his secrets, or turn him in for murder?
A gentle knock at the door drew him out of his reverie.
“Enter!”
It was she. The woman who filled his every thought, the one he wanted to make his own. He stood in order to greet her.
“Angelica. Is everything all right?”
She looked strange. There was a haunted look about her, an eerie disquiet.
“Where’s your wife’s portrait?” Her voice was precise, calm, completely at odds with her expression. “It is not in the gallery. I’ve already looked.”
His gut roiled with ominous concern. Every muscle in his body tightened to the point of snapping. “Why do you ask?” He ground out the words without any finesse.
“Because I want to see it.” She glared at him, her eyes hard and determined.
Randolph tried to breathe. He tried to tamp down the rising panic. Each thump of his heart sent a painful jab straight through his chest. “It’s in the attic,” he managed. “I packed it away for a reason.”
“Because her death broke your heart.” He almost laughed. Yes, it had broken his heart all right, though not for the reason she thought but rather for countless others. “It must have been terribly difficult,” she continued, “but it wasn’t your fault. It was—”
“Stop.” He couldn’t bear anymore. “Is seeing the portrait a stipulation?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
He didn’t understand her reasoning, but it hardly mattered, did it? If seeing Katrina’s likeness was what it would take, then so be it. He grabbed an oil lamp and lit it. The flame lurched to life. “Come with me.”
For reasons she could not begin to fathom, Angelica sensed she was pushing the bounds of what Randolph was willing to accept on her account. It made sense, she supposed. If he’d loved Katrina as much as she thought he had, then her death must have been truly devastating. Just the thought of her out there alone, freezing to death while he remained ignorant, unable to help. It must have been awful.
But after her vision, for she knew not what else to call it, she wished to look upon the face of the woman who’d been so dear to him. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish by it, but perhaps the painting would offer some insight. Maybe seeing Randolph’s wife would let her know whether the woman was seeking her help or attempting to chase her away.
A shudder scraped her spine. She didn’t believe in ghosts but neither could she explain the strange encounters she’d been having or why no one else felt or saw the same things she did. Angelica glanced over her shoulder. The candles in the wall sconces flickered. Icy air curled around her ankles. Oblivious, Randolph marched ahead with clipped footsteps. His posture was rigid and utterly devoid of the warmth he’d shown toward her during the previous days. If anything, his demeanor was wrought by a carefully held control she feared might turn into full-blown anger if she wasn’t careful. Her heart beat faster, not so much with the fear of the unknown this time but because she worried that being alone with this man might be very unwise.
“Perhaps we should do this some other time,” she tried. “My mother ought to come with us. Or Lucy.”
Ignoring her, he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked a door at the end of the hallway. “I want this over and done with.” The door opened with a creak to reveal a winding stone staircase. Randolph waited. He arched a brow. “Well?”
“I, um…” She looked around to make sure no one watched.
“It won’t take long. If anyone chooses to search for you, you’ll merely tell them you went exploring. It is a large house after all.”
“Yes. I suppose it is.”
When she still didn’t budge he leaned forward. “This was your idea. You insisted I show you the portrait.”
“Of course.” She didn’t like his tone or the way he acted. It was menacing. Harsh. The opposite of what she wished in a husband. But since he did have a point and she wasn’t the sort to back down, she stepped forward into the stairwell.
A musty smell filled her nose. The door clicked shut. Randolph’s large, imposing body warmed her back. Lifting the hem of her skirt so she would not trip, she started up the stairs. The soles of their shoes scraped the edge of each step. Their creeping shadows, pinned to the wall by the oil lamp’s light, were unnaturally tall, willowy shapes that would feel right at home in one of those gothic novels she favored.
Angelica winced but kept going. She’d asked for this. The time for playing the coward was long gone now. Oh, if only she could trade places with Lady Seraphina. A sprained ankle and plenty of bed rest seemed like heaven compared with facing the mysteries of Colchester Hall while being subjected to Randolph’s temper.
They reached the top and moved forward, away from the stairs and across rough, un-sanded floorboards. The wood creaked loudly beneath their feet while the flickering flame from the la
mp danced across the underside of the roof. Angelica looked up, impressed by the intricate, interconnected joists and rafters. The light faded and she realized Randolph had left her behind. She quickened her pace, weaving her way between boxes, crates, and the odd piece of furniture.
There he was, just up ahead. Angelica’s heart leapt. She could feel the darkness trying to catch her – the cold that started below in the hallway increasing its hold. Her teeth began to chatter. She folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself. Of course there would be no heat up here. They were practically out of doors. But what surrounded her was something deeper, stronger, a bleak desperation shrouded in ice.
“Here it is.” Randolph spoke, his voice oddly detached.
Angelica moved to his side. He held the lamp high so the light fell directly upon a rectangular object. It sat on the floor, leaning against a post. A sheet was draped over it, not with care but with what appeared to have been a hasty attempt at concealment.
“Well?”
Angelica started. She glanced at him, uncertain of how to proceed.
He did not look at her, just stared straight ahead as if trying to brace himself for what was to come. “You will have to do it.”
He turned to her then with raven-black eyes. A muscle twitched at the edge of his mouth. His features had never looked harder nor he more dangerous.
This was not a heartbroken man. The realization struck Angelica with such force she almost gasped. All this while, she’d thought he’d hidden the portrait because it pained him to be reminded of his loss. But that wasn’t it at all.
His cutting tone, the tension of his jaw, and his overall posture were further proof of what she’d been too blind to see. She swallowed as realization cemented itself in her conscience.
If Randolph had once loved his wife as he’d claimed, then he no longer did. Instead, he hated her with every fiber of his being.
“I’m sorry,” Angelica muttered, because it seemed like the most appropriate thing. And then, bolstering herself, she reached out and whipped the sheet aside.
The Secrets of Colchester Hall: A Gothic Regency Romance Page 7