The Secrets of Colchester Hall: A Gothic Regency Romance

by Sophie Barnes

  The woman who looked back was stunning. She’d been blessed with a heart-shaped face, a creamy complexion, a perfectly proportioned nose, lips graced by a coy little smile, and eyes in a vibrant shade of cornflower blue.

  Stillness overwhelmed Angelica. She sucked in some air, reminded herself to breathe. The chill in her bones snapped, sending pain into each of her joints. She hugged herself tighter.

  “Satisfied?” Randolph stood rigidly beside her, his sneer of disdain shaking the air.

  And all Angelica could think to say was, “Nobody told me her hair was red.”

  He turned to her, his expression grim and… She wasn’t sure what. Surprised, didn’t quite fit and yet she sensed his incomprehension.

  Angelica stared at him, past him, to a spot just a short way away. Her mouth opened and closed, producing a senseless stammer. She wanted to speak but words wouldn’t come. It felt like her lungs were being crushed because…

  Because…

  She could not voice it, could only stare.

  “My God.” Randolph turned more fully toward her. With jerky movements he tore off his jacket and flung it across her shoulders. His arms reached around her waist, lifting her up and against his chest, carrying her toward the stairs, then down, back to the hallway and into her room. Settling her on her bed, he bundled her up in her blanket. “I’ll fetch your mother and ask the maids to draw a hot bath.” His palm touched her forehead. “Christ, Angelica, you should have told me you were so cold.”

  He started to leave but she reached out and grabbed him. “Ra…ra…ndolph.” Her body was violently shaking, her teeth clanging together, but this was important. She had to tell him. “I… I sa…saw her.”

  Randolph nodded. Just once. “I know.”

  Except he didn’t. How could he when she was incapable of explaining. “I… I’m no…not talking ab…about the po…portrait.”

  He stilled. His eyes sharpened. For a second she thought he’d respond, but then he just unclenched her hand from his wrist and settled it in her lap. “You’re overset, Angelica, and possibly in danger of getting terribly sick. I must do what I can to prevent that and you must rest.”

  “But…”

  “We’ll discuss this later.”

  He left and Angelica sank back against her pillows with a quivering moan of despair. Tears pricked her eyes, not because she was cold or frightened, but because she had no idea how she’d ever convince her mother or Lucy or Randolph she hadn’t gone mad.

  But the truth was that Lady Sterling was not at rest. Angelica still didn’t know what her ghost wanted, but she’d finally seen her, standing behind Randolph’s right shoulder and reaching forward in desperation.

  “Mama?” Rose was bustling around the room when Angelica woke the next morning, arranging flowers that must have been brought in while she was sleeping.

  Rose turned. “Lord Sterling cut these himself.” Her eyes twinkled with girlish delight. “Aren’t they stunning? They’re from the conservatory.”

  She pressed her lips together as if to stop a bright smile, only to fail. Her hand covered her mouth to hide her laughter. “Lady Seraphina is quite put out by his fondness for you.”

  Her mother’s good cheer was overwhelming, coming on the heels of what had been a dramatic day. Thankfully, the entity trying to communicate with her had offered her a reprieve. She’d experienced only comfort and warmth during her bath, and rather than being forced downstairs for dinner, she’d been allowed to enjoy a tray in bed while Lucy kept her company. It had been nice. Peaceful and pleasant.

  Angelica blinked. “Lady Seraphina is back on her feet?”

  Rose nodded. “Not even a broken leg would be able to keep her from going to the ball this evening. But she is doing better although I personally think she’s silly for not accepting the cane Mrs. Essex offered to lend her.” She sat on the edge of Angelica’s bed and looked straight into her eyes. A frown wrinkled her brow. “I’m more concerned with you, however. Tell me, how are you feeling?”

  “Perfectly well.”

  “Venturing into the attic alone was not the wisest decision, Angelica. Not only because you weren’t dressed for the cold but because you were obviously snooping.” Rose shook her head. “Whatever were you hoping to find?”

  It was a good thing Lucy had mentioned the lie Randolph had fabricated in order to protect her reputation. It allowed Angelica to be prepared and able to keep the surprise from her face while her mother spoke. Apparently, she had found the attic door unlocked and had gone exploring. Randolph had happened upon her shivering form in the hallway when he’d gone to fetch his spectacles from his bedchamber.

  Spectacles.

  The thought of him occasionally requiring the assistance they offered was curiously endearing.

  “Angelica?”

  She forced herself to focus on her mother. What had she asked? She searched her brain until she located the answer. “The portrait of Lady Sterling. It was missing from the gallery.”

  Rose stared at her in bafflement. “You’re lucky Lord Sterling’s not angry with you for abusing his hospitality. Honestly, Angelica. What were you thinking?”

  “I don’t suppose I was,” Angelica murmured. “I’m sorry, Mama. I was only trying to sate my curiosity. That’s all.”

  “Well.” Her mother huffed out a breath, then patted Angelica on her hand. “It’s a good thing his lordship has taken a liking to you.” She glanced at the flowers and smiled. “I’m certain you’ll be the one he invites to stay on.” There was no denying her joy, for it spilled from her like soap bubbles from a bath. “A proposal of marriage is close at hand, Angelica. Mark my word.”

  Unwilling to ruin her mother’s good mood with her own doubts for the future, Angelica merely smiled. “I’d like to speak with him. With Lord Randolph, that is. If possible.”

  “Of course. I’ll ask him to come and visit with you right away.” Rose stood and smoothed her gown, assured Angelica she would return promptly, and departed.

  A breakfast tray soon appeared, delivered by a maid. Rose returned to keep her company while she ate and then, half an hour later, there was a firm knock at her bedchamber door. Rose stood and went to greet Randolph.

  “I’ll be just in there,” she said, pointing toward her own bedchamber. At Randolph’s nod, she departed through the connecting door, leaving it so slightly ajar it might as well have been fully shut.

  Angelica twitched her nose. Her mother was not exactly being subtle, though it did work to Angelica’s advantage since she didn’t want to share the words she meant to impart with anyone other than Randolph.

  “You look much recovered,” he said once he’d crossed the floor to her bedside. His hand reached out, hovered briefly as if with indecision, then took hold of hers.

  A shock of awareness raced up her arm. Her pulse leapt and her gaze met his. His features relaxed before her eyes, softening, until the tension that had bracketed his mouth disappeared. He smiled and sat in the chair her mother had vacated when he arrived.

  “I slept well,” Angelica told him. His thumb brushed the back of her hand, tracing a circular path. Heat poured through her. “Thank you for the flowers. They were a lovely surprise.”

  “It occurred to me while selecting them that I wasn’t sure of your tastes.” A hint of irritation shadowed his words. “Most women like roses but they felt all wrong when I thought about you.”

  “The bouquet you put together is perfect. I’m especially fond of sunflowers.” He’d mixed the happy blooms with a complementary assortment of sapphire blue asters and white chrysanthemums.

  “I’m glad.” He sounded immensely pleased.

  Angelica bit her lip. The time had come for her to broach a most unusual subject. “Last night,” she began, searching for words as she went along. “I discovered something important.”

  He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The corner of his mouth lifted. “That you ought to dress warmer?”

  She shot him a disgruntled l
ook. “No.” She shook her head. “This is about your wife.”

  His hand flinched, but he did not retrieve it. Not yet. “You asked to see the portrait. It was a condition, if you recall, and I complied. I have no wish to discuss her further. Not with you or with anyone else.”

  “That may well be,” Angelica said, “but I cannot so easily ignore her. Not when she keeps demanding my attention.”

  His eyes searched her face and he suddenly brought her hand to his lips, kissing her skin with reverence. “You think me still in love with her. You worry you’ll have to compete against her for my affections, but I assure you, Angelica, that’s not the case.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “Your hatred for her was etched on your face last night when you looked at her image. It could not have been any clearer.”

  “And you wish to know the reason.” He spoke with pain and a touch of resentment, though she wasn’t sure if it was aimed at her or at his wife. Angelica squeezed his hand. He took a deep breath. “You must forgive me, for this is not an appropriate story for an innocent young lady such as yourself, though I do believe circumstance demands honesty on my part.” Turning his head, he met her gaze boldly. “I learned my wife was unfaithful to me the same day she died. She’d complained of a headache the night before, excusing herself from her wifely duties. When I went to check on her in the morning, I discovered her lover, asleep by her side.”

  Angelica gasped in shock. “Dear God.”

  “She denied any wrongdoing when I questioned her, which only made me angrier since the evidence was right there, staring me in the face.” A disgusted snort punctuated the sentence. “After tossing the groom out, for God help me that was the man she’d decided to lay with, I informed her that she would be promptly removed to Fennly House – a property of mine in York – where she would live out the rest of her life alone.” His breaths came in short little bursts and he now gripped her hand hard. “Her betrayal broke my heart, but at least it opened my eyes to the truth. I just wish I…”

  His words fluttered off into obscurity.

  After a number of seconds, Angelica quietly prodded, “What?”

  He started. Blinked. His expression hardened, not with anger this time but with pain. “She died because of me. It’s only fair to tell you the truth so you don’t get trapped with a monster. For that is what I am. If it weren’t for me, Katrina would still be alive.”

  Angelica stared at him. Hard. She didn’t believe him for a second, no matter how convinced he was of what he’d just told her. “How?” A straightforward question with no room for ambiguity.

  A lost gaze collided with hers. “Things were said. Despicable things.” His voice faltered. “Had she not feared me, had she not run…” He was shaking.

  “You are not to blame.” Angelica’s voice was firm. Whatever had truly transpired, whether his wife had cuckolded him or something more sinister was at play, Randolph wasn’t at fault. “Any other man in your position would have done as you did. Your reaction is perfectly understandable.”

  “Angelica.” Her name carried a world of doubt with it.

  “No. Wait. There’s something I must tell you, something you will not want to accept but… If you give me a chance to explain, it may shed new light on what happened.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  Angelica took a deep breath. “Your wife’s soul is restless, Randolph. I don’t know why, but she’s not at peace. I think—”

  “What are you saying?” His voice had dropped so low she could barely hear him.

  Angelica plowed ahead, undaunted. “She’s been communicating with me from the beyond. She’s—”

  He shot to his feet and stepped back so abruptly he almost knocked over the chair. His eyes were wide, his expression one of stark disbelief. “Is this a joke to you? A game perhaps?”

  “No. Of course not. It is a serious matter.” She struggled to sit up straighter. “Your wife—”

  “Was a whore. An adulteress. An outright liar who pretended to love me when clearly she didn’t.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Randolph, something’s not right, I can feel it.”

  “Oh you can, can you?” His mocking tone took her aback even though she’d known to expect it. After all, she herself had dismissed all the sounds and sensations even though she had experienced them for herself. It wasn’t until the vision that she’d allowed herself to believe. “Is it perhaps your attempt at making up stories about the impossible that seems a bit off? Ghosts don’t exist, Angelica. Shame on you for supposing I might believe such claptrap.”

  The air instantly cooled. Angelica caught a swift movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head. “See that? The way the curtain is moving?”

  “A draft is most likely to blame.” Annoyance dripped from every word. “Christ, what a fool I have been.”

  “No. Please.” She held her hand toward him. “Randolph, you have to believe me. You have to—”

  “No.” He slashed the air with his arm. “Good God, you sound just like her, begging for me to have faith in something that obviously isn’t true. Does my forehead have ‘gullible’ written upon it in big bold letters?”

  “Of course not.”

  His mouth flattened and his eyes hardened to shards of flint. “I want you gone,” he said with low and deadly precision. “Pack your bags and leave. Immediately.” He turned for the door.

  Angelica squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. “No.”

  He halted, his hand on the handle. Slowly, he turned back to face her. “You plan to defy me?”

  “If necessary. Yes.” She pulled back the covers and climbed from the bed. He should not see her like this, clad only in her nightgown. It wasn’t appropriate and yet she had no choice but to go to him. “I will not leave you. Not like this. Not while you need me.”

  His eyes flashed and his nostrils flared. “Never presume to know what I need.”

  She tipped her chin up. “Fine.” She gave him her best glare. “But perhaps you should ask yourself if it is possible for me to go mad within a few days. Think back to our conversations, Randolph. Consider your foremost reason for having an interest in me.”

  A nerve ticked in his cheek, tugging at the edge of his mouth. He stared back at her in silence until he finally said, “You speak your mind with unvarnished honesty.”

  “I do not lie.”

  “And yet I would be a fool to believe you.”

  “You seek proof. Validation.” Her mind raced. If the roles were reversed would she believe him? Probably not. She hadn’t even believed herself until her eyes had confirmed what her mind suspected. Think. There had to be something – a piece of information she couldn’t possibly know unless she was being honest. Her mind cleared and she suddenly remembered. “Katrina was holding a letter and…” Angelica paused, tried to focus. Her brow wrinkled. “There was a ring, I believe. A gold band with leaves clasping a bright green emerald. And a scar – tiny, but visible – right between her thumb and index finger.”

  “How can you know this?” His hands clasped her shoulders, shaking her slightly. Wild eyes filled with confusion bored into hers. “How can you possibly know this?”

  “Because I was there. Yesterday, before the attic, for just a brief moment I was transported. I do not know how, it still seems impossible, but I was her and I was freezing to death outside while clutching a letter.”

  “What did it say?” The question was slowly exhaled.

  “I…” Angelica shook her head, closed her eyes, thought back. The script was a blurry haze that slowly came back into focus. “I saw what happened.” She gulped down a lungful of air. “I saw what happened. Meet me at midnight by the entrance to the east wing if you want my help.” Somehow, her hand found his. “It was signed by a friend.”

  “It isn’t possible.” But his tone was different than earlier and he did not pull away from her this time. “I burned that letter myself. You cannot have
seen it.”

  “I know. It defies explanation.”

  He stared past the side of her face, his eyes fixed on some point far in the distance. “You said you saw her.” His eyes snapped back to hers. “Last night after the attic, you told me you saw her. My wife. I thought you meant the painting but...” Incredulity pulled at his eyebrows, drawing them together until a crease appeared between them. He shook his head. “That’s not what you were referring to. Is it?

  A blossom of hope bloomed inside her. “She was standing roughly two yards behind you, her hand outstretched while clasping the letter.”

  “What does she want?”

  “I have no idea yet, but it stands to reason that she either wants to frighten me away or seek my help.”

  Swallowing, he allowed his gaze to roam the room. “Is she here now?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  He clenched his jaw and nodded. For the briefest moment his hand squeezed hers, then released it. He pinched the bridge of his nose then looked at her – really looked at her until she felt her cheeks flame. Dressed in only her nightgown and reminded of all it revealed, her inhibitions returned in full force.

  “You ought to get back into bed, my lady.”

  Angelica scrambled back to the safety of her blankets and hastily flung them over herself. My lady. The way he’d said it… Her heart raced in response to what it implied. Once she was comfortably settled, he returned to the chair by her side and sat.

  “I hope you can forgive my initial reaction to what you have told me. Instinct commanded me to treat it as a deception.” He bowed his head, allowing his black locks to fall forward over his brow. “Thank you for making me listen – for standing up to me and what you believe in. You’re brave, Angelica. Most women in your position would have run screaming from this house by now.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t consider it,” she muttered with a wry twist of her lips.

  He started to smile, but seemed to remember something that stopped it from fully forming. “Then why have you stayed?”