by Cheryl Bolen
“Warm milk is fine,” he said, bewildered by this housewifely behavior. She seemed to consider him a guest rather than a barely-tolerated enemy. Definitely not a prospective lover, alas. “With a dash of brandy.”
“You needn’t worry that my maid will suspect because of the milk,” she said. “It sometimes works better than my tisane for—for sleepless nights.”
“Are you often sleepless?”
She made a face. “When I am wondering how to…how to do what I wish without upsetting my parents. They simply can’t accept that I don’t want to marry again.”
“That bad, was it?”
She shrugged and turned away, a clear indication that she didn’t intend to discuss it. He settled back on the sofa to ponder her as she bustled about. She had every right to refuse marriage. By what he understood, she had a tolerable jointure and therefore wasn’t obliged to remain at Statham Court. But setting up on her own would cause even more scandal and result in more pressure from both genuine suitors and mere lechers. He’d never thought about it before: there were disadvantages to being a beautiful, sensual widow.
Especially if the sensual side didn’t really exist. Or had been smothered…
At last she passed him a mug of milk and sat at the opposite end of the sofa, cradling her mug in her hands. “Thank you so much for coming. I hope a frank discussion will benefit us both.”
So did he. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t even a hint of innuendo in her voice. And yet, in the uncertain light cast by the fire and a few candles, he thought he detected a blush. He smiled—hopefully friendly and charming without seeming even faintly lascivious. “I hope so, too.”
She clasped her hands in her lap. She looked so uneasy. Had he let his desire for her show in his voice? He was doing his damnedest not to. “You wished to hear my mother’s side of the story,” he said.
“Yes. I was at school in Bath when it happened, and my parents refuse to discuss it. All I know is that it was a dispute over whether your mother gave mine the pendant or only loaned it to her.”
“Your parents came to an evening party at Burke Hall,” Gawain said. “Lady Statham’s necklace broke just as she arrived, and my mother loaned her the pendant to wear instead, expecting that it would be returned within the next day or two. Instead, Lady Statham claimed that my mother had given her the pendant to keep.”
“That doesn’t sound like something Mama would do.” Isolde flushed. “I’m not denying that your mother told the truth. I’m sure she did. I just don’t understand why Mama would make such a claim.”
“I don’t mean to distress you,” Gawain said, “but you did ask for my mother’s side of the story.”
She nodded. “Please go on. I need to know what really happened.”
“My mother was shocked and hurt,” he said, “and called on her, hoping it was just a misunderstanding. Your butler tried to say that Lady Statham was not at home, but my mother marched right past him and into the drawing room.” He ran a hand over his face. “I wasn’t there, of course, but I gather it was a most unpleasant scene. Lady Statham insisted that the pendant was now hers, after which my mother told Lady Statham precisely what she thought of her. My mother is not one to make a fuss, so you may judge by that how upset she was.”
“Yes,” Isolde said. “Lady Burke is such a kindhearted lady. I’m—I’m so very sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Gawain said. “Just as my mother was about make a dignified exit, yours burst into tears and said, ‘The pendant belongs at Statham because the ghost of the Cavalier told me so.’ After which my mother abandoned all pretension to dignity and slammed the door behind her on the way out.”
Isolde’s brows knit. “What an absurd excuse to give, and so unlikely. My mother and the Cavalier are not on speaking terms.”
“She can hear him?”
She grimaced. “Oh yes, she can hear him very well. I expect that’s where James and I came by the ability, for my father and other siblings cannot. But she absolutely loathes the ghost, and their dislike is mutual. He calls her ‘that hysterical fool.’ He gave up on her when we were very small and transferred his attention to James.”
“Perhaps she was telling the truth. Maybe the ghost had a reason to tell her to keep the pendant.”
“But why would she obey him? She must have known it would cause a dreadful fuss.”
“And yet she won’t discuss it.”
Isolde shook her head. “Now that I know what happened, I’m not surprised she won’t talk to me about it, nor would she explain to James. Maybe she feared we would ask the ghost and find out that she had lied.” Isolde stood and paced before the fire. “When I ask, she says I’m an ungrateful daughter, and it’s impossible to press her. One feels so guilt-ridden.” She sighed. “Even if she believes the pendant belongs to us, the way she kept it amounts to theft.” She turned, twisting her hands together. “Perhaps that seems disloyal.” She paused. “I don’t want to be disloyal. I’m not the disloyal sort. I was loyal to S—”
She shouldn’t have said that. She clamped her mouth shut, but it was too late. Gawain would finish the sentence: …Simon? And she would feel obliged to explain. Either that, or to say it was none of his business, in which case, why had she brought it up? Something about Gawain made her want to talk. To let out all her frustrations. To blurt about matters that were none of his business.
“I don’t see it as disloyal,” Gawain said placidly, with no hint of curiosity on his features. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to get to the truth.” He was so solid and at ease, so comforting in his warmth and kindness. If only she could be at ease, but she couldn’t be comfortable until she knew for sure what to do.
“That’s why I asked you here—so I can explain my mother’s situation and you can explain yours.” She paused, and when he said nothing, she ploughed forward. “My mother is constantly overset. She spends much of her time prostrate. At the moment, she frets mostly about me, about the scandal and the broadsheets. She fears…” No. That wasn’t relevant. “She thinks that if I remarry, the scandal will go away.”
Gawain shrugged. “Maybe so.” He chuckled. “Unless your third husband should suddenly die, particularly under mysterious and gossip-worthy circumstances.”
“It’s not funny!” But it was, in a horrid way, and she gave a choked little giggle in response to his sympathetic grin. “The costume was meant as a warning to my horrid suitors, but it didn’t deter them at all. Most of the others were shocked, as if I really were like Circe. How absurd. Would I masquerade as a poisoner if I truly were one?”
He contemplated her, the corners of his mouth turning up again. “A devious sort of person might.”
“I’m not devious,” she said, and suddenly recalled: “But you are. You and James both.”
He laughed. “Indeed.” Was she imagining it, or did he seem slightly abashed?
“What is the matter with me?” she grumped. “I don’t want to discuss my husbands or my suitors, but the stupid topic keeps arising despite me.” She paused. “Poor Simon. I felt sorry for him.”
“That’s extraordinarily charitable of you, considering his scurrilous boasting.”
“He wasn’t…incapable.” She blushed in shame at such boldness; this wasn’t the sort of subject a lady discussed. She hastened to explain. “At least not at first, but he became ill soon after we married. It would have been not only disloyal, but cruel of me to contradict him. In any case, I could never have brought myself to mention such an improper topic.” So why was she doing it now?
“Then I suppose I shouldn’t ask why, since you had an unpleasant time with Simon Doncaster, you agreed to marry his equally disagreeable cousin.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” She pressed her lips together. If James were here, she would have confided in him, and Gawain was as close to James as she could get. Like a brother to her.
Except not really. She never thought of her brothers as virile men. They were, of course, but she didn’t s
ee them that way.
“Then I shan’t,” he said with a twitch of the lips that seemed to imply, At least, not yet.
Drat the man, he wasn’t asking because he had no need to. She was about to blurt it out anyway. “If you must know, I married Alan because he threatened to say I had poisoned Simon. Mama was hysterical with fear, and Papa said it was my duty, so I gave in.” She swiveled, fists clenched. “It was stupid of me, but I was afraid for my mother’s health, even her life.”
Gawain’s silence, coupled with a dubious expression, forced her to explain further.
“It’s not as absurd as it seems. She knows I make various herbal tisanes. I shouldn’t have mentioned to her that I had tried several on Simon, for she saw that as the proof that would hang me.”
Gawain blew out a breath. “And now she is afraid that someone will learn of Alan’s threat, and that you will be formally accused of murder.”
She nodded. “Especially since Alan died unexpectedly, too.”
“Highly unlikely,” he said. “Simon was not a young man when you married him and died over a year ago, and Alan had an apoplectic fit after imbibing too much at the wedding breakfast.”
A hot blush rose to her cheeks. How kind of him not to repeat what the scandal sheets said—that Alan had died while in bed with her. Unfortunately, that was the exact truth, regardless of her family’s official version of events. She took a deep breath to recover her composure.
“The caricatures are merely an artist’s lurid imaginings, and in any event, your father is far too influential to permit you to be arrested,” he went on. “At the worst, there would be more food for scandal.”
“That may not seem dreadful to you, but it does to my mother.” So why, she wondered again, had Mama kept the pendant? That had caused plenty of scandal, too. It seemed so unlike her.
“She lives in desperate hope that you will marry soon, sink into obscurity as a respectable wife, and therefore be safe from gossip again,” Gawain said.
“That’s it in a nutshell,” she said glumly.
“But what has that to do with the pendant?”
“Only that she is torn between superstition that the pendant is bringing us bad luck, and fear that if she returns it to your mother, disaster will strike. My father believes that if she loses the pendant, her mind will become unhinged.”
“It sounds to me as if she already is unhinged.” He grimaced. “Or merely suffering from a guilty conscience.”
“Perhaps both.” She gave a sad little laugh. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“Would you rather I did?”
She put up a hand. “No, your frankness is most welcome.” It certainly made her own openness less shameful, and for that she was grateful. She took a deep breath and returned to the sofa. She clasped her hands. “Her beliefs about bad luck aren’t entirely unfounded. Ever since she took the pendant, she has been plagued with nightmares, and my parents’ plans go awry. James refused to wed any of our father’s choices of bride and was banished from Statham. We all miss him, but Papa won’t forgive him, for that would mean admitting he was wrong. He pushed me into two frightful marriages, but he won’t accept that that was a mistake, too.” She paused. “Although from his point of view, they weren’t frightful, for he profited from both of them. Giving in to Alan for Mama’s sake didn’t mean not negotiating a good financial arrangement.” She sighed. “My father cares about money more than anything, and also firmly believes that he is always right.”
Saying that about her father was disloyal. Time to change the subject. “What about your mother?” she asked.
“My mother simply feels that the pendant is ours, since it was passed down to her by my paternal grandmother, and to her by the previous Lady Burke, and so on for well over a hundred years.” His brows drew together. “But since both our families have lived here a long time, it’s quite possible that the pendant once belonged to yours, and that one of my family members purloined it long ago.”
That was only kindness on his part, to alleviate her embarrassment at her parents’ behavior. “Perhaps, but we have no proof of that, and in the meantime—”
“Maybe we can have proof,” he said. “There is someone who has been here far longer than anyone, and supposedly he told your mother to keep the pendant. Why not ask him why?”
Gawain let the suggestion hang in the air. This charade was beginning to disturb him. Isolde was sincerely distressed, while he was merely playing a game for his own enjoyment. Regardless of the truth, he didn’t intend to return the heart-shaped pendant.
So why had he suggested the ghost, who might ruin his little game?
“The Cavalier?” she said. “I doubt if he’ll answer. All we know is that he was Earl of Statham at the time of Charles I. He ignores most questions.”
“And dictates a flurry of poetry instead, I expect,” Gawain said. There, confessing that he knew about the ghost’s poems made him feel a little less duplicitous.
“James told you about the poetry? It was supposed to be a strict secret! Even I didn’t know until James left and the ghost turned to me.”
“He told me bitterly and at length. Does the ghost dictate to you now?”
“Yes, whenever I’m here, and it’s rather fun.” For the first time, she gave a genuine smile. “I deal with the publisher too, in secret needless to say. Mostly the poems are laments. Have you read any of them?”
“All of them, at James’s request. My mother and sister adore them.” Luckily, they didn’t know their source. Nor did they—or anyone but James—know that Gawain wrote poetry of his own.
For a while, Isolde sipped her warm milk and said nothing. He watched her, drinking in her loveliness, loath to break the companionable silence.
At last she said, “The ghost asked me to show you his latest poem.”
Gawain blinked at that. “He did? I wonder why.”
“Because he approves of you,” she said darkly, and Gawain wondered if she were blushing again. She stood and opened the drawer of her dressing table, pulling out a sheaf of papers. “What a pity I can’t remain at Statham. I don’t know to whom he’ll dictate after I leave.”
He had to ask. To know. “Because you will marry again soon?”
“No! Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Last night, I searched your mother’s dressing room and overheard your father speaking to her. I left in a hurry, but not before hearing him say you had promised to choose one of your suitors. Lady Statham expects you to marry almost immediately.”
Isolde gasped. “How dare he! I only said I would consider them, to make him stop pestering me.” She took to pacing again. “That is the last straw. He simply won’t accept that I refuse to be forced into marriage again.”
Gawain let out a long, relieved breath.
“I should never have come to Statham for Christmas. I shall leave immediately after Twelfth Night to live with James and his wife.”
Oh, no, Gawain thought. Please don’t go.
The Cavalier appeared, full of wrathful indignation. “You may not depart!” he thundered—at least, it seemed loud to Isolde, although Gawain of course heard nothing.
He saw the ghost, though, evidenced by his polite bow.
“I shall leave if I wish,” she retorted. “If this is about your poems, I’m very sorry, but if I were to marry one of those bores, you would lose my assistance just the same.”
The ghost glowered. “How dare you desert your lover so callously!”
“He’s not my—” Drat, she felt herself blushing again. Worse, Gawain was watching their exchange far too closely.
“But he wants to be,” the ghost said. “Ask him, and you’ll see.”
“I cannot possibly—” She turned to Gawain. “He says you would rather I didn’t leave Statham.”
He nodded, his smile rueful. “Such a pity, don’t you think, when we’re just getting to know one another again?”
She dropped her eyes, putting her hands to her heat
ed cheeks. Whatever Gawain felt for her, she would rather not know.
“Coward,” muttered the ghost.
“Which of us?” she hissed back. “Him or me?”
“Which of us what?” asked Gawain.
She swiveled. “The ghost and I are speaking. Kindly ignore us.”
He laughed. “It’s a trifle difficult.”
“You are the coward,” the Cavalier told her. “He is behaving in a gentlemanly manner, for which I honor him.”
“What about me behaving like a lady?”
“He does not wish to distress you and therefore says nothing, but he is overwhelmed with longing for your kiss. It is for you to take the first step.”
She shut her eyes and let out a ragged breath. Fine, maybe Gawain did want her—and his kiss had indeed been wonderful—but what was the point? Even if their families weren’t sworn enemies, she loathed all the pawing and groping and…and everything else that went on.
“Isolde?”
She opened her eyes. Gawain’s gaze was so very kind.
“I don’t know what he said to distress you, but please don’t be,” he said. “Give me the poem, and I’ll go.”
“He may not leave,” the Cavalier said. “For safety’s sake, he must remain.”
“I am perfectly safe,” she hissed at the Cavalier. “Mr. Burke must leave before he is caught.”
The Cavalier shrugged this off at the same moment that Gawain rolled his eyes. The two men, living and dead, grinned at one another.
“He is a valiant lover,” the ghost said. “He fears no one.”
“I daresay, but you’re just trying to—” She stopped herself just in time. She took a deep breath.
“To make you see sense,” the ghost said sternly. “You may not give him the poem.”
Isolde threw up her hands. “What? You asked me to show it to him.”