by Monica Burns
“It will indeed, my lady.” Jamie’s blasé tone of voice made Constance grimace. He had never been his father’s son. Jamie’s personality had displayed his Rockwood lineage from the first moment he could sit up. The dowager didn’t seem the least bit put off by Jamie’s cavalier response. Constance breathed a sigh of relief, determined to chastise her son when the moment presented itself.
“So, you want to catalog that rubble my grandson brought back from Egypt. Did you really think he would overlook the fact that you’re a woman?” The dowager’s voice held a distinct thread of amusement.
“Not exactly, my lady.” She studied the tea in her cup for a second before looking into Lady Lyndham’s discerning gaze. “I believe my work will show me qualified for the task. I’ve heard the earl was not happy with his last appointment to this post. I am confident my skills as a cataloger will more than satisfy his lordship—enough to overlook any other unsuitable qualities I may possess.”
Lady Lyndham set her cup down and eyed her with a look that reminded Constance of a watchful bird of prey. It was a look she’d received from her brothers on more than one occasion in an attempt to intimidate her. She did not drop her gaze. Harsh frowns from her brothers had never frightened her, and Lady Lyndham’s scowl was no different. The woman’s dour expression changed suddenly as she looked at Jamie then back at Constance.
“Westbury,” the woman said sharply. “Is that the same Westbury who upped and died of some fever in Cairo a few years back?”
The stark question caught Constance off guard, and her heart lurched painfully in her breast. Graham’s death had been sudden and unexpected, leaving her to raise Jamie on her own. If she had been able to make any sense out of her dreams in the days before they left for their second visit to Cairo, she would have insisted that they not go. But she hadn’t, and Graham had succumbed to dysentery despite all her efforts to save him. Aware of the dowager’s arched look of impatience, she nodded.
“Lord Westbury was my husband.”
“If I recall, that would make you a Rockwood. One of Matilda Stewart’s clan,” the dowager said as she took a sip of her tea. “I’ve heard your aunt is as formidable as your grandmother was.”
“You knew my grandmother, my lady?”
“I did. Catherine and I debuted the same year. A fiery woman—that Scots background I suppose. Broke a few hearts before she upped and married Magnus MacDonald. You look like her, and from what I’ve seen, you’re just as impulsive as she was.”
“It is a propensity for which the Rockwoods are known, my lady. But we stand by our impulsive natures,” she said with a touch of pride.
“Uncle Sebastian says she’s almost as bad as Aunt Louisa when it comes to stumbling into trouble.” Jamie’s precocious comment shot a bolt of horror through Constance. Had her son taken leave of his senses? Leaning over toward him, she caught his hand up in hers, her tight grip making him send her an uneasy look.
“First you will apologize to her ladyship for being so rude, and then you will wait for me in the hall.”
Thoroughly chastened, her son stood up and bowed toward the dowager countess. “My sincerest apologies, my lady. If you will excuse me, I’ll leave you and my mother to finish your tea.”
Amusement twinkled in the old woman’s eyes, but the dowager countess did not smile as she gave Jamie a sharp nod. “Make certain you stay out of trouble in the hall, my lord. This keep is haunted, and I’d hate to see you anger any of our resident ghosts.”
Constance suppressed a groan at the woman’s words. In most children, such a warning would be more than sufficient to keep them on their best behavior. But Jamie was an unusual child. Anything sounding remotely of the supernatural had him racing down paths even seraphim refused to walk. The excitement on his face made her lean toward him again.
“Remember, my lord, you are to wait for me in the main hall.”
She saw the way his eyes clouded with disappointment, and with a gesture of dismissal, nodded toward the door. When he had left the room, she turned back to the dowager countess, aware of the other woman’s curious gaze.
“I must ask your forgiveness for my son’s capricious nature, my lady. He’s young and rarely stops to think.”
“Harrumph, I imagine he comes by it naturally.” Amusement sparkled in the sharp blue eyes watching her. “How often must you account for your own hasty decisions?”
Why, the woman was actually chiding her for disciplining Jamie. She bit back a smile. Like his father, Jamie had the ability to charm people simply by looking at them. It was a trait that would serve him well in the House of Lords when the time came for him to take his father’s seat. Aware the old woman wanted an answer, she smiled.
“I must account for my impetuosity more often than I care to admit, my lady.”
The dowager arched an eyebrow at her, and Constance found herself liking the old woman in spite of her abrupt mannerisms. And despite the age difference, Lady Lyndham reminded her a great deal of her Aunt Matilda.
“I should send you home, Lady Westbury.” Indecision threaded Lady Lyndham’s voice. “I’m certain my grandson will be less than pleased at your deception.”
“My deception will be moot once he recognizes my skills are more than equal to the task he needs performed.”
“Harrumph.” Lady Lyndham’s thin mouth tightened into a firm line, but there was a distinct twinkle in her gaze. “How did you find out about this librarian post?”
“My brother Percy mentioned it in passing, and the earl’s decision to secure my services was an answer to my prayers.”
“Prayers, eh? Well, girl, if I were you, I’d reserve judgment on that point. You’ve yet to meet my grandson, who is quite likely to toss you out on your ear for deceiving him.”
“I did not deceive anyone, my lady. I simply allowed his lordship to form his own opinion.”
The woman barked with laughter as she shook her head. “We’ll see how the boy reacts to that when he arrives. In the meantime, I suppose it will do no harm to let you at least attempt to do the task you were charged with.”
A rush of elation surged through her at having overcome what she was certain had to be a major hurdle. The dowager countess was clearly not someone to be trifled with, and to have passed the woman’s rigorous inspection increased the odds of convincing the earl that she was capable of the position.
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Oh, don’t be too hasty in thanking me. You’ve yet to meet my grandson. Although I admit it’s an occasion I do not wish to miss.” Her blue-veined hand picked up the bell again and gave it a sharp ring. Almost immediately, the butler appeared in the room. “Jacobs, place Lady Westbury in the Blue Room. As for the young Lord Westbury, he can stay in the nursery with Lady Imogene under Nanny’s care.”
Jacobs nodded his answer and waited patiently as Lady Lyndham turned her attention back to Constance. “Once you’ve settled in, you may begin your task in the library. We dine at eight, and I do not tolerate tardiness.”
Aware she’d been dismissed, Constance stood up and offered the woman a brief curtsey, then followed Jacobs out of the room. Emerging from the salon and into the main hall gave her the sensation of clouds passing over the sun. There was a chill here that made her hair stand on end. Lyndham Keep had seen more than its share of anguish, and its effect on her senses made her uneasy. She quickly suppressed the emotion as she saw Jamie staring up at the second-floor landing. Following his gaze, she saw the face of a young girl peering down at them.
The moment the butler started up the stairs, the girl leaped back and disappeared from view. With Jamie in front of her, they climbed the massive staircase. Carved from mahogany, the spindles in the banister were fine examples of detailed and exquisite workmanship. It was a beautiful staircase, but something in the air made it feel dark and dense.
When they reached the second flo
or, Jacobs led them down a long corridor of stone archways and portrait-laden walls. The dismal atmosphere resembled something out of a Dickens or Brontë novel. The only light illuminating the hall came from a tall window at the end of the corridor. Pressing against her, the darkened hallway made her long for the bright, airiness of her own home.
The thought vanished as she remembered why she’d fled London. No, Lyndham Keep would suit her just fine, dark corridors and all. Jacobs stopped in front of a door and opened it for her.
She entered a serene-looking room that was much brighter than the hall it bordered. The butler moved to the fireplace and, using a flint, lit the fire in the grate. When he finished, he bowed in her direction.
“I’ll have your trunks brought up immediately, my lady. Do you require anything else at the moment?”
“No, thank you, Jacobs.”
“Very well, then I’ll take his lordship up to the nursery, my lady. It’s on the next floor and easy enough to find.”
With a nod, Constance eyed her son’s remorseful expression. Smiling, she lifted his chin so he could see her face. “We’ll talk later. In the meantime, no ghost hunting. Is that understood?”
As if realizing his penance was over, he grinned. “Yes, Mother. But may I explore just a little?”
“Perhaps later, hmm.”
His wry grimace made her laugh as he turned and followed the butler out of the room. As the door closed behind them, Constance reached up, pulled out her hatpin and removed her hat. Sticking the pin into the large ribbon bow in the back of the headgear, she set it on a nearby dressing table and surveyed her surroundings. The room was large with furniture reminiscent of medieval times. The clawed feet on the dresser and wardrobe were repeated on the bed and chairs with intricate carvings on the legs and posts.
She crossed the room to the window and pushed aside the curtains to look out over the keep’s grounds. Despite the gloomy sky brooding above the earth, there were brilliant signs of spring’s arrival. Green buds were unfurling on the trees, and the grass lining the lawn was the color green that always accompanied the season.
Something told her the grounds would be lovely when spring was in full bloom. Just as lovely as the banks of the river Nile were after the annual floodwaters had receded. Excitement skittered through her. She was going to have access to one of the world’s most valuable collections of Egyptian antiquities. Or at least she would until the earl returned home.
The dowager countess had been far from reassuring about the earl’s reaction to her presence at Lyndham Keep. Shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, she sighed. She’d eluded her masked lover, and that’s all that mattered. A shiver pricked her skin as she remembered the horror of the vision she’d had that night. Refusing to dwell on it, she turned away from the window, her gown rustling quietly against the wooden floor until she reached the large carpet in the middle of the room.
A sudden noise stopped her in her tracks. It was a soft sound, and she strained to hear it. She was uncertain what it was at first until she recognized it for faint sobbing. There was great sorrow in the sound, and in seconds an icy chill engulfed her body. Her breath small clouds in the cold air, she waited for the spirit to show itself. Instead, the sobbing stopped as quickly as it had begun, and the temperature in the room grew warm again.
The memory of the spirit she’d seen earlier made her frown. Although she and the earl had never met, she’d heard numerous stories about his family. Never one to put much stock in gossip, she now wished she’d been a little more attentive to the stories she’d heard. She thought there had been something about a murder, but she couldn’t remember for sure. Hushed whispers of all sorts of mayhem accompanied old families of the nobility. Even the Rockwoods had their share of murderers and thieves.
The fire popped loudly in the hearth, and she jumped at the sharp sound. Grimacing at her nervous behavior, she shook her head. It was time to get to work. The sooner she started cataloging the collection, the more she’d have done by the time the earl came home. And the further along she was with her task, the less likely the man was to throw her out of the keep.
Slapping her hands to shake off the dust coating her skin, Constance stared at the crates stacked in the makeshift storage room adjacent to the keep’s library. There were still so many of them. She’d taken on a monumental task, and the notion of it made her heart sink. It had been almost three weeks since her arrival, and in that time, she’d worked hard to be as thorough and efficient as possible in her cataloging efforts. The question was whether her work would suitably impress the earl when he returned home. For the first time, she realized the light from the room’s windows had been fading for some time. She needed to return to her room to freshen up or she’d be late for dinner.
With one more brush of her dirty hands, she returned to the library. The moment she entered the room, the usual prickling sensation crawled across her skin. From the first time she’d entered the library she’d sensed something terrible had happened here. She wasn’t certain what, but pain and sorrow permeated the room to the point that it often made it difficult for her to concentrate. It was one reason why she worked in the adjacent room rather than here in the library.
Despite her efforts to convince herself that working in the storage area gave her more convenient access to the crates of antiquities, she knew better. Eager to leave the library, she hurried across the large carpet that covered most of the beautifully polished oak floor. She had only taken a few steps when her skin grew icy cold. Coming to an abrupt halt, she exhaled a breath to see it become a small cloud.
“Whoever you are, I don’t frighten easily,” she said in a firm, dispassionate voice.
The moment her words rang out into the room, the air around her warmed to normal room temperature. Exasperated, she shook her head.
“Not so brave when someone snaps back, are you?” she muttered.
“I am far from being frightened, my dear.”
Unable to help herself, she yelped in surprise and whirled around to see a handsome man watching her with a look of curiosity.
“Damnation.” His eyes widened with astonishment. “You really can see me.”
Gathering her wits, Constance brushed a stray lock of hair away from her brow as she glared at the spirit. Under normal circumstances, ghosts didn’t speak to her. Here apparently was one of the rare exceptions.
“Yes, I can see you.”
“Excellent. I’m Nigel, by the way, and you are?”
“Constance,” she said with a quick shake of her head.
“You’re a pretty little thing. I suppose he’s already told you that.” There was a familiar note in the man’s voice, and she frowned.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“My brother. I suppose he’s told you—” The ghost’s smile collapsed into a grimace as he faded swiftly into thin air.
Quickly stepping forward, Constance stood in the area where the ghost had been, but there was no cold spot of any kind. Over the years, she’d come to recognize many things about the spirits she had contact with. The stronger personalities were the ones best able to manifest their energy into making themselves visible or even moving objects in the physical world. But it was a short-lived ability because of the vast amount of energy it took. This ghost had one of the strongest vibrations of any spirit she’d ever encountered.
Strong enough to speak—and that had only happened to her one other time. The bittersweet memory of her mother made a knot of tears swell in her throat. She clenched her fists to push back the sadness and buried the memories deep below the surface.
Whatever the ghost wanted from her, it would be some time before he made another appearance. Turning back toward the door of the library, she gave a violent start at the sight of Lady Lyndham in the doorway. A second later, light illuminated the dowager countess’s features as she moved into the room, her cane softly
thudding against the carpet.
“Is talking to thin air another of your eccentric behaviors, Lady Westbury?”
Heat burned her cheeks at the skeptical tone in the dowager’s voice. It was bad enough she’d arrived at the keep by dubious means, and now she’d been caught in a conversation with someone no one else could see. Not an easy thing to explain. Straightening her shoulders, she nodded her head as she relied on the explanation she’d used since she was a young girl.
“I’m afraid so, my lady. I must confess that I often talk out loud. People find that far more comforting than if I were to tell them I was conversing with the spirits.” Deliberately smiling at the woman, she watched amusement cross the dowager’s face.
“I like you, Lady Westbury. You’ve a freshness that this decrepit tomb hasn’t experienced in years.”
“Thank you, my lady. You’re most kind.”
“Nothing of the sort.” Lady Lyndham snorted. “If I’d taken a dislike to you, you would have been out the door the first day.”
“I thought as much,” Constance murmured with a smile.
“Harrumph.” The dowager countess uttered the disgruntled sound with great emphasis. “Did you now?”
“If you’ll excuse me, my lady, I should go and change or I’ll be late for dinner.” She waited for the woman to respond, but Lady Lyndham seemed lost in thought as she stared around the room.
“I can’t remember the last time I was in here.” The dowager’s whisper was faint as her gaze focused on the spot where the ghost had been only moments before. “Not since…”
Constance watched as the woman barely shook her head. There was a forlorn air about the woman that resembled the grief she was all too familiar with. Stepping forward, she gently rested her hand on the elderly woman’s shoulder.