Her eyes widened in horror. “No! You cannot be serious!”
“Of course I am.” His satisfied chuckle did not lessen the gravity of his words. “I shall do as your dear friend wishes and help you find the perfect husband before the blooming of the chrysanthemums signals that the summer is over.”
Three
“How does she fare?”
Marian smiled and gave Lorenzo Wolfe’s skinny arm a maternal pat. “Ellen remains agitated, and I fear she did not sleep well last night, for she is as gray as a ghost. However, the doctor assures me she will heal like winking. Her injuries are not grave.”
He shuddered. “Watch what you say.”
“What?”
“Ghost. Grave. There are stories this old Abbey is still haunted by the spirits of the brothers who were turned out when King Henry dissolved the monasteries.”
“Lorenzo, that was centuries ago.”
“I know.” He walked with her along the hallway toward the stairs leading down to the first floor. “Forgive me. It is simply I am discomposed by having to mourn my cousin a second time. Before we clung, albeit feebly, to the hope Corey was alive. We have no such hope this time.”
“I shall be glad to assist with the funeral in any way I can.”
“Would you?”
Marian smiled again. “My dear Lorenzo, we have been friends for so many years. I consider you as dear as a brother. Do you think I would turn my back on you now?” She gathered up her wrapper as she hurried down the stairs. Over her shoulder, she threw, “And Mr. Bridges insisted Ellen remain in bed for the next two days, so we shall remain your guests.”
“Shall I have word sent to Reggie?”
“I have already informed my husband that I shall be delayed returning home. He will join us as soon as he can, I am sure.”
Ellen strained but she could hear nothing more as Marian and Mr. Wolfe—no, Lord Wulfric—continued down the stairs. With a sigh, she closed the bedroom door and leaned against it. Her hope that last night was nothing but a nightmare had disappeared when she woke to the pain in her shoulder and the confusion in her head.
The accident had been real, but the rest … Tears battered at her eyelids. She was unsure of anything past the moment when the fireworks had exploded too close to the ground. Marian’s conversation with Lord Wulfric confirmed what she had hoped was nothing but the vagaries of a battered brain.
Corey Wolfe was dead. He had pulled her out of the way of the explosion, mayhap at the cost of his own life. She shivered. She owed him more than she could ever hope to repay, but she wished none of this were true. Yet she knew how futile it was to pretend everything was as it had been yesterday.
Denying the truth must have brought on last night’s dream. What had she told Marian last night? That all Scots were romantics at heart? Mayhap her dream had been born of the myths filling the dales and braes, along with her yearning to get to know Lord Wulfric better.
How charming he had been! She had laughed with him as she had not laughed with anyone in a long time. His teasing had allowed her to be honest as lief hiding her feelings behind the polite words of the Polite World.
“Miss Dunbar?”
She whirled at the voice. Her pounding heart slowed when she stared at a startled woman. The woman’s hair was as black as the soot on the hearth, and her dark eyes were ringed in red. Even as Ellen watched, another tear inched along the woman’s cheek.
“Pardon me, miss,” mumbled the woman. “I did not mean to startle you. And …” She wiped away the tear. “’Tis right sad about the lord dying right in the middle of our celebration.”
“You do not need to apologize.” Taking a step toward the bed, she swayed.
Instantly the woman was at her side. Ellen was grateful to be able to lean on her as they went back toward the bed. Gently the woman helped Ellen sink to the bench padded in purple velvet.
“Thank you,” Ellen said. With a sigh, she managed a feeble smile. “I had no idea I was so light-timbered.”
“You need to expect some weakness in the wake of your accident. Mrs. Griffen—the housekeeper, you know—told me you were hurt right bad.” The woman’s eyes got wider. “Said she had heard the sense had gotten knocked clear out of you.”
“I suspect she was right. If you have told me your name before, I must ask you to tell me again.”
The woman clicked her tongue in pity. “Dear me, you have clean forgotten me helping Lady Herrold bandage your arm last night, haven’t you? Do you remember anything about what occurred last night?”
“I must own I am not sure about anything at the moment.” That was a decided simplification of the facts. Her head was reeling as if she had been spun about in the wildest quadrille. Memories of the most peculiar happenings filled her mind. Had her injuries unhinged her brain?
“My name is Sullivan, miss. Mr.—” She gulped back another sob. “His lordship asked me to help you.”
“Thank you.” Ellen touched the bandage on her arm. “I fear I will need assistance until this heals.”
“La, you are a lucky lady, miss.”
“Yes.” She was tempted to add all her luck might be bad, but she did not want to add another tear to the collection dotting Sullivan’s bodice.
“When she realized you would not be returning to Herrold Hall as you had planned, Lady Herrold sent for some of your things last night, and they arrived just before I came up. Would you like something simple to wear?” She hesitated, then said, “Lord Wulfric is sure to wish to give you a look-in to make himself easy in the head about your welfare. I doubt you wish to receive him in your nightdress.”
“True.”
“What do you wish to wear?” She smiled. “If you wish, I will pick out something appropriate from among your things that were in the box from Herrold Hall.”
Ellen nodded. Letting someone else make decisions seemed to be the wisest course right now. She did not trust her own thoughts. The jar to her skull must have been harder than she had realized.
With Sullivan’s kind and careful help, Ellen was able to change into a pale green gown. The vandyke sleeves brushed the top of the bandaging on her arm. She adjusted the wide white ruffle along the bodice so it would not brush her sore arm more.
Ellen was breathless as she sat again while Sullivan brushed the snarls from her hair. Bits of grass and earth fell onto Ellen’s shoulders, warning her that she must have looked a frightful sight.
With a laugh, Sullivan swept the debris away.
Ellen smiled, because she did not wish to down-pin the kindly abigail with her own grim spirits. Spirits? She shivered, sending another wave of pain along her arm. It was day. She must let the nightmare go. Mr. Wolfe had said the house was haunted, but not by his cousin.
Sullivan offered to bring Ellen something to break her fast, and Ellen agreed. Not that she was hungry. The idea of food threatened her already unsettled stomach, but she did not have the strength to argue and disappoint Sullivan.
Ellen stretched out her legs on the chaise longue set in an alcove which gave her a view of the gardens below. She leaned her chin on her hand and watched the sea beyond them. The water disappeared into the gray horizon where a bank of clouds promised a storm before nightfall. Although she wished the tall window was raised so she could hear the sea throwing itself on the shore, she did not want to risk her arm.
Sounds came from the door leading to the dressing room. She smiled when she recognized both voices. Marian and Sullivan. She was not surprised Marian had waylaid the abigail to give Sullivan instructions on how to watch over Ellen. Marian was a dear soul.
“Marian?” she called, although she doubted if her bosom-bow could hear her through the thick oak door. With a tired laugh, she leaned back in the chair and said softly, “Patience, Ellen. One of them will come in soon and open the window.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped as the lower window slowly lifted to bring the sounds crashing upon her. How had that happened? The house was too solid and
too old to shift and set the window ajar. If … She stared as a cloud of colors began to materialize as it had last night.
In her nightmare!
Gripping the arm of the chair, she whispered, “Go away!”
“Now that is a fine way to greet your erstwhile host.”
Ellen scanned the room. The voice was definitely coming from near the window, but no one was in the room with her. She slid her feet off the chair and stood. Her knees wobbled, and she locked them in place. That did not help, because now she could not move a step. If she tried, she feared she would fall on her face.
“Who is it?”
“Corey.”
She wanted to rush over to the window and look out. There must be a ledge beneath it. This must be someone’s cruel idea of a joke.
Ellen stared as a form took shape by the window. The gold buttons on a waistcoat glowed like cat eyes before a broad chest appeared. Hands slowly drew arms to attach to muscular shoulders as legs reached down toward shiny boots. Last, the face emerged from the shadows—a smile, the stern line of a jaw, ebony brows … and a patch to match.
Corey Wolfe!
Holding onto the back of the chair, she whispered, “This is impossible.”
A frown stole the merriment from Corey’s face. “I had hoped we would not need go through all that silliness again.” Slowly he turned around. “See?” he asked when he was facing her again. “One bona fide ghost.”
“Impossible!”
“Ellen!” he fired back in the same tone. “I have as much of eternity as you wish to waste on revisiting this discussion, but you have a life to get on with. May I suggest you put the moonshine behind you now?”
“’Tis simpler for you to say when you are not facing a ghost.” Her heart slowed its frantic beat. At the very least, Corey’s reappearance proved she was not deranged. Or mayhap it proved she was mad. This might be another mind storm brought on by her injuries.
“Not as easy for me to say as you might believe.” He reached up to run his fingers along the cheval glass. Stepping in front of it, he shook his head. “I have no idea how long it will take me to become accustomed to this!”
“I did not know that ghosts could come out during the day. I thought you could only appear after dark.”
He shrugged as he faced her. “I have yet to learn all the canons of ghostly society. Mayhap when I have mastered them, I shall disregard them as I did the canons of the ton.”
“Is that so?” She smiled coolly. “Your clothes would belie your words.”
“True.” His gaze slid along her with slow appreciation. “You look much better this morn, Ellen. Like a summer blossom.”
“Thank you.” She was unsure what else to say. This conversation was in so many ways so commonplace she could have had it a score of times, save that she was speaking with a ghost in her bedchamber.
“I thought you would want some privacy while you dressed.”
Ellen stiffened. “How did you know I was dressing?”
He grinned. “Are you asking me if I was peeking at you while you were in déshabillé? Now there is a tempting thought.”
“Were you?”
“Would you believe me if I told you no?”
“Yes, I believe most people are honest.”
His brows arched. “You should be careful judging others by your own standards.” Sitting on the chair by the hearth, he smiled. “I do, however, possess ethics to match yours. I shall never invade your rooms when you wish privacy.”
“Corey.” She took a faltering step toward him, then paused. “You should not be here.”
“In your rooms? Actually they are my rooms, if you wish to own the truth.” He grimaced. “Or to be most honest, they are Lorenzo’s. Damn, this is going to take some getting used to.”
“There is no need for cursing.”
“I apologize if I have said something your ears have never endured.”
Ellen smiled as she sat facing him. It was easier to sit when her knees threatened to betray how unsettled she was. “My stepfather is a military man. I assure you anything you might say I have already heard.”
“We shall get along well while I find you a match.”
“Not that again!”
He set his legs on the table beside her. When she started to remonstrate, he chuckled. “Now, Ellen, I cannot ruin the finish on the table when my boots are not really on the wood. This existence does have a few advantages, after all.”
“Then go and enjoy them.”
“I made a vow to help you, and help you I will.” He counted on his fingers. “Now let me think. This shire is not without its eligible men. Kenneth Pratt is looking for a wife as are, I believe, Josiah Adams and Terence Marshton. Of course, there’s my cousin Lorenzo. He could well use a humdrum to keep this house in order.”
“I shall choose my own husband, thank you.” She rose and went to the door to the dressing room. Listening, she was glad to hear Sullivan still in conversation with Marian. If they chanced to come into the room, they would think her half-mad to be talking to herself. She looked back at where Corey still sat. “As you left this life as unmarried as when you entered it, I doubt if you are much an expert on making a match.”
“But I know the thoughts of a man far better than you.” Setting himself on his feet, he strode toward her.
Ellen gasped when he put out an arm to block her from edging past him. She recoiled from the luminescence that might burn her or freeze her heart in midbeat. With his hands against the door behind her, he held her in a prison that did not exist.
Slowly she raised her gaze past his smile to see the truth. He made no attempt to conceal the longing she had seen there so briefly last night. Then she had thought of him holding her and kissing her. Now that was impossible. He should be beyond such thoughts. Shouldn’t he? She had no idea.
His voice was as soft as a caress. “I know well the thoughts of any man who could look down into your luminous eyes and imagine losing himself in their sweet fires. A single glance at your lips is enough to urge a man to vow to fight a dragon to the death if he could win even a single kiss.”
“Corey, you are being ridiculous.”
“Am I?”
“Yes,” she said, but her voice quivered as his mouth lowered toward hers. Her fingers tingled, and she fought to keep her uninjured arm from raising toward his shoulders.
“Is it ridiculous for a man to let his fingers discover the silken warmth of your skin, and to drown in the scent of your perfumed hair?”
“Corey, you should not …” She closed her eyes, overmastered by the images he was creating in her mind.
“Probably not, but others will.”
Ellen stiffened at his easy chuckle. Staring up at him, she wondered how any man could be so seductive and vexing at the same time.
When he turned to walk back toward the hearth, she tried to think of something to say. Something to console him. He might irritate her past words, but every sight, every sound, every smell must remind him that—for him—life was over.
“Corey?”
“Do not feel sorry for me, Ellen.”
Her forehead threaded with confusion. “Can you read my mind? The window, and now this.”
“You wear your thoughts plainly on your not plain face, my dear Miss Dunbar.” Dropping to sit on the stones of the hearth, he grinned again. “You are welcome to revile me, for I know I can be bothersome. You can snarl at me, or you can coo sweet court-promises at me. Just never, never pity me. No one can pick the life—or the afterlife—to be dealt to them.”
“Why do you still wear the patch?” she asked, crossing the room to stand by the bed.
“Mayhap for the same reason I wear these blasted boots.” He scowled at the sleek boots that clung to his legs. “This is what I was wearing when I kicked off this earth. If I had had fair warning, I would have chosen something more comfortable. However, they do make me look quite the dashing spirit, don’t they?”
“I have never s
een a ghost in such prime twig.”
His chuckle swept away his frown. “Now I understand why you have failed to make a match. Pity the man who must suffer the sharp edge of your tongue for the rest of his days.”
“I would not want to marry a man who failed to appreciate all of me. I—”
Corey leaped to his feet as she winced. “Ellen, what is wrong?”
“’Tis nothing save my arm. It pains so at times.”
He cursed his own selfishness. Because his pain had receded along with his attachment to his corporeal form, he had ignored hers. How could he forget the severity of what they both had suffered out in the garden? She might forgive his insensitivity—considering the circumstances—but he could not. For the first time, he noted the rose of her cheeks was frosted with pallor and her eyes were bright with anguish.
As he reached out to help her sit, he stared at the odd light blossoming off his skin. By the Lord Harry, this was the worst muddle he could imagine.
Corey swallowed his frustration and said, “Please sit down, Ellen, before you swoon. I do not know if there is a single vial of sal volatile in all of the Abbey.”
“I make it a practice never to swoon.” Her faint voice belied her assertion.
“Sit.”
“I think you are right.”
Again he swore under his breath. That she was so acquiescent warned him she might be hurt even worse than he had been led to believe when he listened to the doctor speak with Lorenzo. That old addle cove had delivered every babe born in Wolfe Abbey in the past forty years, but he knew little about tending anything more serious than indigestion.
“Wait here,” he ordered.
“Where—?” Ellen bit her lip as she realized she was alone. That was something that must change posthaste. He could not go popping in and out of sight like the moon playing hide-and-seek with the clouds.
Was she all about in her head? None of this could continue. The wisest thing would be for her to leave Wolfe Abbey. She must collect Marian and leave without delay.
Ellen pushed herself to her feet. A single step almost undid her, but she forced herself to take another. Any sign of weakness would persuade Marian to follow the doctor’s orders and remain here.
A Phantom Affair Page 4