The Hawkthorn Ghost Plays Cupid

by Patty Deans

  "Indeed, and his army. Have my box of British foot soldiers been brought down from the attic?"

  The smile fell from Robert's face. "Papa said they were mine."

  "Absolutely. They belonged to me when I was your age." James quickly turned back to the soldiers he had brought the boy. "Did you notice the British Cavalry in the bottom of the box?"

  The smile returned as Robert searched in the box, and pulled the handsome soldiers on horses out and inspected them from every angle. "Did you bring any American soldiers and Indians?"

  "No." James hoped he could surprise Robert with them on Christmas. "Might try to obtain some if you wish."

  With a nod, Robert turned back to the soldiers, and set up a battle scene on the table. Not quite as realistic as life but romantic as only a child could imagine. James took turns with Robert moving the soldiers about the table. Battles were much more fun on a table than on a battlefield. Someday he would tell Robert the truth about war and combat.

  Robert played quietly, often pausing to inspect a uniform, but he never commented nor did he bring out the old foot soldiers. Trust takes longer to build than bridges, James' old governess used to remind him and his brother.

  When tea arrived, James instructed the maid to set it on the floor so as not to disturb the battle on the table.

  Surprised, Robert quickly sat down on the floor. "My lord, are you going to sit on the floor?"

  James sat next to him. "Of course. I used to sit on the floor with my tutor." Surprise filled Robert's face, moving James to ask, "Have you never had tea on the floor?"

  "No. Julia said..." He let his eyes turn to the ceiling. "it's not proper." He took a deep breath, and with the look of guilt, added, "We used to on holidays. Now she's always busy working."

  James felt a stab of regret by the words. "She will have more time now that I'm here to manage."

  "Who will translate?" Robert's voice had a pleading tone.

  James cleared his throat. Didn't Robert realize those who translated were dead? "Times change -- for now there will not be any translating in this manor."

  "Why?" The child's eyes looked unbelieving.

  "We have no translators."

  "Julia translates, and I am learning to translate Greek."

  "But you're only six!" My God, what is Julia about?

  "Julia translated at an early age. She told me." His head cocked as if disbelieving James knew so little.

  "She is a bluestocking!" James' voice rose in shock. So that is why Aunt Shredda believed she wouldn't take. It certainly couldn't be Julia's appearance.

  Robert looked frightened.

  "It is all right, Robert. We are all bluestockings, in a manner of speaking."

  With a deep breath, and a determined voice, Robert shook his head before he said, "I'm a Craigh. Julia is a Calatin."

  James smiled and pulled Robert close for a hug. "A bluestocking likes to read and write most anything."

  Robert nuzzled close. "In English, French, German, Latin and some Greek," he repeated in a good imitation of Papa's voice.

  Laughing uproariously, James said, "You are so right."

  Robert threw his arms around James and whispered, "You are not a real dragon, are you?"

  "Never. A tiny girl who didn't want to learn to swim gave me that name."

  The little boy's eyes grew big. "What girl?"

  With a chuckle, James answered, "Julia."

  Robert shook his head. "Not Julia! I heard it from the Old Earl. He said you earned the title."

  "Papa said that?" James felt hurt.

  "The Old Earl told me. He laughs and plays with me. Papa said it would be best if I turned out like you." With his blue eyes probing in earnest, he added, "The Old Earl tells me stories about the Christmas Balls when he ran the estate."

  Confused, James asked, "Not Papa?"

  Robert shook his head. "The Old Earl told me he is to be kept a secret from everyone but you. He claims you are more like him than most of the Hawkthorns."

  "When do you see the Old Earl?" James asked puzzled.

  Robert smiled. "He visits me when I'm alone and sad. He's my friend."

  "How do you know who he is?"

  "He told me. Besides, his portrait hangs in the gallery. I could show it to you."

  James shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Why would someone pretend to be a ghost around here? Perhaps he is but an imaginary friend for Robert. He remembered sometimes when he pretended to have a playmate. "Tomorrow we'll visit the gallery together, and you can show me his portrait. What time does your tutor begin your lesson?"

  "Julia fits me into her schedule."

  "Julia is your tutor?"

  Robert proudly nodded his mop of black hair before he tipped his clear blue eyes to James'.

  "You have no male tutor?" James asked.

  Robert shook his head. "I like Julia."

  "I like Julia, too." James vowed to take her to task tonight.

  "We are working on my Greek this month," Robert boasted.

  "Indeed. I might talk to Julia to see how you are doing. You are my responsibility."

  Robert shook his head. "I want to be Julia's responsibility."

  James raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?"

  "Oh, yes, my lord," Robert whispered.

  Seeing how badly he had handled the ever-influential Julia being the tutor, James already began to regret his hasty words. He hugged Robert again. "Do you ride?"

  A sad look covered the boy's expressive face. "Not too well. I don't have Julia's bottom."

  With effort James held his lips to a small smile. "I will teach you to become a dashing rider."

  Robert turned all smiles. "The Old Earl told me you would make a rider out of me. Can we keep it a secret until I do well? I want to surprise Julia. She thinks I'll never be able to join the hunt."

  With a hug and a kiss on the smooth childish cheek, James said, "You will become an excellent rider, Robert. And I will see that you are able to keep the slapping pace set by a pack of foxhounds. Now, I need to take care of some letters. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Robert whispered, "Can we play soldiers again?"

  "Indeed." He tousled the boy's hair. "I'll see you start your riding lessons, too."

  Soon James will watch young Robert ride with the wind, and have a male tutor. As for Julia, she will be flirting with all sorts of eligible young men. James knew exactly what he wanted to do. And in no way would Julia go on teaching the boy. That was absolute nonsense. No snip of a girl was going to run this manor either. He reminded himself again that he held the title, Earl of Hawkthorn. The decision making would be solely up to him.

  Immediately James sought out Aunt Shredda in the drawing room. "May I join you for tea?"

  "Of course, my dear." She waved her fancy jeweled lorgnette indicating for him to sit in a chair near her. "I understood you were taking tea with Robert. Such a smart boy, so like your brother."

  "Not exactly. Robert and I played with toy soldiers."

  "Oh, dear, I so hoped you wouldn't teach him about soldiers." One dainty hand self- consciously reached up to pat her white hair. "I know they are a necessary evil, and our country needs them, but I never liked you being one." She leaned forward flicking her chest with a lace handkerchief. In a soft whisper, she added, "It worried one to distraction thinking about you out there with those French cannon. The French aim to kill every Englishman."

  "Yes they do." James stretched his legs out from the flimsy chair and glared at her until she raised her eyes to him. "Aunt Shredda, I need to talk to you about Julia."

  "Of course, my dear. I assume she has turned down your marriage proposal. Now we must make plans to marry Julia off." Aunt Shredda put her lorgnette to her eyes and peered at him.

  What game was she playing? When she set her mind to an idea she rarely, if every, experienced a change of heart. he eyed her suspiciously, but did not speak of the exchange between him and Julia the previous day.

  She con
tinued, "I've been thinking about that friend of yours, Glen Sharn. I heard he is in London. I believe we need to bring him and perhaps a few other friends to Hawkthorn for the holiday." She paused and fluttered her handkerchief. "Dear me, that would seem too obvious. We need other eligible men. Perhaps even a duke."

  "Winston Trembelle would be a good choice." He decided to play along with her, until he knew what she was about.

  "I do suppose we will need to ask other young women. He has two lovely sisters. You might fall in love with one of them yourself, James. Very attractive girls." She eyed him expectantly.

  He shook his head, wishing he could shake some sense into his aunt's head. She was barking up the wrong tree. "Don't plan on me falling in love."

  "Oh, my dear, I'd so hoped being an earl would cure you of behaving like a rogue. It never seemed to suit you."

  "I promise I will see Julia properly married and Robert properly educated to become the next earl." In no way would he live under the cat's paw.

  "What more could an old lady ask." Aunt Shredda spoke in her sad what-can-I-do voice; waved her flimsy lace handkerchief until her hand rested against her throat and heaved a sigh heaven could hear.

  Familiar with Aunt Shredda's performances, James eased himself out of the chair, ready to leave. "Don't believe for one moment I consider you an old lady or take for gospel anything you say. Arrange whatever parties you want for the holiday. Perhaps a ball on December twenty-third, like the Old Earl had during his day. He invited his neighbors to meet his house guests and celebrate Christmas."

  "Wonderful idea, James. Just the thing." Aunt Shredda smiled. He noticed she almost clapped her hands before she restored her dignity and properly folded them, and that floppy handkerchief in her lap. "My brother never failed to make Christmas fun. What could be nicer than a ball, and a house party to celebrate the holidays! Leave it all in my hands." Her voice failed to hide her excitement.

  James laughed. "Aunt Shredda, you don't fool me. You planned to have a ball all along."

  "Don't be preposterous, I thought only of a small party, but your idea is much better. I expect a great deal of help from you, young man. And envision you paying attention to all the young women. I'm certain there is someone out there just perfect for you."

  "Concentrate on a man for Julia." James gave his aunt a snappy salute. "And wait until I give you the go ahead to tell Julia."

  "Surely I might mention the ball."

  "Of course. But only talk of the town's people."

  Aunt Shredda nodded and folded her hands. "Of course, my dear, that is of top importance."

  James laughed, until he reached the hall. The matter of his bailiff crossed his mind. Unlike his aunt, it appeared Fogel was trying to avoid him, but why? The man seemed to spend his life in town. When I get hold of that old rascal, he will rue every day he spent in town!

  ***

  Julia sat in the drawing room impatiently waiting for Aunt Shredda and James. At least Julia supposed he would join them for dinner; it was too much to hope that he had taken off for London already.

  Her maid, Louise, had chosen a pale pink dress for her to wear. She suspected Aunt Shredda, who no longer wore half-mourning clothes, had something to do with the selection. Julia probably surprised Louise by neither fussing about the dress or about having her hair piled on top of her head. She wanted to look pretty, and sound interesting.

  Self-consciously she arranged her skirt. What a silly thing to do. Hadn't she enough on her mind to think about without fussing about her appearance? She had squeezed in an hour with Robert for his Greek lessons, but he'd spent the whole time excitedly talking about playing with James and those blasted tin soldiers.

  Not to mention the nonsense Robert told her. As if she would believe the Old Earl said James had a big heart, and the dragon's fire were only words. She so wished Aunt Shredda would not encourage Robert to talk about the Old Earl. What if James heard about the boy's wild imaginary friend? Or how can she explain she listened to a ghost? Did she want so badly to have James ask her to marry him she imagined the Old Earl advised her to slip into the bed? Surely everyone would know, and talk about the Old Earl if he truly haunted the manor. Maybe a servant is pretending to be a ghost.

  Jameson arrived with Aunt Shredda following on his heels. He held out his arm for Aunt Shredda and smiled at Julia. "Come, Julia, I have another arm."

  Aunt Shredda chuckled in delight. "We are late and have no time for chitchat before dinner."

  Julia shyly accepted James' offer. As she placed her hand on his arm, a fork of lightning ran straight to her toes. Why had she never noticed such feelings before? How many men had offered their arm and nothing happened? She tried to conjure up the image of James as the dragon, but his smile shattered that vision. How could one know how it would feel to kiss a man until one did? All those silly Minerva Press novels of Aunt Shredda's rattled on about a hero's kiss, yet all those words were not nearly so extraordinary as Julia experienced with James that morning. She certainly had better sense than to fall for his flattering words. Even Robert had fallen under James' spell.

  James seated Aunt Shredda to his right and Julia to his left before sitting at the head of the table.

  It amused Julia the way James preened about being the Earl of Hawkthorn. He could read Greek and Latin, but his father claimed it took Eton to accomplish this. Yet James appeared different from his scholastic father, who lacked interest in the ton, his title, and his lands. James chose to be a soldier not a scholar, but then she, too, felt no devotion to translating. Except for profit. Her interest, and her heart belonged to Robert and the Hawkthorn tenants. Neither belonged to her.

  She thought back to her life before Hawkthorn, the part she could remember. Her father, Marquess of Calatin, a noted scholar had little if any interest in his title, though he did have a bailiff that kept his lands profitable. Yet she believed him a thoughtful and loving father, he failed to provide for his wife and daughter before his untimely death. James held different priorities than the men she knew best.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and held back the tears that threatened to fall, it was difficult to belong to no one and no one belonged to her. With a flutter to her heart, she forced herself to listen to the dinner table conversation.

  "Julia, Aunt Shredda wants to have a ball, and invite the town's people. A good way for them to get used to me being earl."

  Before Julia could comment, James began to entertain with tales of fighting the French. Humor colored his stories. No wonder Robert loved to play soldier with James. All the exciting glory and fun on a table far from where the realistic hazards of life and death intrude.

  Aunt Shredda quietly said, "Thanks for sparing me the horror. I truly appreciate that you sold your commission. The estate needs you."

  "Speaking of the estate, Fogel can't be holding his breath to talk to me." James shook his head and frowned in disgust. "I have yet to speak to the man. He seems to always be off jaunting about town. He had better be around in less than a week. For Stewart Jones will be here in a sennight and I will need to talk to Fogel before Stewart arrives."

  Aunt Shredda nodded. "I haven't seen Mr. Fogel or Mr. Jones in years."

  The fork nearly dropped from Julia's hand. She tightened her grip. In a sennight all pretense would stop. She could hardly bear to think that all her plans for the tenants could be abolished, but soon the solicitor would be here, and she must suffer exposure. No one lied. But James will discover that neither the solicitor, Mr. Martin, nor Julia had been completely honest either. How will James take it when he finds out the truth about Fogel?

  James looked at Aunt Shredda. "In the meantime, I need to go to my other country estate, Willowgreen, and see to my other tenants' most urgent needs. Gilbert, a friend that served me well in the cavalry, is managing Willowgreen. He wrote that Papa did not keep it up, but neither did he damage Willowgreen. It will become a profitable place for an heir, if I turn up with more than one." He winked to lessen the
seriousness of his tone.

  "I had forgotten Willowgreen." Aunt Shredda turned to explain to Julia, "Jameson's grandfather on his mother's side left him the place." She looked back at James. "Oh, dear, I hope it is not in complete ruin. Your father probably forgot about it."

  "Far from ruin. Aunt Shredda, don't trouble your mind about such things. I am quite able to afford a London season for Julia from the income of Willowgreen."

  If that were the case, then mayhap he would live at Willowgreen instead of Hawkthorn. A knot twisted in Julia's stomach at the thought of him living elsewhere and leaving her and Robert here. She almost forgot he mentioned a London season.

  "It will be no fun for Julia unless she has an escort. If we must attend, surely you will join us, Jameson."

  But Julia didn't want a season, if only she could make them see that they were wasting their time planning it for her.

  "Perhaps Julia might enjoy a season without someone hanging on her arm." Then he turned to Julia and abruptly asked, "Who decorated the drawing room?"

  Before Julia had a chance to explain, Aunt Shredda rolled her eyes and said in her droll humor, "Certainly not a Hawkthorn gentleman." She raised her heavily jeweled hand and pointed around the dining room. "This room hasn't been touched, and it's dreadfully drafty, dark and unpleasant for three to sit at a table for twenty."

  James looked around, then frowned at Aunt Shredda.

  With a haughty manner she clapped her hands. "The drawing room is light and airy. The curtains are not nearly so heavy." She leaned closer to James and flitted her handkerchief to get his full attention. "You no longer stumble over too many footstools. You can sit close enough to speak with assurance that the person can hear you. Even the vicar who speaks so softly at times. Don't you agree, Jameson?" Her voice, firm and definite, demanded a yes.

  "Indeed, just unexpected. And the missing furniture?"

  Julia spoke quietly. "You need not try to protect me Aunt Shredda. I refurbished the room almost two years ago. Your father thought it pleasant to let the outside light in. In fact, the number of windows surprised him. And when I discovered the little room in the back overloaded with so much furniture, I talked your father into loaning the pieces to his tenants. They are all very proud of the responsibility of caring for the Hawkthorn furnishings."