by Kate Pearce
Devon didn’t feel right letting Miss Hawkins go off alone. Although she seemed like a quiet, composed young woman, something put his instincts on alert. She appeared upset. He tried to join the others at breakfast, conversing with everyone, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she shouldn’t be exploring the house. Though she had agreed not to go alone, he had a feeling that she had done so anyway.
It wasn’t as if anyone here had a reason to threaten her. Most of the men he’d met were decent fellows, half of them married. And yet, he found himself hurrying through breakfast, wanting to be certain she was all right. Several of the men were getting ready to attend the funeral of Thomas Vail in Hollybrook Park, but since Devon was not acquainted with the family, he was staying behind.
His friend, Michael Beck, leaned in. “Did you hear what the solicitor said about her?” He tilted his head toward the door.
“Miss Hawkins, you mean?”
“Yes. It appears that she stands to inherit from the late earl. It seems Jack was wrong about her being a servant. You might want to pursue her, after all.”
Devon stiffened at Michael’s suggestion, for it made him seem like a fortune hunter. “Miss Hawkins told me she is only here as a friend to Lady Marjorie.”
There was a gleam in Beck’s eye. “Then she was lying to you. Mr. Hunt was delighted to see her and made no secret of the fact that she’s an heiress. Everyone here heard him.”
Devon didn’t quite believe that. Miss Hawkins didn’t appear to be the sort of woman who would lie about an inheritance. But then, he knew very little about her, except that she was shy.
His instincts warned that she was shy enough that she would not want to trouble a servant to be her escort. It was quite possible that she might walk through a castle of this size, unaccompanied.
“I will see you later,” he told Beck. Then he took a piece of buttered toast with him as he left the dining room. Devon walked down the hallway in search of Miss Hawkins, but there was no trace of her.
As he neared the main staircase, he felt an icy chill settle near his shoulders. The rest of his body was warm, and the cold sensation was unnerving. Though he knew most people didn’t believe in ghosts, he left himself open to possibilities. He did believe in an afterlife, and who was he to say if ghosts did or did not exist?
He felt a bit foolish but muttered to the air around him, “If you are a ghost, you might tell me if Miss Hawkins is all right.” The coldness moved to his neck, like a clammy hand formed of ice. It didn’t seem at all reassuring.
“Well, then, could you tell me where she’s gone?”
The icy presence seemed to leave him, and he was now feeling like a complete dolt. Talking to air? Honestly?
But when a door at the end of the hall seemed to blow open of its own accord, the hair stood up on the back of his neck. The door was light and swung easily on its hinges. Most likely it was a breeze that had blown it open. Logic told him that much, even as he walked toward it. He saw one of the footmen enter, carrying a tray, and realized that it was the doorway leading to the servants’ entrance.
I am losing my wits, he thought to himself as he walked to the end of the hallway. Miss Hawkins would not possibly go this way.
But the icy presence settled over his shoulders once again, as if an invisible spirit were guiding him. He was stopped by an older female servant who glared at him. Her dark hair was stretched beneath a cap, and she blocked his path. “Are you lost, sir?” The portly woman rested both hands on her hips.
“No, Miss—”
“It’s Mrs. Bray,” she corrected. “I am the housekeeper at Castle Keyvnor. Did you need something?” The look of irritation on her face suggested that she wanted him gone from here as soon as possible.
“I was looking for Miss Hawkins. Someone said she came this way.” A ghost, if one might be accurate about it. That is, if ghosts were real and if one had indeed led him here. He still felt foolish about it, but he was a man of intuition.
“She was here earlier, aye. But she’s gone now.” The housekeeper waited a moment, and then added, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I have work to do.”
Interesting. Out of all the possible places Miss Hawkins could have gone, the kitchen was among the least likely. But if a ghost had indeed guided him here, it must be a benevolent spirit. He turned back the way he had come, and almost instantly felt the same icy chill in the air. A few paces away, he spied the poodle, Oscar. The dog’s hair stood on end, and he let out a low growl.
“It’s all right,” he told the dog. “If it is a ghost, it’s a helpful one.”
Oscar sniffed at the floor a moment and then trotted back toward the kitchen. Devon felt the coldness encircle his shoulders, and he remarked, “Well, you took me this far. Now what?”
The door leading outside suddenly swung open of its own accord. With that, the coldness intensified upon his skin, and he shoved back an instinctive fear. He could not deny the presence of something otherworldly, but it was unnerving to see doors open in such a way.
And yet—the spirit had led him here to where Jane had been, only a moment ago. For that reason, he murmured, “Lead on.”
Devon felt the brush of cold air sweep past him, and he followed it down the hall.
Lady Banfield wasn’t in the kitchen. Jane asked Mrs. Bray if she had seen her, but no one had. How very odd. She could not understand why the countess had asked her to come and then was not here.
Jane walked down the hallway, wondering what to do now. The wooden floors gleamed, and she took a moment to study her surroundings. Upon one wall, she saw portraits of the former Earls of Banfield, going back for several hundred years. She stopped when she saw the last portrait, of Jonathan Hambly, Lord Banfield. The painting must have been created when he was a younger man, for he had a dashing smile and a hint of mischief in his eyes.
She turned away and nearly jolted when she saw another man standing before her. He had red hair and a beard with bright blue eyes. His clothing reminded her of Henry VIII, with a velvet cap and what appeared to be pantaloons. Beneath one arm, he carried a lute. Was the man an actor, hired to perform in a play?
“I beg your pardon,” Jane remarked. “You startled me.”
“Such was not my intent.” The man nodded toward the portrait. “’Twas most tragic that Lord Banfield had no living heirs, my lady. His only son died at the age of five years.”
“That is very sad,” Jane agreed. She wasn’t certain who the gentleman was, or why he was here, but before she could leave, he continued talking.
“His wife, Lady Banfield, went mad with grief. She tried to have another child for years and could never succeed.” In a low voice, he added, “They say the turret is heavy with her grief, and you often can hear her screaming.” His smile held a hint of darkness. “Do you believe in ghosts, my lady?”
In spite of herself, goosebumps rose over Jane’s skin. She mustered a weak smile. “Not really. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I was trying to find Lady Banfield. The living one,” she amended.
“You might try the outbuilding behind the kitchen,” he suggested. “I saw her near the herb garden.” He tipped his velvet cap, smiling, and a few droplets of water poured down.
“Thank you.” Jane excused herself and walked toward the back of the house. She had already decided that if Lady Banfield was not there, she would simply find her later. This felt rather like a merry chase, when she had no idea why the countess had even summoned her.
She pulled the door open and as she did, she spied Mr. Lancaster standing just outside in the rain. Her pulse quickened at the sight of him, and she clenched one of her gloves.
“Why, hello,” she greeted him with a nod. “I didn’t expect to see you here, so soon after breakfast.”
He held the door open for her. “Neither did I, to be honest. But I was concerned that you might be out walking alone. Do you want me to ring for a servant to accompany you? A maid, perhaps?”
“I have no maid. Not really. M
arjorie does.” Jane huddled against the doorway, and the light rain dampened her hair and Marjorie’s borrowed white gown. She should have thought to ask for her bonnet and an umbrella. Instead, she remained where she was, searching for a glimpse of Lady Banfield.
“If you need an escort, I could watch over you,” he offered.
“I am fine, truly. You needn’t worry over me.” His very presence made her nervous. She was all too aware of his tall form, of his dark blond hair and the light stubble of beard on his chin. His green eyes searched hers, and she felt a sudden rush of emotion that she couldn’t describe.
“You seemed very upset after breakfast,” he said. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing.” She tried to brush off the incident, for there was no need for him to be involved. “Just a misunderstanding with the solicitor.”
His gaze turned kind. “If anyone here is bothering you, Miss Hawkins, I can put a stop to it.”
She gave him a sheepish smile. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m certain you have better things to do than worry about me.”
His expression warmed, and her skin tightened when his attention shifted over her face as if he were memorizing her. “Not at all, Miss Hawkins.” He offered his arm and admitted, “I find you fascinating. And given the choice between spending time playing billiards with friends or walking through the rain with a beautiful woman, it is no hardship at all. Wait here, and I shall return momentarily.” She did and saw him speak with a footman. When he returned a few moments later, he carried an umbrella. “Shall we?”
Though her mind was urging her not to, her heart was enchanted by the idea of walking through the rain with a handsome gentleman. Why not? It isn’t as if he’s going to offer for someone like me.
Why shouldn’t she take advantage of a moment like this, even knowing it would lead nowhere?
“All right,” she said, placing her hand upon his arm. Mr. Lancaster opened the umbrella, and they stepped onto the brick stairs that led toward the back garden.
“Did you want to walk through the flower gardens?” he asked.
“Actually, I was supposed to meet with Lady Banfield.” She almost told him about the actor she had seen, but then decided not to. “I had heard she was in one of the outbuildings behind the kitchen.”
Mr. Lancaster guided her toward the garden pathway. “Then we will find her, if she is here.”
The rain poured down over them, and Jane couldn’t help but huddle closer to him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s just that I’m trying not to get Marjorie’s day dress wet.”
He moved the umbrella to shield more of her, even though it put him in the rain. “Better?”
“No. You should remain under the umbrella. So long as it doesn’t bother you that I have to stand closer.”
“Not at all,” he murmured.
It did feel nice to walk in the rain beside such a handsome gentleman. Her wayward heart couldn’t help but beat faster with him so near. She could almost imagine his arm around her waist, or what it would be like to rest her head against his broad chest.
For some unknown reason, it felt as if she could trust this man, though she couldn’t say why. And right now, she wanted a friend to listen to the burden she carried.
“The solicitor said that I was supposed to be here for the will reading,” she blurted out. “It bothers me, because Lord Banfield told me nothing of this. I’m an orphan, Mr. Lancaster. There is no reason for me to inherit anything.”
“You could be a distant cousin,” he offered. His voice was low, almost soothing. “Why should it bother you? I would think you would be glad to hear of this.”
It frightens me, she almost said. But then, she didn’t want to admit it to anyone. Instead, she stopped beside the herb garden. “I hadn’t met Lord Banfield before he died, and my adopted parents certainly have never spoken of him.”
“And what of your real parents?” he pressed. “Did they know the earl?”
His question only solidified her fears. For that was the true question, wasn’t it? “I never knew them. My mother died when I was born, and I never learned who my father was. Suffice it to say, I come from a very humble family.”
He studied her a moment before his face relaxed. “Miss Hawkins, it wasn’t my intent to pry.”
His words did soothe her, somewhat, for she believed him. “I know. But I did think you should know that I am not from a titled family, nor do I possess any wealth. I am unsuitable to be anyone’s bride.”
A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. “If you were trying to talk me into marriage, it isn’t working, Miss Hawkins.”
It took her a second to realize he was teasing. She braved a smile and added, “Good. If I ever marry, it will be a man of my own station.”
“Someone quiet and boring, no doubt.” Mr. Lancaster led her toward the outbuilding behind the kitchen, and the rain began to slow down.
“There is nothing wrong with a safe and boring man,” Jane said. “At least then, I would know what to expect.”
“An exciting husband would make life entirely too unpredictable.” The glint in his eyes suggested he was teasing her again.
“I prefer a man who is a creature of habit.”
He started to lean in closer. “You ought to try an unpredictable man before you make your decision, Miss Hawkins. You might find that you like him better.”
His nearness sent a flare of heat within her, one she found startling. She caught the scent of his shaving soap, and for a moment, she imagined what it would be like to be in this man’s embrace. No, a man like Devon Lancaster would never be boring. His green eyes were locked upon hers, and in them she saw his interest. Her attention was drawn to his mouth, and wild thoughts of a kiss suddenly tangled in her imagination. She backed away, only to feel the raindrops soaking through her gown.
“Am I making you uncomfortable, Miss Hawkins?”
Jane hardly knew how to answer that. “Not exactly. But I thought I should be honest with you, so you don’t get the wrong idea about me. You do seem to be following me.”
“My reasons are honorable, I assure you,” Mr. Lancaster said. “I simply didn’t want you to go off alone without an escort. Then, too, this house is haunted. One never knows if a ghost is benevolent or vindictive.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “You don’t really believe in ghosts, do you?”
He glanced behind him and admitted, “I have felt the presence of something in this house. And honestly, I’ve witnessed quite a few strange things thus far. I prefer to remain open to possibilities.”
Jane wasn’t certain what to make of that. He opened the door to the outbuilding and gestured for her to enter. “After you.” He accompanied her inside and put down the umbrella. The interior of the room was warm, and she smelled the comforting aroma of drying herbs. Rosemary, sage, and thyme hung in tied bundles from the ceiling. But there was no sign of Lady Banfield. The gentleman who told her he had seen the countess here must have been mistaken, for why would the countess be here in a place like this? She also wondered if the note had been false.
In the corner, she spied a stone staircase. “Where do you suppose that leads?” she wondered aloud.
Mr. Lancaster shrugged. “We can go down and see for ourselves if you like. I imagine it’s the wine cellar.”
Jane heard the sound of a bottle shattering down below. The noise startled her, and she wondered if someone needed help. She started to go down the stairs, but Mr. Lancaster warned, “Wait. Let me see if it’s safe first.” He hurried traveled down the spiral stairs, pushing open the wooden door at the bottom, and Jane followed. The interior was lit by candles set into iron sconces on the wall. Shadows flickered against the stone, and she took a step back.
Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.
A coldness settled over her shoulders, and she pulled her shawl tight. It did nothing to diminish the chill, and she called out, “Lady Banfield?” But instinctively, she knew the countess would not answer.
Only silence reigned over the wine cellar. Jane saw a broken bottle on the far end of the room and a puddle of red wine beneath it. She moved closer and crossed the room, looking to see if anyone was nearby, but there was no one. It seemed that the bottle must have been poorly balanced on the wine rack and fell of its own accord.
“She’s not here,” Mr. Lancaster said. “No one is. We should go back.”
Jane agreed with his suggestion wholeheartedly. But when they turned around, the wooden door slammed shut. The gust of air from the door caused the candle beside it to go out, leaving them with only one candle for light.
Mr. Lancaster rushed to the door and pulled hard, but it appeared that someone had locked them inside. He let out a low curse and pounded on the wood. “Open the door!”
But when they listened, there came only the sound of a man’s laughter. Fear iced through her, and Jane was now certain someone had lured them here on purpose. Was it the actor she had met in the hallway, the one who had known so much about the family? Or was it someone else who was trying to cause a scandal by locking her in the wine cellar with Mr. Lancaster?
“Can you force it open?” she ventured.
His response was to lunge at the door, smashing his shoulder against the wood. He let out a hiss of pain and rubbed at his arm. “Apparently not. Why would anyone do something like this?”
“I don’t know.”
But their question was answered a moment later when a voice muttered. “Leave Castle Keyvnor, Jane Hawkins. You are not wanted here.”
Mr. Lancaster pounded on the door again, demanding to be let out. But they both heard the retreating sound of footsteps going up the stairs. For the next several minutes, he called out for help, beating against the wine cellar door. But no one came.
He paused a moment to catch his breath and asked, “What was that all about? Who would threaten you?”
“I truly don’t know.” But she was beginning to think that there was more to her inheritance than she’d guessed. Was the gentleman Lord Banfield’s nephew, the heir apparent? Or did her captor somehow believe that she was meant to gain a fortune from the late Lord Banfield? There were no answers at all.