by Kruger, Mary
“But we have to find out who’s doing this. We will.” He reached over and laid his hand on hers. “We will, Annie. Trust me.”
“I do.” She returned his gaze for a moment, and then rose. “Well. I doubt Jamie will want to do his lessons, but I must at least try.”
“Of course.” Giles walked with her to the door. “I’ll set inquiries in motion for the staff. We’ll find him, Anne.” He touched her arm, and she turned to face him. “I promise.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, and fled.
Giles stood at the door, watching her as she had watched Jamie. He hadn’t imagined it. For just a moment there had been that closeness between them again that had been missing since the day at Battle. He still didn’t understand what had happened, but, as he headed toward the book-room, he felt lighter, and happier, than he had for a long, long time.
The questioning of the staff began that very same morning. With the exception of a few footmen, most of the servants who were employed in the house were women. The footmen were a mixed group, with several being old enough to have served at one time in the army or navy. None of them had, however, or so they claimed. The coachman and grooms had come from Tremont, as had Benson. Some had seen service, but all denied being the “ghost”. Beyond the fact that none of them had been here when the previous tenants had reported hauntings, all seemed unlikely suspects to Giles. And none of the men, whether from Tremont or Brighton, were named Terence.
Giles and Anne met that afternoon in the book-room to discuss the situation. After an anxious morning spent with Jamie, watching him closely, Anne had reached the conclusion that he had come to no harm from his experiences. “Thank heavens children are so resilient,” she said, sinking gracefully into a chair across from Giles. “I don’t believe he’s even scared.”
“No, I don’t believe he is,” Giles said. “You coddle him too much, Anne.”
“I do not!”
“The fact remains that we still do not know who is haunting us.”
“You are certain it’s not staff?”
“As certain as I can be. I’ll send to the War Office to learn if any of the footmen did serve, and if we find one of them lied then we have our man. I doubt it will be that easy, though.”
“Would he have to have been in the army, Giles? We’ve based that on very few clues. A song, the toy soldiers, and what he said to Jamie.”
“Possibly not. In fact, it could all be part of the hoax. And it is a hoax, Anne.”
“Oh, I agree. Obadiah doesn’t believe the house is haunted, and I trust him. What worries me, though, is that if it’s not one of the staff, then it’s someone from outside.” She shuddered. “What does he want, Giles?”
“I don’t know. He’s not a particularly frightening ghost, is he? All I can think of is that there must be something in the house he wants, and that he wants us out.”
“I wonder what.”
“God knows.” Giles leaned back. “Anne, you won’t go back to Tremont, will you?”
“I don’t know,” she said, slowly. “Would it mean so much to you if I did?”
“It has nothing to do with me, Anne. I just never thought of you as a quitter.”
“Oh. No, of course not.”
For just a moment, Giles thought he saw frustration in her eyes. Good. Of course it mattered to him that she stay. It also mattered that she was not, apparently, so indifferent as she pretended. “And I never thought of you as one to run away from things.” He looked directly at her over his steepled fingers. “Except for me.”
Anne gasped. There. It was out in the open, the subject they had so carefully avoided for the past weeks. Why had he decided to marry another, seven years ago? And why had he then not gone through with that marriage? “Not even from you, Giles,” she said with great dignity, rising. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Running again, Annie?”
Anne turned at the door. “You may taunt me all you wish, Giles, but it will not work. I do not wish to discuss the past, and I do not wish to be hurt again. Now, pray excuse me, or I shall be late to go driving with Felicity and Beth.”
“Go then, Anne. Run away. But this is not over,” he called after her, and then sat back, frustrated. Damn. Just when he had thought he might be making progress, she refused to listen. And here he was, prepared to forgive her for what she had done seven years ago. She claimed she had been hurt? Nonsense. She was the one who had run away. She was the one who had married another.
Searing pain went through him. Annie, his Annie, with another man, in his arms, kissing him, bearing his child. In Freddie’s arms. They had betrayed him, both of them, Freddie, his cousin and friend, Anne, the only girl he had ever loved. How had he ever thought he was over it? He wasn’t. He wasn’t. The pain was as fresh now as it had ever been, and for what? For a woman who had left him, and who would surely leave him again. He could not allow his desire for her deepen into something more. One day the inevitable would happen. One day Anne would leave, and if he didn’t take care, he would be lost, all over again. And then what would he do?
The Tremont carriage stopped before the Old Ship Inn that evening for the ball being held there. Giles, dressed again in faultless black and white, was a silent, brooding presence as he escorted Anne and Beth inside. What did he want from her? Anne wondered, feeling the tension between them as a palpable thing. He had to know there could be no future between them, and yet he persisted in behaving as if there might be. Oh, how she wished there could be. She had seen another side to him today, a strong, caring side that would protect a wife, rather than hurt her. Something inside her longed to put her burdens before him. Not that she had any desire to sacrifice her independence or her strength, but it would feel good to have someone to share troubles with, someone who would understand and sympathize, who would hold her close in strong, sheltering arms. Someone who understood as well that she needed to make her own decisions. Was she asking for so much? Probably.
“My parents are supposed to be here tonight,” she said, as they entered the Assembly Rooms, craning her head to see. “I wonder—oh, look, Giles! There is my father.” She frowned. “He looks so old.”
“It’s been seven years, Anne.”
“Must you keep reminding me of that?” she snapped. The past was past, and why Giles wouldn’t let it stay that way was a mystery to her. She would not think about it. She would concentrate, instead, on her father, the idol of her childhood. Except— Her brow wrinkled. When had he grown so old? The man she remembered had been lean and vigorous and handsome, and his occasional attentions to his daughter had sent her into transports of joy for weeks. Now he carried a prodigious amount of flesh on his frame, so that he looked shorter than he really was. His face was full, blurring features that had once been finely-etched, and dewlaps hung down from his cheeks. His outfit, a modish, but tight, coat of mulberry velvet with an extravagantly-embroidered waistcoat, only emphasized his age, though she suspected it was meant to have the opposite effect. He was not at all as she remembered, but still, he was her father.
“Excuse me, Giles.” She gave him a polite, meaningless smile as she pulled away. “I must go speak with him.”
“Let me escort you.” He took her arm again and, before she could protest, began to lead her across the crowded ballroom. “You might be glad of it.”
“Giles, I think I can meet my own father with no trouble.”
“Not your father. The men with him.”
Anne frowned. Of course Viscount Pendleton was standing with a group of men. They had long been his friends, and they looked much like him, from the fleshy faces to the too-tight coats. They had avaricious, amorous eyes. She clutched Giles’s arm just a little. She was glad of his presence.
“Father,” she said as she reached the group, and one of the men turned.
“Eh? Pendleton, looks like you’re being called to account,” he said, and the men roared. “Are you sure it’s a father you’re looking for, girl?”
&n
bsp; “Excuse me.” Giles’s voice was icy. “Perhaps you don’t recognize the lady. She is Mrs. Frederick Templeton, Lord Pendleton’s daughter.”
“Eh? Oh, it’s you, Tremont. Didn’t see you there. So this is Pendleton’s daughter. Don’t look like him.”
“Lucky for her,” someone else said, and the men roared again.
“Damned if it isn’t my daughter.” Pendleton turned. “Hello, Puss. When did you come back to England?”
Pain seared through her. “Oh, ages ago,” she said, carelessly. “You haven’t changed, Father.”
“Oh, no, no.” He patted his substantial stomach. “Must keep my figure, you know. You’re looking well, Puss. Come visit us sometime. You mother would want to see you. We’re on the Marine Parade.”
“Why, yes, I might. Excuse me, Father. I see someone I must talk to.”
“Run along then, Puss,” he said, as if she were a child he was sending out to play. “Enjoy yourself.”
“Yes, Father.” Anne turned, clinging to Giles’s arm, staring blindly ahead. Behind her someone let out a guffaw, and then the men laughed again. They had forgotten her already. Her father had forgotten her already.
“Do you want me to take you home?” Giles said in a low voice.
“Yes. No. We can’t go, Giles. Beth would have to come with us.”
“Beth will understand.”
Anne glanced across the room, where Beth was smiling shyly up at Lieutenant Bancroft, resplendent in the silver lace of his dress uniform. “No, I’m all right, Giles. If I leave everyone will know why, and I cannot bear their pity.”
Giles squeezed her arm, so quickly that she wondered if she’d imagined it. “Good for you. Why do we not find some refreshment?”
Anne looked up, but the words she had been about to say died at the look in his eyes. Sympathy, again. Was she only someone to be pitied by him? “Oh, listen to the music, Giles. I’d so much rather dance. Mr. Campbell.”
The man passing by them, two glasses of champagne in his hands, stopped, looking startled. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Mrs. Templeton. A pleasure to see you again, ma’am. Tremont.”
“Campbell.” Giles’s voice was clipped.
“You are looking beautiful tonight, Anne, as always. May I offer you champagne?”
“Why thank you, Mr. Campbell.” Anne took the goblet he handed her and sipped, looking directly at Giles over the rim. Why she was feeling so defiant she neither knew nor cared. She would enjoy herself, forgetting about the past and its pain.
“Oh, a country dance!” she exclaimed as the orchestra started. “It feels like forever since I have danced.”
“I would be honored, ma’am,” Ian said.
Giles spoke at the same time. “Anne, would you care to—”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Campbell, how kind of you to ask. Giles, you won’t mind holding this for me, will you?” Smiling brilliantly at him, she shoved the goblet into his hand and let Ian lead her onto the floor.
“Lover’s quarrel, Anne?” Ian asked, his deep voice tinged with amusement.
Anne tossed her head. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“You and Tremont. The on-dit is that you and he are going to make a match of it.”
Anne stood stock still in the middle of the floor, though the sets were forming and people were glancing at her in curiosity. “They say what?”
“Wouldn’t be so surprising, would it?” Ian took her hand, leading her into the first steps of the dance. “Everyone still wonders why you threw him over for Freddie seven years ago.”
“Because he—” Anne began, and then stopped. Because he had been about to announce his engagement to another girl. Or so she had thought. What if it hadn’t been true?
Anne went through the steps of the dance mechanically, all the while thinking, thinking. No one else seemed to know about that other attachment. There had been no talk of it in the family, no gossip among the ton, as surely there should be. She still didn’t know what had happened, why the engagement had been called off, but now she needed, badly, to know. Because if no one had heard of it, perhaps it had never existed.
When next she encountered Ian in the dance, she chatted lightly of matters of no importance, the weather, the latest gossip, careful not to reveal what was truly bothering her. The steps of the dance took her away, and then back again. “And it is so nice to see everyone I used to know,” she said, quite as if there had been no break in the conversation. She was aware of Ian’s sardonic look. He must think her a total featherhead. “Though I don’t see others that I knew. Whatever happened to them, I wonder? Peter Whitten, and Michael Phillips, and, oh, what was her name? Jennifer Stafford.”
“Jennifer Stafford!” Ian said, just as she had hoped he would. “Why would you care about that mouse of a girl?”
Because Giles left me for her. “Oh, I don’t know. She was sweet.”
“Dashed dull, if you ask me. You must know—but, of course, you don’t, it happened after you left.”
“What?”
“The most delicious scandal. She, of all people, eloped.”
“No!”
“Yes. With a minister, of all things. They’re missionaries now, in some heathen country. God knows where. Only interesting thing she ever did in her life was elope.”
With someone else. Not long after Anne’s own marriage, her supposed rival had married someone else. She couldn’t, then, have been engaged to Giles. Could she?
Ian was bowing to her, and she realized the dance was over. As mechanically as she had danced, she curtsied, and it was only when she rose that she saw Ian regarding her with a warm look that made her extremely uncomfortable. “A pleasant dance,” she chattered, as he took her arm. “I do believe I am promised for the next one. I wonder who—”
“Me.” He smiled down at her. “You hardly had a chance to have your dance card signed. I’ve been watching you, you see.”
“Oh? And for whom was that champagne really meant?”
“She doesn’t matter.” He grinned. “The look on Tremont’s face when you gave him the glass to hold was a sight to see.”
Giles. For the first time, her conscience smote her. She had treated him abominably, and she didn’t know why. “Oh, dear, you are right,” she said, making a great fuss of looking at her dance card. “But, you know, I am acting as chaperone for Lady Elizabeth tonight, and I must make certain she is all right.”
“And here you are, the one who needs chaperoning.” Ian’s eyes caressed her. “Have you seen the inn’s gardens, Anne?”
Alarm bells went off in Anne’s head, though she forced herself to smile. “Shame on you, sir, for making such a suggestion!” she said, tapping him lightly on the arm with her fan. “If you would—”
“Which suggestion, Anne?”
“You know quite well, so don’t play the innocent with me. Please, I really must return to Lady Elizabeth. She is just over there, with Lady Whitehead. Would you please escort me to her? Or are you so ungallant that I must go alone?”
“Lady, you wound me to the heart. Of course I will escort you. But this isn’t the end of it,” he said, inclining his head so that his breath stirred her hair. “You are an extremely enticing woman, Anne.”
“Goodness, look at the people here!” she chattered, clutching at his arm and speeding her pace. “There’s Lady Cowper, and isn’t that Lady Sefton with her?”
“Yes.” Ian stopped, and she had no choice but to stop with him, though Felicity, and safety, were tantalizingly close. “May I call on you?”
“Did you enjoy your dance, Anne?” a voice said, and Anne looked up to see Giles, standing behind Beth, watching her, his eyes cold, cold steel. Shock ran through her, settling into a cold lump of dread in her stomach. He was angry. She couldn’t bear for him, of all people, to be angry with her, and yet, he had a right to be. She had treated him very badly.
“Good evening, Mr. Campbell,” she said, and dropped into a graceful curtsy, covering
her emotions with the ease of long practice. Ian didn’t matter; Giles did. How she had changed no longer mattered. In spite of everything she loved Giles, and always would. Tonight she had chosen the wrong man.
The ball was over. Giles sat in the book-room, legs outstretched, a glass of brandy by his side. They should never have come to Brighton. It had been a disaster from the beginning, and was only getting worse. He was worried about his mother who, in spite of her apparent sternness, actually enjoyed social events, and yet seemed to be attending fewer and fewer. Beth, shy, quiet Beth, was showing a marked preference for Lieutenant Bancroft. Giles liked the man personally, but, given his circumstances in life, there was trouble ahead. And then there was Anne.
Annie. He leaned back, his hands behind his head. What was happening between him and Anne? More to the point, why was he allowing it to happen? She’d hurt him once, badly, and there was no reason things should be different this time. In fact, quite the opposite. Hadn’t she just this evening shown her preference for another man? He’d hated seeing her go off with Campbell, hated to see her flirting with him, so much so that he had wanted to retaliate. Thus, he had been cold to her the rest of the evening, thinking it might wound her. He hoped it had; he devoutly hoped it hadn’t.
The door from the hall opened just a crack. “Giles?” an uncertain voice said.
“Come in, Anne.” He drained the rest of his brandy and sat back, waiting for her to come to him. Still in her evening gown of sea green silk, simply cut but extremely flattering, she came in, closing the door behind her. “Come to gloat?”
“About what?”
“About tonight.” He studied his nails dispassionately. “How you showed you can still make any man you desire dance attendance upon you.”
“Oh, Giles. No, of course I don’t want to gloat.” She looked away. “Giles, I—the way I behaved to you tonight was inexcusable. You didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry.”