Spirited Brides

by Amanda McCabe

  He always felt such an outsider at those occasions, as if he were speaking a different language from the people around him, and he longed to be home at Royce Castle, with his books and studies.

  He knew very well that one day he would have to marry, to carry on the family line and add to the portraits that clustered on every wall. But he had always imagined he would find a sensible woman when the time came, a widow or spinster bluestocking, who could share his interest in antiquity and bring up equally sensible children.

  Miss Richards was obviously not a sensible blue-stocking by any stretch of the imagination. She did not know much about classical history, nor did she scruple to admit her interest in the so-called supernatural. She had worn a most daring gown of canary-yellow satin to supper, along with dazzling beaded earrings and a carved stone pendant. She had chattered brightly with his mother about ghosts and popular novels.

  All the things he usually so disliked. But he had not been bored in the least. Rather, he had been quite fascinated and had wanted to listen to her more, to lean closer to her and breathe deeply of her exotic perfume.

  It was all most odd. It he were to subscribe to the ideas of Miss Richards, her enigmatic friend Miss Duvall, and his mother, he would say he was under a spell.

  But more likely it was the lateness of the hour, he thought, as the clock struck three. And the fact that he had been working so hard of late. It was making him tired and distracted. Perhaps his mother was right. Company would do him some good.

  He would just have to spend more time with Miss Richards—and Lady Willowby and Miss Duvall, of course—and see if that helped cure these fancies. No doubt once he spent more time with Cassandra Richards, her exotic appeal would wear off and his life would return completely to normal. No more talk of ghosts, no more rich perfumes, just ancient wars and philosophy.

  On that comforting thought, he closed his books, blew out the candles, and left the library for bed.

  Two unseen “people,” perched atop the rolling library ladders, watched him go with great interest.

  “Oh, this is going to be amusing!” said Louisa, twisting one long, golden ringlet about her finger. “He is infatuated with that girl already and will not admit it.”

  “He cannot admit it,” Sir Belvedere said, his armor clanking as he turned a page over in the book he was perusing. If Phillip had still been in the library, he might have looked up to see a volume floating about in midair, but he would have put it down to fatigue or a bad cheese at dinner. Just as he always did.

  This amused Sir Belvedere and Louisa to no end, brightening their endless days and nights in the castle. And now it looked as if the amusement was about to increase.

  “I like that Miss Richards and her tall, strange friend. I should not have been so mischievous about making the portrait move, when they are so very nice!” said Louisa in a most chagrined tone. “They believe in us; they know we are here.”

  “Not as of yet, my fair lady. But they will know when we reveal ourselves to them.” Sir Belvedere’s visor fell with a loud thud over his face, and he pushed it aside impatiently.

  “Oh, no!” Louisa answered, fluffing up her lace-trimmed blue satin skirts. “They already know, I am certain. And they will soon make that stubborn Lord Royce see. Why, he is every bit as obstinate as my husband was!”

  Sir Belvedere chuckled. “It will be vastly amusing to watch them try to make him see, Louisa. Vastly amusing. ’Twill be the most enjoyment I have had since I overran castles in my mortal life!”

  “It is simply too bad Lady Lettice is not here to see this. She was always so wonderful at matchmaking, at helping people to see how perfect they are for each other. Do you remember what she did for this Lord Royce’s grandfather and that Miss Sutcliffe?” Louisa smiled at the memory. “I think Lord Royce and Miss Richards will need a great deal of help as well.”

  “I, too, miss Lady Lettice,” said Sir Belvedere. “It has been a long while since we saw her. But if anything can bring her back, it is two people falling reluctantly in love.”

  Chapter Six

  Cassie awoke from a dream of Jamaica, of walking along a warm, sandy shore with the bright morning sun shining down on her, to find herself not sun-bathed and cozy but chilled and shivering. Sometime during the restless night she had thrown off the bedclothes, and her bare feet stuck out into the cold room.

  “Wretched!” she muttered, yanking the blankets back up over her shoulders and rolling over onto her side. The fire was long-dead in the grate, but the draperies at the window were drawn partially back, letting a bar of yellow-white sunlight fall across the floor.

  The room was so quiet that she could hear, very faintly, the rush and roar of the sea, far below the cliffs. It reminded her of her dream, and drew her out from the warm cave of the bed. She slid her feet into her slippers and padded over to look out the window.

  She could see the sea, but it was not like the violet-blue waters of the island. It was gray, almost black, roiling angrily against the steep cliffs beyond the castle’s manicured gardens. The sun that was struggling so valiantly through the slate-colored clouds did not even seem to penetrate them at all. Scrubby trees grew along the cliffs, bending gaunt limbs toward the sea like hands in the wind.

  Cassie had never felt so far from home before. She shivered and crossed her arms tightly in front of her.

  Then, out of the starkness, she saw a flash of movement. A figure on horseback riding along the cliffs, sweeping past the trees and creating a veritable whirlwind of energy.

  He was quite a distance away, but she could see the banner of dark hair that flowed in the wind.

  Lord Royce.

  Cassie had decided when she went to bed that he was just a fusty scholar after all, interested only in his books, but he certainly did not look fusty this morning.

  He looked like a dashing poet. Or a pirate, against the backdrop of that dark sea. He rode along fast and furious, his horse’s hooves churning up the earth. His white shirt billowed, adding to the illusion of piracy.

  Cassie smiled. Perhaps her strange fascination with him was not so odd after all.

  There was a quick knock at the door, dashing these fanciful thoughts. Cassie turned away from the window and called, “Come in.”

  Antoinette entered the room, majestic in a blue-and-green swirl of a gown and a matching turban. Despite the early hour, she looked rested and regal, as usual.

  “Cassie!” she tsked. “Here it is time for breakfast, and you’re not dressed.”

  “I did not sleep restfully,” Cassie said with a little shrug. “I had such odd dreams.”

  Antoinette came up beside her and peered over her shoulder out the window. Lord Royce was just disappearing from view, his hair still flowing in the wind. “Um-hm,” she murmured. “And I see what those dreams were about.”

  “Antoinette!” Cassie cried, jerking the draperies closed. “It was not like that at all. Lord Royce is not even my sort of gentleman. He is—is narrow-minded, and cares only for books, and . . .” She struggled to remember what it was she had not liked about him, but the image of him riding along the cliffs kept interfering.

  Antoinette laughed. “And just what is your sort of gentleman? Men like the ones back in Jamaica?”

  “Yes!” Cassie said firmly. She went over to the dressing table and picked up her hairbrush, pulling it through her hair and detangling the night’s plait.

  “Planter sorts?” Antoinette’s voice was sardonic, her accent thick.

  “Yes,” Cassie repeated, but more doubtful this time. Antoinette made her remember how some of those men had truly been, careless and unrefined, caring only about getting foxed on rum.

  “Then why did you not accept Mr. Bates’ proposal?” Antoinette teased. “With his big plantation and all. Why, he would be just your sort.”

  Cassie laughed, acknowledging the truth of her friend’s words. “Oh, all right! So they were not my sort. But neither is Lord Royce.”

  “Is he not
?”

  “No. I wouldn’t think you would like him, either; he doubts your sight. And why are we talking about this at all? I’m not interested in finding a suitor here. I am interested only in the ghosts.”

  Antoinette nodded. “Then you should hurry up and get dressed. Lady Royce is going to give us a tour of the castle after breakfast, and tell us all the tales.”

  “What fun!” Cassie cried, and ran over to the armoire to find a morning dress. “I presume her son will not be joining us.”

  So she would be able to enjoy herself without the distraction of his presence.

  “Presumably,” Antoinette agreed. “But you must bear up under the disappointment, Cassie. I am sure you will see him at supper; I foresaw it in the cards.”

  Cassie threw a pillow at Antoinette, who just ducked and laughed.

  “That particular Lady Royce, Louisa was her name, had a very sad history,” Lady Royce said, enthusiastically spreading marmalade on her toast. “Very sad indeed. Her husband left her alone here at Royce Castle while he fought in the Civil War, and even when the king came back he was away at Court often. They say Louisa took a lover in her loneliness, but he betrayed her, and she threw herself off the cliffs in despair.”

  “What fustian!” Louisa muttered, peering down from her perch atop a decorative cornice in the breakfast room. “I was in my cups after that ball, and fell off the cliffs.”

  “Ha!” scoffed Lord Belvedere, his armor clanking.

  “It is true! No lover ever betrayed me.”

  “Methinks, fair lady, that the years have clouded your memory. I was right here, as I have been for almost five hundred years, and I saw you that night. You were indeed ‘in your cups,’ but if you had not quarreled with that Lord Ponsonby and gone running down to the cliffs . . .”

  “Oh, hush!” Louisa interrupted, reaching out a hand and shoving him off his own cornice. “I want to hear what else she has to say.”

  “What was that clattering noise?” said Lady Royce, her toast held up halfway to her mouth.

  Antoinette looked directly at Sir Belvedere, causing him to gasp and vanish altogether, leaving only Louisa high on her perch.

  “Probably only one of your footmen,” said Chat. “Now, what were you saying about the sad Louisa?”

  “Sad, hmph,” whispered Louisa. “I am happy.”

  “Oh, she is not sad,” said Antoinette, taking a serene sip of her chocolate.

  “Exactly,” Louisa agreed.

  “Perhaps once she was, but now she enjoys her existence here.”

  “She is here, then?” Cassie said eagerly. “You can feel her presence? Can we find her?”

  “Really, Cassie,” said Chat. “It is too early in the morning for hauntings and ghosts and such.”

  “And everyone knows that midnight is the time for such endeavors,” a deep male voice said from the doorway.

  Everyone’s gaze, including Louisa’s, turned to Lord Royce. She eyed him with some approval; he looked a bit like her husband, William, who had not been an unhandsome man by any means. But this Lord Royce, like her William, was bent on his own ends, which left little time for romance. With William it had been advancement at Court, with this man it was his studies.

  Oh, the great folly of men! They never learned, not even in over a hundred years. With a rueful shake of her head, Louisa vanished, gone to seek other amusement in the East Tower.

  Antoinette watched her go with narrowed eyes, but Cassie was far too distracted by the presence of Lord Royce to notice any ghostly doings.

  He had obviously bathed and changed after his ride, for he was respectably, albeit a bit shabbily, attired in a blue morning coat and buff breeches, his hair tied neatly back. The wild pirate was gone, and the scholar/earl firmly in his place.

  But Cassie still felt flustered and flushed when he looked at her.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said, sitting down in the last vacant chair, the one across from Cassie.

  Her fork clattered against her plate, and she had to catch it before it fell to the floor.

  He smiled at her. “I trust you all found your first evening at Royce Castle to be comfortable?”

  “Yes, quite,” Chat answered. “It was all that Melinda has written me over the years. Splendid.”

  “I slept quite soundly,” said Antoinette. “Although next door there were some rather restless noises . . .”

  Cassie kicked her under the table.

  “The butler told me you went riding this morning, dear,” said Lady Royce. “You were awake unusually early.” She turned to Chat and added, “Ordinarily my son is up quite late with his studies and doesn’t join me for breakfast.”

  “It must be the bracing autumn air,” he answered, spearing one of the sausages on his plate. “It was a lovely morning for a ride.”

  “Indeed,” said Lady Royce. “Do you ride, Miss Richards?”

  Cassie blinked at her, startled to be suddenly addressed. “Yes, Lady Royce. A bit. But I fear I have not had much opportunity for it since I came to England.”

  “Bath is rather restrictive for poor Cassandra,” said Chat.

  Cassie smiled at her aunt. “Now, Aunt Chat! I like living in Bath. The theater, the concerts . . .”

  “But very few places for riding,” said Chat.

  “Perhaps you would care to ride while you are here, then,” Lady Royce said. “We have such a nice stable, and Phillip knows all the best paths. I am sure he would enjoy showing them to you.”

  Then, Lady Royce and Chat exchanged little smiles, and simultaneously lifted their teacups to their lips for demure sips.

  Cassie clasped her hands tightly on her lap, twisting her napkin, and looked across the table at Lord Royce. Surely he would refuse to go riding with her, would scoff at his mother’s obvious scheming. What would they ever find to talk about on their ride? What could they have in common?

  But, to her surprise, he looked rather—amenable.

  “Would you care to go riding with me, Miss Richards?” he said, his face smoothly polite.

  Would she? Cassie remembered the vision of him she had seen from her window, all dashing and piratical. Then she imagined herself by his side, riding free in the wind, just as she had at home.

  Of course she would like to go riding with him, but whether she should was something else. It would be far too easy to forget their differences out there in the sunshine.

  And, as she had no intention of falling in love with a man so very serious-minded, forgetting those differences would not be good. She ought to refuse . . .

  “Yes, thank you, Lord Royce,” she heard herself say. “I would enjoy that.”

  He gave her a startled little smile, as if surprised that she had agreed. “Very good. Perhaps we could inspect the stables later and find you a suitable horse.”

  “After I show them the East Tower, dear,” said Lady Royce. “They want to see where poor Louisa’s chambers are.”

  He rolled his eyes a bit. “Of course. And you can play a game of piquet with her while you are there. Do you think she would care for a sherry? There is a fine Amontillado in the cellar.”

  Obnoxious man! Cassie fumed in her mind, turning her attention back to her plate. And to think she had agreed to go riding with him.

  Chapter Seven

  “This is the East Tower, where Louisa lived,” Lady Royce said, unlocking a door and leading them up a narrow staircase. “I seldom come here; with just Phillip and myself in residence there are many rooms that are unused. But I promised you a look at them, so here we are! What do you all think?”

  “Very pretty,” Chat said.

  “Very,” agreed Cassie, looking about her. The round tower room was large and high-ceilinged, furnished in the style of almost two hundred years ago, with a massive carved bed and looped draperies at the tall windows. Another portrait hung over the marble fireplace of Louisa and a stern-faced man with long dark hair.

  He looked a bit like the current Lord Royce, Cassie thought.
She went over to take a closer look.

  There was a gilt-framed mirror next to the painting, and Cassie thought she saw a brief flash of blue in the glass. But when she glanced over her shoulder, there was no one there who should not be. Only Aunt Chat and Antoinette, examining some little china figurines while Lady Royce pulled the elaborate draperies back from the windows. None of them were wearing blue.

  Oh, really! she thought, with a little irritated tap of her foot. If there was a ghost in here, she wanted very much to see it. Why would it keep running away?

  Then she looked back to the portrait, to the man who looked so much like the doubting Lord Royce.

  Maybe Louisa had a good reason for hiding after all, if her husband had been half as pigheaded as this Lord Royce. She probably felt one lifetime tolerating him was quite enough.

  “Yes, Louisa did have a sad history,” Lady Royce sighed, tying back the last of the draperies with their gold cords. “So very lonely, out here all alone.”

  There was a small sound that echoed in the air like an irritated huff.

  “I am surprised she would wish to stay here, then, at the site of her unhappiness,” Chat commented uncertainly. “I certainly would wish to move on.”

  Cassie smiled at her aunt. Chat did not always believe all this business about ghosts, but at least she tried. She did not scoff and make fun, like some people.

  Antoinette, who stood beside the bed with one hand on the satin hangings, said, “Perhaps she cannot move on. Perhaps the sad events of her life keep her here. But she is not sad now. And she is interested in our activities.”

  “She is here, then? In this room?” Lady Royce asked eagerly.

  “Oh, yes. Most assuredly.” Antoinette closed her eyes and placed her fingertips lightly at her temples. “But she is not sure about showing herself yet. She doesn’t wish to be misunderstood, as she was in her life.”

  The others crowded in closer around her.