Michael stared at her for a moment before accepting defeat and leaving the room.
***
Michael wandered the house, at a complete loss for what to do with himself. He'd clearly lost control of the situation and he didn't like the feeling one bit. How could she make such a rash decision to leave him? And why did he not have any say in the matter?
Damn it, but this whole thing was ridiculous! A ghost! A ghost in a dream, for Christ’s sake, was about to send his wife fleeing the country without him. What kind of message would that send to the ton for his wife to return to London alone after mere weeks?
He continued through the halls, wandering wherever his feet decided to take him, but he halted when he heard muffled voices coming from the library. Curious, he pressed his ear to the thick door.
“I promise to make it worth your while,” said a female voice. “Just please don't leave yet.”
An exasperated sigh came from the other party. “You don't understand, Bonnie. I'm going to be an earl! I can't spend my days serving other people. I'm supposed to be served to.”
Michael listened intently, trying not to laugh at John's diatribe. Such a prideful young man, with little to have pride in. So far he'd proved to be nothing but a wastrel and a rake.
“I know that,” Bonnie went on. “But who will know of your time here? Besides, you might find it to be quite an adventure...maybe even freeing from the shackles of society!”
John laughed at Bonnie's impassioned speech, but Michael rather thought the girl had it right. Being in society's spotlight was exhausting and oftentimes stifling. How many times had Michael wished he could disappear? Or at least blend into the background, unnoticed by debutants and their mothers or the society gossips or even his own family. Now he thought about it, his time in Scotland so far had been rather enjoyable.
“There is nothing binding about being in line for a title,” John told her. “However, you do make a point. I could look at this as an adventure. A chance to prove I'm more than just my future title.”
“Yes!” cried Bonnie enthusiastically.
Michael chuckled quietly behind the door. Beth would have his head if she knew he had an opportunity to stop this particular conversation. Last night, he might have been willing. This morning, there wasn't a chance in Hell he was going to attempt to make John leave Scotland. If he and Bonnie wanted to dally with one another, he wasn't going to stop them. Because keeping John there meant keeping his wife there.
***
“You rang, milady?”
Bonnie stood at the door to Beth's bedchamber, her eyes scanning over the contents of the armoire strewn about the furniture.
“I did. I need your help packing.”
“Are we going somewhere?” the girl asked.
“As a matter of fact, I am going somewhere. Back to London with John. I'm afraid this life just isn't for me.” Beth ignored the fact that she'd actually been growing accustomed to her life there, despite the fact it had only been a couple of weeks. She chose to focus on the fact that she was being haunted, and would continue to be haunted, if she stayed in this house.
“But, milady—”
“Bonnie, will you give me a moment alone with my wife, please?”
Bonnie turned abruptly as Beth looked up from her trunk. Michael stood in the doorway, his face expressionless.
As the maid ducked out of the room, Beth pursed her lips and leveled her husband with an annoyed glare. “If you've come to try and change my mind, you're wasting your time.”
“It's not a matter of changing your mind, my dear,” he said as he sauntered into the room. “It's a simple matter of you're not going.”
“You will not bully me, Michael Wetherby! I told you that as long as I stay here, she will haunt me! I want to go home!” Beth's hands shook by this point, the memory of her ghostly encounter replaying in her mind. How dare he tell her she must stay here?
“Beth, this is no longer up for discussion,” he said, quieting his tone and moving in closer to her. “Your brother has decided to stay here after all. There is no one to take you back to London, and I'm certainly not going to send you there alone.”
Her mouth dropped in disbelief. “He...what?”
“He's changed his mind. I suppose he realizes the fate that awaits him in London is far worse than playing a servant in a small household.”
“But...” Beth's lip started to tremble of its own volition and she willed it to stop. She would not cry again! She was made of stronger stuff than that. That blasted ghost had her feeling all out of sorts.
“Shhh,” Michael warned, putting a finger to her lip to keep it from trembling. “I do have another idea, Beth. You just have to trust me.”
Beth looked up at her husband and met his warm brown eyes. How could she not trust him? Clearly he was concerned about her. Perhaps it was best she give in and let him figure out what to do with the blasted ghost.
***
“All right,” she said at last. “I trust you.”
Michael let out a long breath. He'd been terrified that she would say no and force him to take her back to London. Of course, he wasn't about to do that, and Lord knew what further turmoil that would bring.
“I've heard there are people who can...shall we say, remove ghosts.”
“Remove them?”
“Yes. You know, make them go away. Send them to the other world, their final resting place...I don't know, just get them out of our home!”
Beth stared up at him, a smile tilting her lips up, her eyes shining with sudden adoration. He couldn't help but smile back. Clearly, he'd done something right for a change.
“You would do that for me?” she asked. “I thought you didn't even believe the ghost was real.”
He nodded at her, knowing he wore a silly grin. “I would do anything for you, Beth. Haven't you figured that out yet?”
“You wouldn't take me back to London,” she reminded him with a tilt to her head and a lift of her eyebrows.
“All right, almost anything,” he amended. “Can I help it if I like having you all to myself up here, away from Society and family and civilization of any kind.”
Beth giggled as he pulled her into his arms. “I suppose not.”
They stayed that way for a moment until Beth pulled away. “Well, I'd better get these things cleaned up then.” She yawned loudly. “And perhaps go back to bed for a bit.”
“Of course, darling.” Michael kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, my darling girl.”
She smiled wide at him and said, “I love you, too.”
And then he left the room to allow his wife to get some much-needed rest.
Twenty-Seven
Following Beth’s nap, which was blessedly without dreams, she made her way downstairs, hoping she wasn’t too late for lunch. She found Michael in the dining room, almost finished with his meal. He smiled up at her as she entered the room and then stood to pull out her chair.
“Are you hungry?” he asked as she took her seat.
“Famished. Do you think there’s any left?”
“I made sure of it,” Michael told her as he picked up the little bell and rang for Mrs. Kerr.
Once they’d asked for her lunch, Beth leaned over and placed her forearms on the table. Michael gave her a questioning lift of one eyebrow and she opened her mouth to pose her important question. However, before she could say a word, Mrs. Kerr came bustling back through the door, a steaming plate of something Beth couldn’t quite identify in her hand.
“Here ya are, milady. Will ya be needin’ anything else?”
Beth wanted to ask what it was she was about to eat, but the woman looked rather harried, so she held her tongue. “That will be all, Mrs. Kerr. Thank you.”
With that, the woman escaped through the servant’s entrance and disappeared.
Beth looked down at her plate and studied the odd concoction piled there. It looked more like it belonged in a chamberpot than on a dinner table.
&n
bsp; “You had a question for me?” Michael asked.
She poked at the supposed food as she asked, “Yes. What the devil is this?” Michael burst into laughter, and Beth finally looked up from the plate. “What is so funny? This looks absolutely dreadful, and I can’t say I enjoy the smell much, either.”
“It’s haggis, darling, a traditional Scottish delicacy. Try it,” he urged.
Beth crinkled her nose as she scooped a bit of the food onto her fork and brought it to her mouth. But before she could take a bite, the smell accosted her nose and triggered a gag in her throat. She put her hand to her mouth as she put the fork back to the plate and pushed it away.
“I can’t,” she said, her voice muffled with her hand. “It smells awful!”
“All right, then. We’ll ask Mrs. Kerr to bring you something else.” Michael rang the bell again, and within moments a frantic Mrs. Kerr stood in the doorway.
“You rang, milord?”
“The haggis is turning her stomach, Mrs. Kerr. She’s not used to your hearty cuisine. Perhaps you have something else for my bride.”
A wide smile broke out on the woman’s face and she nodded knowingly as she retrieved the plate. “Completely natural, milady. I’ll fetch you something more conducive to your state.”
Michael and Beth stared dumbfounded at the spot where Mrs. Kerr had stood moments before. And then they burst into laughter.
“Are we ever going to tell her that I’m not with child?” Beth asked as she wiped tears of mirth from her eyes.
“I suppose she’ll find out eventually. It is rather cruel to lead her on, though, isn’t it?”
They both clamped their mouths shut as the housekeeper burst through the door, another plate in hand. This time, she set a near-empty dish before Beth.
Beth stared at it in disbelief. Two slices of toast and a small bowl of plain broth were all the woman had given her. Good Lord, she’d starve if they didn’t say something soon.
“There now,” the woman began, “this should go down just fine. Bland. That’s the key for a woman in your condition.”
And then she was gone again. Beth looked up to see that Michael was about to fall out of his chair, he was laughing so hard. His body shook as he tried to hold it in, but when she gave him a disapproving glare, that was apparently his undoing.
“I don’t find this funny in the least,” she said.
He shook his head and attempted to compose himself. Finally, he was able to look at her without bursting into laughter.
“You’re right,” he choked out. “Not at all funny. How about I steal some sweet biscuits from the kitchen later and bring them to you? Hopefully that will hold you until dinner tonight.”
Beth smiled. “Biscuits would be lovely.” She bit into her dry toast and then turned back to Michael. “Now, I want to know more about this ‘removal’ you plan to do of my ghost.”
“All right...what is it you want to know?”
“Well, I was wondering if perhaps the same person who removes the ghosts can also speak with the ghosts?” Her voice had turned thin and sing-songy for she knew Michael would think her silly for wanting to contact the ghost.
As expected, he rolled his eyes. “Beth, you wanted to flee to London a few hours ago because the ghost scared you. Now you want to talk to the ghost?”
“It’s just that...well, she seemed to be awfully confused last night. She kept asking me what happened to her, and part of me wants to know.” She took another hasty bite of toast and continued talking, too worked up to care that her mouth was full. “What if she has unfinished business? What if she’s trying to tell me something? Should we just get rid of her, without first trying to find out why she’s here in the first place?”
“Good Lord, Beth, you want to have a séance, don’t you?”
She shrugged her shoulders and gave him a sheepish smile. “It couldn’t hurt, could it?”
Michael leaned back with an exasperated sigh. “Of course not,” he said sarcastically. “How could it possibly hurt?”
***
“Ah, there you are!” Michael burst through the kitchen door, startling Mrs. Kerr and the other two girls at work.
“I’m sorry, milord. I didn’t hear you ring,” the woman said as she dusted flour from her hands.
“I didn’t,” Michael said. “I had a question for you, but I hoped to perhaps steal a biscuit or two as well.” He gave her a boyish grin, one he was sure would remind her of him as a boy. One she wouldn’t be able to resist.
As expected, she gave him a motherly smile and moved to the other side of the kitchen. “Of course you can have a biscuit or two. I’ll even send some up to your lovely bride, if you think she can stomach them.”
“Ahem…about that, Mrs. Kerr. I think perhaps—”
“Oh, I just love babies. It’s a shame our Maggie didn’t live long enough to give us grandchildren.” Mrs. Kerr stopped in the motion of setting biscuits on a plate to stare wistfully out the window. “I hope ya don’t mind, but I think of you and Lady Wetherby as something akin to family. Your babe will be the closest we’ll get to havin’ grandchildren.”
Oh, good Lord! What was he to say now? He couldn’t tell the woman she was mistaken. Not only would it make her look like a fool for having jumped to such a conclusion, but it would break her heart. How could he do that to a poor old woman?
“I don’t mind at all, Mrs. Kerr,” he said at last.
She smiled at him as she brought the biscuits to the counter and pulled out the stool. “Have a seat, milord. Now, what was it you wanted to ask me about?”
Michael bit into the sweet, crumbly confection and nearly forgot what he was about. Once he’d savored and swallowed the first buttery bite, he posed his inquiry. “I need to employ the services of a certain type of person, whose profession may be considered…um…”
A wooden spoon clattered to the floor and Michael looked up to see Mrs. Kerr glaring at him. What had he said?
“I can’t believe ya, Lord Michael. Coming to me with such a question. We’re good, Christian folk here, and it’ll be a cold day in Hell before I give ya a name and address of such a person.”
Michael stared at the woman, dumbfounded. How did she know what he was going to ask? And why was she so angry about it? “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kerr, I thought it was common practice here in the Highlands. At least, that’s what I heard.”
“Common practice, indeed!” She threw up her hands and then leveled Michael with a scolding stare. “Why? Because we’re uncivilized? We’re all heathens, is that it?”
“No!” Michael shouted. “That’s not what I meant…that is…I’m sorry I asked. Truly!”
“You had better be, young man,” she said as she took away the plate of biscuits.
Michael stood lamely from the stool, feeling very much like a naughty little boy who’d been sent to his room. He wanted to apologize—to clarify at least—but it was clear Mrs. Kerr wanted nothing to do with him at the moment. She ignored him completely as she began giving orders to the kitchen maids, who both avoided making eye contact with him.
Hanging his head, Michael left the kitchen and went to his study to think about what he’d done.
***
Beth looked up when she heard the scratch on her door. “Enter,” she called, and Mrs. Kerr stepped into the room.
The housekeeper’s hands were full—a plate piled high with biscuits in one hand, and what smelled like a cup of steaming chocolate in the other. Beth’s stomach grumbled and she was sure she must be drooling. Thank heaven Michael had come through on his promise.
“Are those for me?” she asked sweetly as Mrs. Kerr placed them on the small table in front of her.
“Indeed they are, you poor dear.” She tsked three times and gave Beth a pitying glance. “I just hope you can keep them down. Lord knows Margaret couldn’t eat hardly a thing for weeks. But I’m sure you’ll get to feeling better soon, dearie. This stage usually only lasts a couple months at most.”
A couple months? For goodness sake! Beth became more and more convinced that being pregnant was not at all something she looked forward to.
“Actually, I’m feeling much better, Mrs. Kerr.” She took a demonstrative bite of her cookie and swig of her chocolate, then smiled wide at the older woman. “See? I’m just fine!”
“Aw, that’s nice, dear. You enjoy then.”
Mrs. Kerr turned to leave, but Beth stopped her. “Have you seen my husband this afternoon?” she asked.
The housekeeper straightened her spine and turned back to face Beth. “I have, milady.”
“Oh,” Beth replied. “Did he ask you about the medium?”
“The…I beg your pardon, milady, did you say medium?”
“Yes, I did.” Beth watched as the woman’s face went through several expressions and finally landed on a mixture of ashamed and amused.
“Ah, he did, milady…if you will excuse me, I…” She bowed out of the room and closed the door quickly behind her.
“What in the world just happened?” Beth wondered aloud. But then, deciding her stomach was more important than Mrs. Kerr’s odd behavior, she delved into her afternoon repast.
***
Michael was pouring his second tumbler of scotch when Mrs. Kerr poked her head into his study.
“Might I have a word, milord?”
“Come to scold me a bit more, have you?” he asked, but softened his tone with a smile. He was glad she had come to him. After thinking things through a bit, he came to realize there might have been a misunderstanding.
“Actually, I’ve come to apologize. I think I may have taken quite the wrong meaning from your question today.” She picked at her fingernails as she shifted from foot to foot on the plush carpet. “Lady Elizabeth told me you were hoping to find a medium, not a…um…well, you know,” she finished.
Michael laughed. “A simple misunderstanding, Mrs. Kerr. You need not worry about it. Though I would very much like the name and address of a medium, if you know of one, that is.”
Bedeviled Bride (Regency Historical Romance) Page 16