The Convenient Arrangement

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  The fury that tightened his face resonated through his voice as he said, “I came here as soon as I heard Caldwell had been allowed into Moorsea Manor. Are you all right, Valeria?”

  “I think I shall be.” She wanted to rush to him and have his arms envelop her. She wanted to tell him that she was so grateful to him for always being here when she needed him, that she did not want to leave Moorsea Manor and him, that her dreams of the future no longer centered on her return to the whirl of the Season and the chatter of the ton. Her dreams were of loving him and the life they could have together. No, there was no life for them together, but that did not change the fact that, want-witted as it might be, she had fallen in love with him.

  “He shan’t bother you again. He knows he has lost this gamble to win your hand in marriage.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “He will not linger here long when he has other prey with plump pockets waiting for him in London.”

  Valeria flinched. Lorenzo’s words reminded her of Lord Caldwell’s. “He suggested that you were destitute, save for this house. If I had known that, I would not have asked you to take care of David and me.”

  “Taking care of you and David has been my pleasure.” He offered his arm. “And don’t fret. Caldwell has his facts essentially correct, but I’m not ready to don a green bonnet and put the key beneath the door yet. My uncle’s investments were not always wise. However, I hope my decisions will turn that around.”

  “I didn’t know.” She glanced toward the ballroom. “You spent so much to give me this evening. I am even more grateful.”

  “Then prove it by risking your toes.”

  “My toes?”

  He smiled. “Will you stand up with me?”

  “You’re asking me to dance? I didn’t know you danced, Lorenzo.”

  “I have tried to avoid dancing as with anything I do poorly.” Lorenzo’s smile broadened as he looked over her head at the sound of a door slamming below. He would have to be sure that Caldwell did not return to cause more mischief. But first … “However, I have been told by several well-meaning matrons that you and I should dance before the official announcement of your betrothal to Oates is made.”

  “By well-meaning matrons, I assume you mean Miss Urquhart,” she said with a smile that reached inside him and sent pinwheels twirling through his stomach.

  “She is the most adamant among those kind ladies who have decided it is their place to remind me of mine.” He held out his hand. “So will you dance with me, Valeria?”

  When she breathed yes, he swept her against him. Her eyes widened, and he laughed.

  “I thought you meant in the ballroom,” she whispered as a waltz lilted along the hallway.

  “Here,” he said as quietly, “I chance only stepping on your toes, not everyone’s in the room.”

  Her laugh was as lyrical as the music. Putting her hand in his, she leaned her head on his shoulder, shocking him. Surely propriety did not allow such intimacy. He forgot the canons of society as she had while he let the music guide his feet. The sensation of her so close, matching each step as if they had danced like this a thousand times before, was intoxicating, but his feet were nimble. Could his cousin Corey have been right when he said that with the right woman Lorenzo would not feel awkward? With the right woman in his arms, Corey had told him, dancing would be easier than breathing. That must be so, because he was dancing and he was finding it difficult to breathe when Valeria’s soft form was in his arms.

  “You are an excellent dancer,” she murmured. “I think you are doing yourself and the other ladies a great disfavor by lingering at the side of the room.”

  “And you are being too kind. My usual pattern is a trip and a step on my partner’s toes and another stumble.”

  She smiled up at him, and his heart thundered in his ears, drowning out the orchestra’s music. Yet his feet continued moving as if the melody was a part of him and of Valeria, curling around them, molding them together until each motion belonged inseparably to both of them.

  “You haven’t asked me what I shall miss most about Moorsea Manor,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “I believe, I shall miss your sardonic sense of humor most of all.”

  “Really?” He was unsure if he could say more than a single word as she spoke so easily of leaving Moorsea Manor to go live with Oates as his wife.

  “Yes, really. It drove me almost to madness when we first met. I never was sure when you were hoaxing me and when you were serious.”

  “I have told you. I am always serious.”

  She laughed so brightly that heads in the doorway turned toward them. “Lorenzo, that is the funniest statement of all. At first, you convinced me to believe that, but you know as well as I that is not so.”

  “No?” Did she have any idea how her eyes glistened with purple starlight each time she laughed? “Valeria, I may regret saying this, but—”

  A scream rang from the ballroom.

  Fifteen

  The scream hung amid a discordant note as the orchestra froze along with the guests. Valeria pushed into the ballroom. If Lord Caldwell thought he could ruin tonight, she would show him he was sadly mistaken.

  She scanned the room. He was not here. Then what was going on?

  Mary Oates shrieked as she rushed across the room. She pointed back at the window, crying out something that Valeria could not understand. Reaching out to halt the terrified woman, Valeria was knocked backward as Mary ran toward Lorenzo and collapsed in a swoon.

  He caught her before she could strike the floor and, putting an arm beneath her knees, lifted her up against his chest. “Oates, where are you?”

  Valeria stepped aside before the baronet could run her down in the midst of this anxiety for his sister. She stood to one side while she watched Lorenzo hand the senseless Mary to her brother. When Tilden’s knees almost buckled, she stared at Lorenzo. His strong heart and unabashed wit were not the only strengths he hid.

  Another scream ricocheted through the room, and Valeria turned to see Mrs. Oates falling to the floor. Miss Urquhart rushed to her side and called out, “Burn some feathers! This woman is suffering from the vapors.”

  “Is this your idea of a jest, Moorsea?”

  She spun when she realized the furious words had been spoken by her betrothed. “Tilden! Lorenzo would not do anything to hurt your sister or mother. Why—”

  “Look!” shouted a man near one of the windows. “There it is again!”

  “There is what?” Lorenzo’s long legs crossed the ballroom floor with ease, and Valeria hurried after him.

  The man pointed. “Look! There, by the shrubs.”

  Behind her, she heard a prayer and a screech and a thud as a maid crumpled to the floor. Valeria motioned for one of the footmen to tend to the girl, then tried to see past the people in front of her. Even her height was no help, because she was sure every man in the room had crowded in front of the window.

  Tossing aside her manners, she elbowed her way through them. Her arm was grabbed, and she started to shake the hand off, then realized it was Lorenzo trying to help her through the press of the guests who were unwilling to give way. He tugged her forward around a man who was gasping as if he had run from London.

  She pressed her hands to the glass and stared. It was a ghost! Just as the serving maids had been babbling about for the past month. No! She did not believe in ghosts. Lorenzo was right. They were just the product of moonlight and moonshine minds.

  “It’s a ghost,” choked a woman beside her.

  She wanted to retort with, “Nonsense!” Her voice was clogged in her throat as she stared at what looked to be an ancient warrior. His breastplate gleamed in the moonlight as if it had a life of its own. A grotesque mimicry of a man’s face glowed as well, and something came out of its head, shining as if it was lit from beneath.

  Another woman swooned against Valeria. She caught the woman and lowered her to the floor, calling for s
al volatile. She hoped the horrified guests would let a footman through to the woman.

  Standing, she asked, “Lorenzo, what do you think—?”

  He had vanished. Irrational fear clutched her. A ghost was here, and Lorenzo had disappeared. She shook the terror aside and pushed her way back through the crowd. They did not halt her.

  “A ghost! It’s a ghost,” cried someone else behind her.

  Valeria raised her voice. “I assure you it’s not another ghost.”

  Tilden crossed the room to her, his eyes so wide that she thought they would burst from his face. “Another ghost? Do you mean there have been others lately here in Moorsea Manor? You let me bring my mother and sister here knowing that?”

  “Don’t be silly. Someone is enacting a heinous prank tonight.”

  “But who would do such a thing? My mother has swooned, and Mary …” He shook his head in despair.

  Valeria did not bother to demur. “I can give you two guesses. Either Lord Caldwell or my nephew.”

  “Caldwell? He’s mixed up in this?” He raced away as his mother moaned his name from the other side of the room.

  She stared after him. He had not asked if she was all right. All his thoughts had been concentrated on his mother and sister. If he acted this way tonight, how would he be after they were married?

  No, she would not think of that now. She needed to find Lorenzo and discover who was frightening the guests. Gathering up the cream tissue of her gown, she rushed toward the door.

  “It’s gone!” she heard from by the window.

  She left the guests to speculate on what they had seen as she hurried out into the hall. It was empty, because everyone, guest as well as servant, had crowded around the windows to peer out at the so-called ghost.

  Not sure which way to go, she went toward the stairs that would lead down to the door closest to the part of the garden beneath the ballroom windows. She paused only long enough to get a candle to light her way. Hearing a door slam and angry voices, she took the stairs as quickly as she dared. She thought the lower corridor was deserted, too, until she saw two forms coming toward her. Fear tempted her, but she refused to heed it.

  “Valeria?” she heard.

  “Lorenzo!” She set the candle on a nearby table and ran to him. Throwing her arms around him, she cried, “Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

  He stroked her back gently, but fury honed his voice, “Because I wanted to capture this young rapscallion before the rest of our guests dropped senseless on the floor.”

  She drew back and stared at an amazing sight. The footman Gil was dressed in what appeared to be a shield. A feather was stuck in his hair, and something was painted across his face. Before she could discern what, Lorenzo ran his finger along the lad’s face and held it up away from the light. It glowed like the ghost had in the garden.

  “Our ghost,” he said. “The phosphorescence—”

  “The what?”

  “The glow comes from the bogs on the moor. You must have seen the lights near the ground some nights.”

  She shook her head. “I keep my curtains drawn at night.”

  “I wish we had in the ballroom tonight.” His tone became sharp again as he turned to Gil. “You should be ashamed of yourself. I should turn you off right now.”

  “I understand, my lord. I’m sorry that some of the ladies were so scared. We didn’t—”

  “We?”

  “David was supposed to meet me here to help with the jest.” Gil looked everywhere but at Lorenzo.

  “So you decided to frighten the ladies nearly to death without his assistance?”

  “Didn’t mean to hurt anyone. David and me, when he found this stuff from the bogs glows, we just wanted to make folks laugh.” His face lengthened as he sighed. “After all, you didn’t ever believe we were really ghosts before.”

  “It was you before?” Valeria asked.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Mayhap Lord Moorsea didn’t believe you were real ghosts,” she replied, “but a good portion of the household staff did.”

  His chin rose in defiance. “Serves them right for treating us from Wolfe Abbey like we carried the plague.”

  She sighed. So many times she had asked Mrs. Ditwiller how tasks and responsibilities were intertwining between the two staffs, and each time Mrs. Ditwiller had assured her that all would come about as it should and not to concern herself.

  “We will speak more on this tomorrow.” Lorenzo frowned. “Where is the boy?”

  “David?” Gil asked. “Like I said, he was supposed to meet me in the garden.” He rapped his knuckles against the plate over his chest. “He dug this up and said it was really old, so I should wear it tonight. I waited for him, but he never showed up.”

  “I’ll have the house searched,” Lorenzo said before Valeria could speak. He gave her a swift smile. “We’ll find him. By now, we have discovered most of his hiding places. Gil, find some men and begin the search. Let Kirby know we need his help. And Gil?”

  “Yes, my lord?” The footman turned.

  “Keep what you’re doing quiet. I don’t want Lady Fanning’s guests more disturbed by this.”

  “Yes, my lord.” He raced away, pulling off the breastplate as he ran.

  Lorenzo smiled again at her. “It will turn up trumps, Valeria. Don’t worry.”

  “I’ll try not to.” She picked up the candle. “Let me go and tell the guests about our ghost so their minds are put at ease.”

  He curved his hand along her face. “You are extraordinary in a crisis, Valeria.”

  “One learns to be, when one is surrounded by all the skimble-skamble of the Season.” She wanted to ask him what he had been about to tell her when the screams began, but that must wait. She went back up the stairs to the ballroom. She steeled herself for the anger which was sure to meet her explanation, especially from Tilden.

  Valeria found that her trepidation had been valid, save for her betrothed. He sat beside his mother and his sister, who were stretched out on two benches in the ballroom. While the other guests took their leave and Valeria hoped her letters of apology, which she must write the first thing in the morning, would ease the outrage, Tilden did not look in her direction. He held his sister’s hand for a moment before taking his mother’s and patting it consolingly. Her single attempt to ask how they were doing was met with stiff silence.

  By the time the last guests, save for the Oates family had taken their leave, the clock in the hallway was clanging eleven o’clock. It had been over two hours since the ghost had been sighted in the garden.

  She left Tilden with his family and the musicians who were milling about the room and sampling the food that had been ignored. Before she had gone a dozen steps along the hall, Lorenzo rushed toward her.

  “You’ve found him?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Not yet?”

  When he gripped her arms, she feared she was going to succumb to vapors as the women had in the ballroom. The world tilted, and she gasped before she realized that Lorenzo was gathering her up in his arms. Again she rested her head on his shoulder, wishing she could delight in this closeness as she had when they danced. She would have gladly stayed here cradled in his arms forever, but she must think of David.

  “Where have you looked?” she asked as Lorenzo set her down on something soft. With a gasp, she realized it was the bed behind the bookshelves in the library.

  He sat on its edge and chafed her wrists, bringing feeling back into her numb fingers. “Everywhere that I could think of. I told Kirby to have the men search everywhere else, especially the old wall that has fascinated David since you arrived. Gil is certain that David would not go out on the moors alone at night.”

  “He knows better than that.” Wanting to relax back against the pillows, she sat straighter. “Lorenzo, what if he has—?”

  “Let’s not consider more disasters than we have. I assume all your guests have taken their leave.”


  “Save for Tilden and his mother and sister.”

  He stood. “If you would as lief be with them, I—”

  “Do not trouble yourself on my behalf. Tilden hasn’t.” She raised her gaze past his dust-covered coat to his sorrowful face. “I never will be a part of that family, no matter what I do.”

  “And being a part of a family is important to you?”

  She gulped back a clump of tears that filled her throat. “I have always wanted to be a part of a family, but each time I think I may be, something happens to destroy that. Lorenzo, what if—?”

  He put his finger to her lips. “Gil and Kirby will find David. They always have in the past.”

  “But he never failed to meet Gil to arrange a prank before.” She slid off the bed and paced to the door and back. “I should have …”

  “Should have what? Valeria, it has become more than obvious that David has been having a wonderful time bamblusterating all of us to his heart’s delight. He has been learning a lot about the Roman settlements in this area from me and has spent as much time as possible digging like a collier.”

  “I should have made certain he attended the party tonight. He is so angry about being sent to Oates’s Hall when he has not finished inspecting every inch of Moorsea Manor. When he discovers that Tilden intends to package him off to school as soon as we are wed, he—I—” She hid her face in her hands and sobbed.

  “Don’t weep, my dear.”

  “I can’t help it. When I think of him lost in some bog or hurt in the shadow of a hedgerow, I … I …”

  When he put his arms around her, she pressed her face against his waistcoat. Gripping the satin, she let her tears fall. She could not be false any longer. She was scared and unhappy and utterly miserable. Her last words to her brother when he was brought back to her house near death had been that she would watch out for David until he was grown. Now he was missing.