There was one simple way to change my behavior and to keep my thoughts focused. “Who would like to join me in cards?”
One of the finest traits of Mr. and Mrs. Somerville was allowing their guests long, leisurely mornings in which to breakfast—especially on dreary, rainy mornings such as this one. Our plans for the day would have to be greatly altered. There would be no riding in weather such as this. There would likely be no outdoor activities whatsoever.
“Sit with me, dear.” Mrs. Somerville patted the chair next to her. “We have not had a proper discussion since you arrived at my home, and I refuse to allow that to stand.”
Mrs. Somerville’s countenance had always been filled with a genuine warmth and kindness. I’d always found it interesting that these similar traits appeared contrived on her daughter. If their personalities were matched, I’d have happily been led into a marriage with Anna.
She poured a tea and I sat next to her, grateful to be occupied with a friend who would expect nothing from me but honesty.
“Tell me truthfully, Simon,” she said, her dark brows arched. “Is my daughter behaving herself?”
“I’m sorry Madam,” I said with a smile. “I do not know to what you are referring.”
A light laugh came from her. “Oh, Simon. You are too polite. After listening to her and her lady’s maid discussing options for her dress yesterday afternoon, I knew she was attempting to present herself to you in a manner that would make her seem a ridiculous flirt. I love my daughter, but I am not blind.”
“I’m so sorry that—”
“Hush.” She silenced me immediately. “I know both you and my daughter well enough to know that you are not at all suited to one another, and I suspect she would realize that as well after it was too late, and you’d both been taken in.”
For the first moment since arriving, my shoulders relaxed. My heart slowed.
“You need someone far simpler, Simon. I can feel you scoff at members of court, at the pomp and circumstance and conventions of our society. These are also the very details of our society that Anna adores. Anyone who knows you, knows this doesn’t suit you at all. Am I correct in assuming that you’d be perfectly happy never spending time in London?”
“Perhaps once or twice a year for cards,” I answered. “It is one of the best places to find talented players. Although, the last time I was in Bath, I found a few talented men.”
“And a young man such as yourself has money to burn.” Her smile was sly.
“I don’t lose, Mrs. Somerville...at least not often enough to damage my pocketbook.”
“Ah.” She took another sip of her tea. “The one arrogant spot in one of the kindest men I know.”
“And what is your arrogant spot, Mrs. Somerville, as you are one of the kindest women I know?”
“I should think that very obvious, Mr. Windham.” She smoothed down her dress and sat up a little taller.
“Of course.” I rested my hand over hers. “It is not an easy task of being the finest-dressed woman in all of England, and yet, here you are.”
“Oh, Simon.” She patted my cheek in a sign of motherly affection I’d rarely experienced in my own mother. “You are a charmer, my boy.”
“And you…”
Miss Kinsley stepped into the room, relieving my mind of any conscious thought. Her dark eyes were wide as she peered around the space. My next words disappeared.
“Have you met Miss Kinsley?” Mrs. Somerville asked.
“Yes, quite unusually, I might add.” I leaned in and relayed that we’d met briefly in London where she had mistaken me for a clerk—a fact that I’d kept from Mrs. Somerville’s other guests and family.
“A clerk?” Her laugh was free and soft. “Simon, you really must use that pocketbook to dress yourself as a gentleman.”
I brushed the front of my coat. “I’ve done well today, have I not?”
She leaned back as if inspecting my attire. “I suspect we have Mr. Kearns to thank for this?”
She knew me so well. “You would be correct.”
“Isabelle!” Mrs. Somerville called.
I tugged at my collar as the room warmed.
“Would you be a dear and come here for a moment?” Mrs. Somerville asked.
Miss Kinsley’s deep eyes met mine briefly, before focusing on the woman next to me.
“How may I be of service, Mrs. Somerville?” she asked.
“Simon has been telling me how you met.”
Miss Kinsley’s attention was on me immediately. “Are you determined to embarrass me by relaying this story to everyone here?”
“No, not...not at all,” I stammered. “Mrs. Somerville likes to tease me about my wardrobe. I thought it more a commentary on myself, rather than you—aside from your dropping a novel on my head while climbing a ladder. And if you remember, I did not betray your confidence in front of Elliot, only relayed the events of that day.”
“A ladder!” Mrs. Somerville laughed. “Oh, Isabelle. You really are a determined young woman. Please say that you found the title you were looking for?”
“Yes, ma’am. For my sister.”
Mrs. Somerville nodded her approval before turning back to me and patting my shoulder. “He looks much finer now, does he not?”
Miss Kinsley’s cheeks flushed, and I wondered if it had to do with Mrs. Somerville’s brashness, or…or if Isabelle appreciated my looks.
“Mrs. Somerville,” I chastised. “Do not tease her so. Can you see how she’s flushed?” Though, I could not keep the laughter out of my voice.
Miss Kinsley’s gaze turned to me just briefly. “Mr. Windham no longer has the appearance of a clerk, ma’am.”
Of all the young women available in this moment, I found my heart softening again toward Miss Kinsley.
Anna’s friend. What a disastrous situation.
“I hear there’s a lovely ride planned for tomorrow?” Mrs. Somerville asked. “Since the rain has ruined our outdoor fun today. You see I am happy to change the subject when I can see that I’ve made the pair of you uncomfortable.”
Only a fool would have missed her accentuating pair in that short refrain.
“Do you know what’s keeping my daughter?” Mrs. Somerville asked.
“Oh.” Miss Kinsley glanced behind her. “She is still dressing.”
Mrs. Somerville’s expression fell to one of quiet resignation. “And she will go through this process again for the afternoon and evening.”
“Perhaps,” Miss Kinsley said with a small smile.
“I believe you read seven books to every single title my daughter manages to complete.” I felt Mrs. Somerville’s attention turn toward me, before she shifted in her chair. “Simon, Mr. Windham, is the only other person I know who reads quite so much.”
“Then, I suppose it makes perfect sense for me to be in a bookshop.” I couldn’t help but tease Miss Kinsley, at least a little.
“Will I be forever re-living my mistake?” Miss Kinsley asked.
I was about to apologize, when the corner of her mouth lifted and the edges of her eyes crinkled slightly in a smile.
“Only as long as you two know each other, I suppose.” Mrs. Somerville added. “If you two will excuse me, I must…”
She didn’t bother to finish, just walked to the edge of the room to greet guests.
“You will come riding tomorrow, then?” I asked, suddenly unable to imagine a ride without her presence.
“If the rain lets up,” Miss Kinsley answered, just as her stomach groaned and her cheeks instantly flushed.
“I will not keep you from breakfast.” I stood. “They’ve had the same cook here since I was a child, and everything I’ve ever tasted has been divine.”
Anna appeared in the doorway, which was my cue to find myself occupied somewhere else in the house. Perhaps, I’d pick up where I’d left off the night before with the ghost stories.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have a friend waiting,” I said as I took a step back. “A ghost
ly French friend.” I winked and Miss Kinsley gave the slightest nod of understanding.
“You won’t sit and breakfast with us?” Anna asked, her lower lip pushed out in the type of pout I’d expect from a far younger girl.
“I dare not be in the way of any gossip you two have to share.” With a quick tip of my head, I clasped my hands behind my back and strode out of the room.
Stables. If the business of the day was to remain indoors, and I hadn’t yet steeled myself against whatever Anna had in store for me, the stables was the safest place for me. At least until the weather cleared.
I went to my room where Kearns slipped on my boots, handed me my book, and I left to take in the company of horses. I’d read for hours with Napoleon when he first came to us, and after two years away, perhaps he’d appreciate the company.
Chapter 15
Isabelle
Anna clutched my hand. Her body shook next to mine. I tiptoed down the dark hallway, pulling her after me. She had gone along with my every scheme in London—though they had been mild at most—and without the slightest of nerves. Why was she acting so finicky now, in her own home?
“Come,” I whispered, tugging her with a touch more force.
She giggled, smothering a hand against her mouth when she heard it echo down the hall. “Isabelle…do you really think we should be up and about? I have been known to wander the house on sleepless nights but never with guests, especially while there are young gentlemen about.”
The candle in my hands cast shadows against her face, making her look more demon than lady. I leaned closer to the light, hoping my face would appear just as elongated and hollow. “A trip to the library is hardly scandalous, particularly considering we are linked together.”
A gust of wind shook against the frame of the house, whistling down the hall and sending the hair on my arms standing. No, this night, this opportunity, would not come again. A ghost story deserved to be read under such conditions. Fantasmagoriana remained on the library’s center table, neglected like the other books Mr. Windham had gifted Elliot.
“You are not scared of ghosts?” I asked Anna in an eerie whisper. “Do you think if we read them, it shall summon them?”
Her hand ran cold against mine, but she swatted me with her free one. “Do be serious, Isabelle. I am not a child, and if I have to prove it to you by sneaking the silly book back to your bedchamber, I shall.”
I grinned. “Good. We shall have some fun at last.”
“At last?” Her voice rose to its normal pitch.
I dropped her hand and lifted a finger to my mouth. “I doubt you mean to wake the entire household, but Anna…lower your voice.”
Her shoulders caved over her nightgown, and she returned to a whisper. “Surely you enjoyed this evening’s dinner—Mr. Gregory and Mr. Barrington? Miss Guppy shall add a nice flavor to the party as well. I cannot wait to see Mary, to ascertain if she has truly fallen out of love with Elliot, as I know he fears.”
A thrill ran through my veins, and my feet carried me across the house with a greater urgency. This small act, the seemingly unimportant and reprehensible act of trekking through the house in my nightgown, ignited my entire being. Silly remarks and switching another’s dance cards did not compare with a windy night, pondering the possibility of ghosts.
“My sister Juliet is the same in one regard,” I told Anna, stopping when my bare feet crossed the threshold of the rug runner and hit the cold, hard floorboards of the grand staircase. “She is most easily provoked if I call upon her pride.”
“I suppose I shall take that as a compliment, as you love her most. Besides, I believe the most sensible ladies are frightened easily. Otherwise, the fairer sex would have no need for men.” She paused, squinting her eyes in the darkness. “Why do you not mention your youngest sister?”
Five years separated me and my youngest sister, and I did not feel as close to Charlotte. I loved her in a sisterly and protective way, but she always ran about on her own, stirring up adventures. She was far too old for such mischiefs, but Mama was blind in that respect.
Charlotte was the youngest, and Mama would always see her as the baby, the child that could never do wrong.
“Well?” Anna asked, nudging me in the abdomen.
I licked my lips. “She does not thrive off conversation the way Juliet and I do. She is scarcely found indoors at all but would rather be climbing a tree or rescuing some animal or other. She is a mystery to me.”
“I would very much like to meet your sisters. I have always wished for one.”
I squeezed Anna’s hand and smiled in the darkness, doubtful she could see it but hoping she might sense my love. “And now you do, as near as any blood relative.”
We continued down the stairs in silence, pausing with each creak. Anna surprised me and led the way, moving cautiously down the stairs. I marveled at her agility—no wonder she was a sought-after dance partner.
I had never noticed the grand staircase to creak at all, but then, there had always been other noises to counter the sound. However, standing in my nightdress with only a waning candle, each bend of the boards thundered in the home’s entrance.
I exhaled when my feet hit the marble tiles at the bottom.
“Hurry,” Anna said, flitting across the floor as startled and silent as a mouse.
My amusement threatened to burst through my pursed lips, but I followed her, stopping before the open doors.
She gasped and pointed. “Isabelle.”
Another flame flickered across the room. The candle sat in the stillness, seemingly forgotten, illuminating the book of ghost stories.
“Almost there.” A thrill of excitement shot through my core once more, this one with enough force to carry me forward. I took Anna’s hand and pulled, but she resisted, shaking her head. I released a puff of air. “The silence is near deafening. No one else is here.”
Her eyes matched the color of her hair in the shadow. “But the candle…”
I sent her a pleading glance.
She folded her arms and rooted herself to the floor.
With two little sisters, I knew stubbornness when I saw it. I would not, could not, persuade Anna to come with me into the library any more than I might persuade my sister Juliet to dance beside me on the beach or my sister Charlotte to embroider.
“Take this,” I said, handing her my own light.
“Whatever are you doing?” Anna’s eyes rounded.
“Getting the book.” I moved to the center of the room, and just as I suspected, there was nothing but darkness to follow me.
I traced my fingers over the title. My French was poor at best, but Anna’s ability, like most everything about her, proved flawless, seamless. Accomplishments, in general, came easily for her. She nearly perfected a song after one run through, her bonnet trimming skills often surpassed the detail of those lining the London shops, and her ability to speak French demonstrated to be no different.
“Anna,” I said, beckoning her closer. “We are quite safe from being discovered.”
She hesitated, shifting her weight from side to side. “There is no one?”
I gasped in exasperation. I might have bopped her atop the head if she were closer. Such nerves must have been exhausting—they certainly were for me. I could not imagine submitting my every action to strange anxieties. Getting caught in one’s own library, despite wearing a nightdress, seemed nothing more than a bit of folly. “Come. You must tell me one of these stories.”
“Here?” She came closer, and the lines of worry near her brows lessened to a mere scowl. “Why not take the book to my bedchamber instead?”
I threw my head back and sighed. “Because there is nothing daring about reading a ghost story in one’s own bed. You are not still frightened, are you?”
As I had hoped, my teasing unraveled her stubborn stance. Anna pulled back her shoulders and marched to my side, ripping the book from my grasp to flip through its passages. Her jaw jutted forward. “Then I shall
tell you about the mute love and see how frightened you become.”
I rubbed my hands together and leaned against the edge of the table. “Please do. I could use a scare.”
Her voice shook as she began to translate the story of a young heir who squandered his inheritance and fell hopelessly in love with a young lady. In his efforts to find fortune, the young man embarked on a journey and took refuge in a haunted castle.
Translations rarely worked for me. A story’s magic lied in the sounds of words themselves, the way they rolled off one’s tongue and into my imagination, but Anna’s rendition sparked my attention, if only by the way her voice shook or the way her eyes widened—her every uneasy movement only added to the suspense.
Abandoned castles. Juliet and I often envisioned touring the abandoned Hosmer Hill Abbey, just a few miles away from our cottage in Bridlington. But then someone had purchased the home—an older gentleman of great wealth. I shuddered to think of the renovations; I fancied the romanticism of a haunted castle more than a reupholstered mansion.
Silence.
I flinched. Why had Anna quit reading? Had she finished the story, and I—lost in thought of Hosmer Hill and translations—offended her with my own silence? I blinked furiously to regain focus. “Anna?”
Her lips pressed together, and she shook her head. “Did you hear that?”
I glanced around the stillness. “What?”
Her words were a raspy whisper. “The board over there creaked as if someone were walking upon it.”
I squinted. “A real ghost floats and would not press the boards enough to creak.”
“And you would know how? Are you acquainted with many ghosts?” Anna snapped the book closed and dropped it to the table behind her. “I will not read another word.”
A board, just where Anna had pointed, once more creaked. I sat straighter, pleading with my friend. “You cannot stop now. I need to know. Does Franz ever marry Meta, or does the ghost swallow them both whole?”
Anna swatted my arm, and she twisted the ends of her dark braids. “Do not talk like that.”
My smile faltered—she was serious. “If you are that scared, we can return to our beds. I only meant to have a little fun.”
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