“Well it wasn’t—”
Something from across the room clattered, startling the pair of us. Anna nearly jumped into my arms, stifling a scream into my shoulder.
I grasped her shoulders. “There, it is only a book that has fallen.”
“A book coupled with a creak.” She closed her eyes, hiding in my arms once more. “There is a ghost—I know it.”
I released a slow breath. Never again would I persuade Anna into reading ghost stories. She frightened far too easily and more than I had wished for and for no reason at all. I loved stories, but they were always just that to me—stories. “Well,” I said, standing from the table, “I think we should turn in then.”
Her head bobbed up and down, and she clung to my arm.
We had not taken more than two steps when a violent gust of wind swung a window on its hinge. Icy air blasted across the room, dousing both candles and chilling me to my bones.
Anna crumpled to the floor. “Oh, Isabelle, I cannot look.”
I shivered, glancing in shadows. The overcast skies made for little moon and starlight. I marched closer to the window, pressing my palms against the ledge. “Hello?” I called out, staring into the black and gray of night.
The ghost’s whisper lay in the whipping wind. Perhaps I had been wrong; perhaps Anna was right, and the book was not just stories. Maybe reading the words had summoned the unthinkable.
Unexpected anticipation filled my chest. I leaned farther out the window, and my pulse drummed inside each ear, threatening to burst. Was I no better than my youngest sister Charlotte, looking for adventure and a thrill when I should have been tucked neatly away in my bed?
A cloud of black emerged from the curtain before me, moving so swiftly and with such grace that I thought Death itself had come to claim me. I stared blankly, curiosity overwhelming any sense of self-preservation.
Meeting a ghost—or perhaps even death—should have frightened me. A true lady might have fallen to the floor like Anna, in a fit of fear. A true lady might have trembled, might have released a blood-curdling scream and run for her life.
My instincts, however, went entirely in the other direction. I felt only intrigue. Perhaps it was impulsivity or curiosity, but I wished to witness the ethereal—for I lacked the ability to believe in such fanciful ideas.
“Isabelle, run,” Anna whispered, screaming into the fabric of her nightdress.
Yet, I felt a spectator, watching from above as I reached out to the dark figure. My hand grazed a silk cravat, and I grasped at an unmistakably human arm. Laughter—deep, warm, and familiar—awakened me to my senses.
“Mr. Windham?” My words accused him.
His laughter faded, and he steadied my arm, as if I might faint. “Did we scare you then?”
My shoulders drooped forward. I had so hoped he was a ghost, and I regretted my foolishness. I pushed the window to a close, latching it carefully.
“Well?” he asked once more.
Anna remained a crumpled ball on the floor, so I cleared my throat. “I suppose, but what do you mean by we?”
“You think Simon capable of pulling off such a charade on his own? And to my sister? I would think you knew better, Isabelle. Only I have permission to scare her so.” Elliot’s voice echoed from the bookshelves and creaking board across the room. A match was struck, and light once more poured into the space.
Anna. She had moved to a leather chair closer to the door. Her body lifted with each of her labored breaths. Her cheeks glistened—a result of her terror no doubt, but I did not know if it was the result of tears or perspiration
“Are you very angry?” Mr. Windham asked.
His eyes held flames of orange in the lamplight, and I nearly gasped at his closeness. I crossed my arms over my chest, wondering at the state of the curls running down my back. Surely they had tangled in the blast of the wind. “You have rattled Anna nearly to death.”
Elliot sighed. “Anna, you must not be too angry.”
“But not you?” Mr. Windham continued to watch me. “On the contrary, you look rather disappointed.”
“I should have known not to scare Anna,” Elliot mumbled.
Anna stood and stomped her foot, surprising me. “Come to bed, Isabelle. My brother has been very thoughtless, and I shall curse his name with each nightmare, for I shall have ghosts haunting my every sleep for weeks and weeks.”
Elliot took a step in her direction. “Anna—”
“Isabelle.” She stomped her foot a second time.
Her command startled me—I had not known her to be anything but accommodating and generous. I made a clumsy attempt at a curtsey in the gentlemen’s direction, which only spurred Mr. Windham’s laughter. I would forever make myself a fool in front of this man.
He bowed with the same actor’s flourish he had demonstrated at our first meeting, and his dark hair was in obvious disarray. “Always a pleasure, Miss Kinsley.”
I bit my lip and shook my head. I wanted to scold him for trying to scare us, but I could not. I would have done the same if placed in his position. In fact, I rather admired the way he had played his part. I would not, however, indulge him with a smile, no matter how hard my cheeks threatened to betray me.
I swept past him, nearly scampering to meet Anna’s glare of death.
“Miss Kinsley?” Mr. Windham said, stopping me in my tracks.
“What is it?” I asked without turning to meet him.
His steps carried him across the floor, and he peered down at me. “You forgot the book. Perhaps you should take it with you, lest you become tempted to sneak out at night again.”
Elliot released a breath. “Blast it, Simon. Can’t you see the entertainment is over?”
He was quite right. No matter how the situation amused me, I could not, in good conscience, pretend I did not notice Anna. I linked my arm around hers, refusing to meet Mr. Windham’s eyes, and attempted to sound as solemn as Anna appeared. “I believe I have lost my taste for the subject.”
“Oh, Isabelle,” Anna cried and pulled me from the room without another word.
We climbed the staircase and traversed the hall in utter silence. Our return journey lacked the excitement and anticipation from when we had set out. If not for Anna’s humiliation, I might still be standing next to Mr. Windham, sparring by way of witty comebacks. I imagined the satisfaction I might have felt had our roles been reversed, and I had been allowed to scare him.
“I shall never speak to Elliot again.” Anna stopped in front of my door. “I shall never forgive him. Can you imagine if…if…”
“All is well,” I said, running my fingers down her braids. Sleep would be her only cure, but I would try to speak some words of comfort. “They were only teasing—they meant no harm. Perhaps we can retaliate in one way or another?”
She sniffled, dabbing a finger beneath her nose. She lifted her chin. “Perhaps, but I shall not forgive him, especially when he knows how I feel about Mr. Windham.”
I took in a deep breath. “And what of Mr. Windham? Will you forgive him?”
Anna shook her head. “I cannot blame him, not at all. Elliot knows of my nerves, and Mr. Windham was forced, as a considerate guest, to go along with his host’s schemes, you see. No, Mr. Windham is innocent, I assure you.”
My brows disobediently lifted. Mr. Windham’s trick with the window latch and jumping from the behind the drapes seemed immeasurably more wicked than Elliot’s creaking board and clattering book. But, I nodded.
Love made a person blind to all reason, or so I supposed.
That night, I lay in the blackness thinking of every way I might retaliate against Mr. Windham—a spot of pepper in his tea, a glass of salt water in place of his usual drink, a snake in his boots…my designs were less than juvenile, and I grunted when I realized I had been bested. Nothing that came to mind seemed wicked nor clever enough to counter Mr. Windham’s performance in the library—he had been extraordinary in his efforts.
I clutched the blank
ets to my chin, and my thoughts began to tangle together, blurring like one of my messy watercolor paintings until I no longer could keep my eyes from fluttering closed.
Chapter 16
Simon
As soon as Anna and Isabelle were out of earshot, Elliot fell into laughter on a large chair. “I do not think Anna will forgive me anytime soon.”
“No, she did not seem much amused.”
“Isabelle though…” Elliot paused. “I believe she quite enjoyed our little scare.”
She’d appeared far more interested than surprised or afraid. The library had been the perfect backdrop for our little charade. Flickering candlelight amongst the dark walls, and rows of books.
“I daresay she’ll be good for my sister.” Elliot crossed his legs, resting deeper into the furniture.
“Mary is arriving tomorrow, is she not?” I urged, seeking a new topic of conversation. Until I could find time to discern a manner in which I could dissuade Anna, I was not at all prepared to discuss Isabelle.
“I’m...not certain,” Elliot said in a manner that said he most definitely was certain.
“You, my friend, are a terrible liar.”
His hands fell over his face, and I found that all I could do was laugh. All the suspense over hearing Miss Kinsley and Anna in the hallway, creating a plan and a hideaway in a matter of moments, and now…now it was over, and while I was nearly certain that we’d entertained Isabelle greatly, there was a chance I still had to ask Anna’s forgiveness. If history with Anna had told me one thing, it was that any act of kindness would be construed as an act of possible courtship. I would be forced to choose my words very cautiously.
“At what moment in time did you decide that Mary was worth teasing me about?” Elliot asked.
I grinned. “At the same moment when your cheeks turned red at the mention of her.”
Elliot scoffed, but his heart had been fully stolen by his cousin, Miss Mary Fullerton. “What if she realizes she’s made a grave error in accepting me?”
“Not possible.”
“Simon…” Elliot released a breath. “You cannot know her mind.”
Cards were the only solution.
“My friend,” I said as I started toward the door. “Let us play cards. Sleep won’t be coming to me anytime soon. And neither to you, with your nerves.”
Elliot swung himself to standing in one easy move and tugged at his cravat. “If the house is asleep, I will no longer be needing this.”
I followed suit.
“If we play in the breakfast room, at least the servants preparing for breakfast will let us know when we have stayed up too late.” Elliot chuckled and wrapped his arm over my shoulders. “Good to have you home, friend.”
“Good to be home,” I answered. This house felt more like my home than any other home I’d known. Elliot more like my brother than any other person I’d known. Anna more like a sister.
“Piquet?” Elliot offered. “Is that still your best game?”
I flipped the deck of cards from my waistcoat pocket. “My good man, I shall win every farthing in this home.”
Elliot’s laughter was immediate. “Surely we’re past playing for mere farthings.”
I fanned the cards across a table beside the window. “Surely I shall not play for more as I wish your mother to prefer me.”
With a slight shake of his head, Elliot sat.
A moment later, a servant appeared in the doorway. “Is there anything I can bring for you gentlemen?”
“Every farthing in the house,” I said. “A snack. Cook’s choice.”
“And a fine drink,” Elliot added. “Or several.”
“Very good.” He stepped back and then paused. “Every farthing, sir?”
I laughed. “You may dismiss that request.”
“Thank you, sir.” The young man left.
“Two years, and I’m not sure I know anyone’s names,” I mentioned as I slowly dealt our first hand.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever known everyone’s names,” Elliot said offhandedly. “The cook, the gardener, the valet...but…” he trailed off as he studied his cards.
Elliot’s mother hadn’t come from the exuberant wealth of Elliot’s father. One thing I’d always admired about her was knowing the details of her servant’s lives, their names. My mother hardly noticed the staff of our house; I’d always found Mrs. Somerville’s kindness refreshing.
“Are you still Captain Sharpe?” Elliot teased.
I skimmed my cards and quickly laid them on the table. “Carte Blanche for the first ten points of the game.”
“You rake.” Elliot re-shuffled.
“Well,” I scoffed. “That was hardly necessary.”
We shared a smile.
A snack of ham, cheese, and bread was laid next to us. Drinks were poured and set on the table as well as paper and a quill pen for keeping score.
“Ah, a smart man,” I told him. “Thank you.”
The servant nodded.
My mind hummed with the closeness of Miss Kinsley as she stood at the window, no fear, simply curiosity. As the candlelight lit up her smooth skin. Perhaps we had no business in creating such an intimate situation. Though, I could not bring myself to regret a moment of learning more about her.
“You will lose if you continue to allow your mind to wander, dear friend.” Elliot laughed.
I re-focused my efforts on the game. On being in the house with the person I had missed the most. This night was solely for cards, drinks, and friendship.
At some point in the night, the rain began to fall. And then slap against the windowpanes in a way that told us both the outdoor activities for the following day would once again be cancelled.
And yet, we played. Bet after bet. Round after round. Laugh after laugh. At some moment, the sky began to brighten, but I could not bring myself to stop shuffling and deal our next hand.
“We should dress,” I mentioned as light spilled into the room.
The first servants had already begun shuffling about downstairs, and I was polishing off my first egg of the morning.
“Do you fear my next hand?” Elliot yawned as he tapped his cards.
“My dear friend,” I said. “You would need many hands to regain your fortune.”
Light footsteps sounded from down the hallway. I looked up just as Miss Kinsley stopped still in the doorway, her gaze landing on Elliot and then myself and then back to Elliot. “Did you not sleep?”
“Oh, um…” Elliot sat up and grasped at the open neck of his shirt.
We were utterly indecent for company, but without Kearns, I was hopeless. Clearly my valet hadn’t stayed up all night to watch me play cards with my wardrobe ready and waiting in the breakfast room.
She stepped into the room and peered at our table, the scratches on the paper, tallying our scores. “I did not rest either. Anna was quite upset, and I began reading, and did not stop until light began to filter through the curtains.”
I found myself staring at her as she studied the table, our discarded snacks, glasses, paper, and quill pen. Her deep brown eyes contrasted perfectly with her pale hair and light skin. Pink lips. I swallowed and straightened in my chair, attempting to focus on my thoughts rather than allowing my mind to wander.
“And how many farthings does Mr. Somerville owe you, Mr. Windham?” Isabelle asked as she sat at our table.
“Thousands,” I answered with a smile.
Her mouth turned up. “Elliot, if your friend is willing, perhaps you would deal cards for a few rounds of vingt-un?”
His eyes were rimmed with red, but the corner of his mouth twitched, arousing suspicion. Though, with the several years difference in age, as well as my playing cards many nights throughout Europe, Elliot could believe what he wished. There was no credible way for Miss Kinsley to best me at vingt-un. The game was far more about instantly calculating one’s odds than any other skill or bit of luck.
“Very well.” Elliot rubbed his hands together before ga
thering the cards and placing ours face up on the table.
Miss Kinsley was dealt a seven, and I had royalty. Simple.
My next card brought me to fifteen. The odds of going over were about fifty-fifty...I mulled over my options.
Miss Kinsley’s total was brought to eleven.
I lightly tapped the table for another card.
“Sorry, friend.” Elliot grinned wickedly as he set down the card Miss Kinsley requested, placing her at an even twenty-one. “Miss Kinsley has more luck with cards than anyone I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. She’s a brilliant partner for Whist.”
I glanced at Miss Kinsley, whose smile was slight, creating the slightest dimple in the cheek closest to me.
“What will it be?” Elliot asked, having already dealt the opening of our next hand.
I directed my attention to the cards in front of me, which totaled sixteen. Another impossible move forward.
“Don’t worry yourself, Mr. Windham,” Miss Kinsley said sweetly. “There is no decision for you to make.”
My attention flitted to her cards, which showed she’d been dealt a tidy total of vingt-un. “May I offer you congratulations and mention that luck may carry one only so far?”
“Perhaps you wish to put some money on the next game, Simon?” Elliot asked me. “I will provide for Miss Kinsley. Though, I suspect I will be subtracting from my total owed to you, rather than adding to it.”
“You may have too much confidence in my skill,” Miss Kinsley said to Elliot.
I sat straighter in my chair, attempting to focus my thoughts while the faint scent of lavender tickled my senses.
“Why don’t we say forty pounds?” Elliot asked.
Miss Kinsley gasped lightly, but her face remained impassive aside from the slight widening of her eyes.
“We play for farthings,” I reminded him.
“I’m not quite poor enough, nor quite rich enough, for this gross of a bet to be placed on my skill,” Miss Kinsley said. “I’d either need to be titled or work as a peculiar for this type of wager.”
Of Twisted Fates (Kinsley Sisters Book 1) Page 12