"I'm not suicidal, if that's what you mean." I chose my words carefully, hoping to spark a response. "I've seen worse published about me. But I appreciate the thought."
"You're not a damsel in distress?"
"Disappointed?"
"Relieved. I'm not much of a knight." He snorted softly.
I'd said the wrong thing. There was a beat of silence where neither of us knew where to carry the conversation. What could I say after that?
"I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly," he said. "That was shitty and selfish of me. I needed space."
"Over a hundred rooms isn't enough?" I teased.
"In that castle? No."
"Thanks a lot." My confidence had taken a lot of beatings lately.
"I wasn't referring to escaping from you. Believe me, that's the last thing I want to do."
His sultry tone sent my heart skidding out of control. He was such a liar. It would be too easy to believe him. My only defense against his assault to my heart was to change the subject. "You're making headway reconciling your old life to the new, I hope? Your friends are happy for you? Should I be expecting wedding presents to arrive?"
"Wedding presents." He laughed. "You really don't know my friends. Small progress today. Myriad details to work out." He paused. "Some people are taking the news better than others."
I swallowed a surge of jealousy, wondering what "friends" he was referring to and how many of them were ladies. I shouldn't have asked the question, not even in jest. Don't ask what you don't want answered. "Speaking of gifts, Manly and I have a table full of them unopened in the great hall. I'm not sure what the protocol is when the groom dies in the middle of the ceremony and is replaced by another—do I return them? Keep them? Keep those from your family? At least we might presume they'd still give us gifts—"
"Have Libby handle it. You don't need more stress."
"Neither does she," I said. "People were asking after you everywhere I went in the village and town today. I've been making excuses for you. You are coming back?"
"You have to ask?"
"I don't know you well enough to presume."
"You'd know me well enough, if you cared to."
Was he issuing a challenge? If so, the game was already on.
"When's the funeral? When will his body be brought home for viewing?" he asked. "I assume you got them on the calendar."
"Saturday afternoon for the funeral. Manly's body will be brought home to the castle Friday afternoon to lie in state, or honor, or repose, or whatever it is. Viewing for anyone who wants to pay their respects will be from four until seven. The funeral's going to be a grand affair, just like Manly wanted. You won't want to miss it. We're hosting a meal at the castle afterward."
"I'll be back Friday. Like I promised." There was a beat of silence.
"I saw Manly's final resting place today. And yours." I shivered.
"You went to the cemetery?"
"The reverend insisted. I saw all the family graves, including Will's." I was headed into dangerous territory, but there was no way I could stop myself. "I'm sorry. This time of year must be hard for you. It's very close to the anniversary of Will's death, isn't it?"
"I don't think about it." His voice was hard. "I prefer to remember him on the happy dates of his life, like his birthday."
"I wish I could say the same about others. Too many people in the village are still captivated by his death. Your brother was larger than life, it seems. I met the church groundskeeper, Cooper. He remembers Will fondly. Cooper warned me not to go to the river with you."
"Wise man." The cynicism in Ren's voice stung.
"I hate to reiterate—you could clear your name, if you wanted," I said.
He laughed derisively. "Nice try. I can't. I don't remember anything that would help me."
It was worth a shot. His answer confirmed he was lying. He remembered, maybe too much.
"I got most everything on Manly's list checked off today." I hesitated again, a question on my lips. "Only one huge task remains—the most important one."
"And what's that?" Ren sounded relieved that I'd dropped the other subject. The amusement returned to his voice. We were playing a game of shadows.
"Too easy," I said, wondering whether Manly had left a secret letter for Ren, too. And if so, what he'd told Ren. Whether Thorne had delivered it to Ren yet. And whether that was the real reason for this call. Had Manly begged Ren to try to fall in love with me? Was this Ren's attempt? How awkward to have hooked up with my husband, but still barely be past the first-date stage. "It's a secret commission. You'll know if I succeed."
"Mysterious," he said. "Should I be alarmed?"
I laughed. "That depends. I've never been accused of being anything less than an alpha female. I can be ruthless in pursuit of a goal."
"Bring your A game, Bliss, and we'll see what happens."
I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep. Being all alone in my bridal bed with memories of the night before with Ren was just too pathetic. I couldn't remember his touch without burning with lust.
The mystery surrounding Ren consumed me. Had Manly left him a secret letter or not? Worse, the facts I'd discovered about the accident had formed into a theory, the only one that made any kind of sense—Zoe driving the car deliberately into the river, the doors being locked. A suicide pact? Was Will's overdose part of it? An overdose, whether it was alcohol or something more, was the only explanation for Will passing out and being unresponsive. Had Ren decided at the last moment he wanted to live? Then how did the car doors get locked behind him?
There was more to this story, but Ren wasn't talking. My first clumsy attempt to bring it up had momentarily alienated him. No, I decided. The direct approach wasn't going to work with him. I was going to have to solve this and discover the truth without him. Once I knew the truth, then I could decide what to do. And whether I wanted to stay with Ren.
Unable to sleep, I got out of bed and threw a sweatshirt on. There were monsters everywhere in this castle. I could either cower in bed or face them in person. A stroll usually cleared my head, and there were plenty of halls to walk.
As I went past each unoccupied room down the hall, I opened the door and peeked into the darkness, trying to see the rooms as potential guests would. Trying to picture the plans we had for them in action. If we were going to push the castle as the most haunted bed-and-breakfast castle in the country, it should look beautiful in the daylight and positively frightening at night. That was what I'd told the architects and designers as we began the planning stages of the room renovations months ago. Everything should be designed to cast long, scary shadows, to catch any movement, to startle and delight.
I didn't want a gothic amusement-park feel to the castle by day. I envisioned a classic, elegant castle experience with nighttime scares.
We'd managed to get the plans drawn up and the permits passed through prior to the wedding. Manly and I had planned to start remodeling on Monday. All that was on hold for now. I'd have to grieve until after the funeral at least. The schedule was tight if we were going to be up and running by Halloween, which, face it, was our holiday. I couldn't afford any delays, but I really had no choice. Even though I wasn't Manly's bride, the community would expect a certain decorous mourning period. We weren't living in the Victorian period, fortunately. But I had to put on a show for this week.
I opened door after door, surprisingly unafraid of running into any of the castle's infamous ghosts. None of them, except maybe the white lady, really frightened me. And her only because of Ren and his stories and youthful preoccupation with her.
In room after room, I let my imagination fly, picturing themes and gorgeous, fully restored rooms. Ghostly presences were so vivid in my mind that they were practically real. A shiver ran up my spine. Happy, scared guests. Gourmet meals. Beautiful gardens. Frightening mazes. A thriving business that would keep the castle in the black and financially sound for generations to come. My own little duke, should I have one, would have
nothing to worry about. Being scared. Ghost hunting. That would never go out of fashion. My son would just pick up the reins and carry on. That was the plan.
I hesitated when I came to the door to my former bedroom, the white lady's room. I knew what it looked like in the dark. Did I really need another look?
But I was compelled, almost obsessively, to look around and compare it to the other rooms while my memories of each were fresh. When I tried the handle, the door was locked. Locked? None of the other doors had been locked. Ren must have locked it after he had my things moved to the master suite. But why?
His behavior about that room was odd. He'd been surprised that Manly had "let" me stay there. I hadn't thought much of it at the time. But the truth was that Manly had given me carte blanche to clean all the rooms I wanted for the wedding. He hadn't put any restrictions on any of them or warned me off any. Some of them had been in worse shape than others, but the white lady's room had been remarkably well preserved.
I hadn't thought anything about it having been locked and untouched for so many years. Dozens of the bedrooms had been mothballed.
I'd arrived at the castle a month ago to prepare for the wedding and castle renovation. Even though the room was dusty and neglected, I selected it as my own and had it cleaned first because of the view and location. For better or worse, the room spoke to me. At the time, I hadn't known it had any more significance than any other room.
A chill crept up my back. I'd been in that room for nearly a month and not noticed anything out of place. What if, by having it cleaned, I'd inadvertently destroyed evidence of what really happened that night? What if there had been something left in that room?
I needed to get back in there and take a look with a new eye. And I needed to talk with the crew who'd cleaned it. It was too late to paw through the garbage. The trash from the room cleanup had been hauled away weeks ago.
Manly had given me a set of keys to every room in the castle. I'd made a copy of that particular room key. It was on the key ring in my room. I should have let the matter rest—I should have rested—but I went back to my room for the key. There was only one problem—all my keys were still on the key ring. All except the key to the white lady's room. It was missing.
Chapter 15
Why would anyone steal my key to the white lady's bedroom? Ren. It had to be him. The master ring of keys was locked in Manly's office. I braved the dark halls. I let out a breath when I flipped the light on in Manly's office and was greeted with the comfort of his room. No ghosts anywhere in sight. The master key ring was in the bottom drawer of his desk exactly where I'd left it. The key to the white lady's room was missing from it, too. Libby had a set, but it was too late to bother her.
Monday
In the morning, I asked Libby for her key. It was mysteriously gone as well. Undaunted, I called a locksmith before attacking the rest of the tasks on my list. I needed a new black dress for Manly's funeral. Something stunning. Eyes would be on me, after all, even though I wasn't his widow. I was close enough, and the new duchess. I called my favorite designer in London and made an appointment for the next day. London was less than two hours away. I could use the escape.
I called my general contractor and asked him to postpone the start of the renovation. I didn't want the castle torn up until after Manly's funeral. He'd wanted a reception at the castle as part of his final farewell. While I waited for the locksmith to show up, I went back to my sleuthing and my plans for the castle.
I remembered Ren mentioning Manly's diary of ghost sightings. Ren had said Manly kept it in the library. The diary would be perfect to use as proof of hauntings, and maybe even give me a clue about the best times to conduct ghost tours. What stories to tell, that kind of thing. Was there a pattern to the sightings?
The castle had such a rich history. I intended to exploit it fully. Even before the wedding, I was in consultation with a professional ghost-hunting team. I was negotiating to hire them to conduct my ghost-hunting tours. Any data I could provide them about ghostly sightings would be helpful. It was always helpful to know who you were looking for. I kicked myself now for letting Ren take the diary that had been left in my room, and made a mental note to ask him for it.
I found Harris, thinking he might know where Manly's diary was shelved and save me the time looking for it. Fortunately, Harris knew exactly what I was talking about and where it was. By the time I had it in my hands, the locksmith had arrived. I set the diary aside. The locksmith made short work of picking the lock and making me a new key. Several, actually. Just in case.
Whoever had taken the key had only made me more determined to closely inspect the room. But once inside the room, everything was pretty much as I'd left it. The room had been dusted and vacuumed. My things were cleared out, of course. I had no real fear of the room, but Ren's warnings echoed through my mind. Despite my best efforts, I was spooked by the place now. All sense of peace I'd had about the room had evaporated. What was once comfy was now slightly creepy.
The white lady had been thrown to her death from this room. And something had happened here to Will ten years ago. Something that changed the course of Ren's life. I wondered at Manly being so obtuse. Drinking? Alcohol poisoning? A drug overdose? Why dance around the facts?
I pictured three beautiful young people in here, laughing. Getting drunk or high. Watching for ghosts. Telling ghost stories. I searched the room, looking in every drawer, under the bed, in every cabinet, every corner, the closet, behind every painting—nothing. Nothing but what should have been there. I even pulled all the drawers out and turned them over, looking to see if anyone had taped anything incriminating there to hide.
There were no trapdoors that I could find. No bookcases that turned and gave way to mysterious dark passages. Nothing tucked in the fireplace or up the chimney. By the time I was done looking, I was worn out and dirty. I stood in the middle of the room, frustrated. The room appeared to have nothing to hide. Nothing to tell me. There were no telltale hearts beating behind walls. No safes hidden behind pictures. The room was a complete dud. Or I was.
Manly had given the architects and interior design firm all the blueprints he had for the castle. Some of them were ancient and merely sketches. Some of them were more modern sketches from when additions or renovations were made over the centuries. It had been clear from the beginning of my project that the castle was short on secret passages and spooky spaces. Some of them had been destroyed or walled over. Given the size of the castle, there must be more that we didn't know about. But they certainly weren't on any plans. The castle was like an archeological dig—hiding secrets and ready to be excavated. Given the castle's bloody history, past dukes wouldn't have allowed hidden rooms, priest holes, secret passages, or hidden caches to be put on plans. Given all the double-crossing and power grabs, the security risk was too great.
I texted the head architect and asked him to email me the set of plans he had for this room. It was a long shot, but I was grasping for any clue. I went to my room to shower and read Manly's journal.
My trousseau hadn't been bought with my fiancé's funeral in mind. It was sadly lacking in black. I was desperately in need of black everything, including a suitably scandalous dress for Manly's funeral. He'd left specific instructions for me on how he preferred me to dress—something tight, something low-cut to show off my cleavage, high heels, a fabulous hat. He wanted me to look stunning. He wanted me to have fun at the party sending him off. He didn't want me mourning. Life was too short. He was old. He'd lived beyond his time. He told me not to care what others thought. I had no reason to refuse him. I would do my best on all counts.
Since I absolutely had to go to London anyway, I may as well enjoy myself. Stir up a little more scandal. And why not? Lunch with some of my London friends. Go clubbing. Kill several birds with one stone.
My cabal of London socialite friends could be useful, as well as fun. Titled. Moneyed. They knew everyone, all the gossip, and had connections to other titled
families. Like Zoe's.
The paparazzi bored them, but I knew my friends would get a kick out of being seen with the country's newest duchess. The Deadly Duchess was out to feed the flames of scandal, with her friends aiding and abetting. And show Ren that he wasn't the only one capable of escaping the castle, at least for a day or two.
Maybe I'd even meet with my architect while I was in town. It struck me as odd, now that I knew Ren was an architect, that Manly hadn't suggested using him or his firm. We were using one of my mother's. Different specialties? Crap, I was one of those clichéd traditional wives who had no idea what her husband actually did for a living. I laughed at myself. I'd fix that soon enough. I put "Google Ren and his firm" on my list of tasks.
I still had a few days to kill before the funeral, and there was no real reason to hang around the castle. I booked my usual hotel suite and made some calls. Sent a few texts. Within hours, I had a busy social calendar and an appointment with my architect. The only person not on my calendar was my new husband. I didn't even know where he lived in London. I couldn't very well ply my friends for information about him and his past while he was hovering around charming them into silence. I wasn't the most seasoned espionage expert, but that was no way to conduct a clandestine operation.
My architect texted back pictures of the plans for the white lady's room. As I feared, they were basic, with no mention of any secret hiding places. The most detailed one was the plan the firm had drawn up with the modifications I wanted added. It was possible a secret something would turn up once the contractor got his hands on the room. I made a note to keep a close eye and instruct him and his team to immediately let me know about anything they found.
I packed a bag and settled in to research Ren and read Manly's account of castle hauntings. Researching Ren was easy. There were pages and pages about him online. I had to wade through the recent posts about our marriage before I got to something I didn't know about Ren. Those articles about us must have irritated him, overshadowing his professional accomplishments and professional online persona.
Duked: Duke One, Duke Society Series Page 15
