by Quinn, Paula
Aldous breathed in her scent again, all at once remembering where he’d smelled it before. It had been during another illusion at Waterloo when, under the influence of laudanum, he’d lain in a tent and relived the memories of childhood, including the scent of summer flowers on the breeze.
“You might be snowed in here for a day or two.” Lord Thackeray’s voice intruded into Aldous’ thoughts. “When were you expected? I fear your family will be frantic with worry.”
“They’re not expecting me at all, my lord. My visit was to be a surprise.”
Aldous watched a small pulse tap out a steady rhythm in Grace’s throat. He wanted to touch it, to feel the illusion of her life beneath his fingertips. Instead, he reached out and touched her hand. Her fingers curled around his as she placed her other hand on his brow. A tingle ran across his scalp. Why, all at once, did this illusion not feel like an illusion anymore?
“You’re a little feverish, I suspect,” she murmured.
“Is this…?” He gazed up at her. “Are…are you real, Grace?”
A smile lit her face, transforming her pleasant features into something quite lovely. She took her hand from his brow, but kept the other wrapped around his fingers.
“Very much so, Captain.”
“But, I don’t…”
He said you’d died. Julian told me you’d died. Why would he say that if…?
“She died, Aldous.”
She! Julian had said ‘she’. Not ‘Grace’. But if not Grace, then who? Unless…
Grace tilted her head. “You don’t what, sir?”
A dizzying suspicion crept into Aldous’s brain. “What…what of Lady Thackeray. Is she here?”
Grace sighed and looked to Lord Thackeray, who shook his head. “The baroness died soon after Grace was born,” he said. “In fact, I believe it was around the time you met Julian. I wonder you don’t remember it.”
The blood drained from Aldous’s head. God help him, he’d misunderstood. All these years, he’d had it completely wrong. Julian’s baby sister had not died. She’d lived. She was here now, standing before him, touching him. He stared at her unabashed, stupefied by the reality of her existence.
“No,” he said. “I don’t remember anything about that, my lord. I beg your pardon. It seems I’m a little confused.”
“Hardly surprising, given what you’ve been through.” Grace removed her hand from his. “So, will you eat or drink something? After which, with respect, I think it best you retire for the night. You’re terribly pale.”
Aldous curled his fingers into a fist, trying to keep the warmth of Grace’s touch from fading away. A lifelong weight had just been wrenched from his heart, and he didn’t quite know how to react. He wanted to laugh. He also wanted to weep. But he simply smiled and addressed the lady as befitting her station. “I would very much like a drink, Miss Thackeray,” he replied. “Brandy, if you please.”
*
Grace left her bed well before sunrise and peeked through her curtains at an unrecognizable world. Snow countered the darkness, blanketing the ground as far as the eye could see, and drifting in places where it had been herded by the wind. Given the conditions, Grace doubted their enigmatic visitor would be able to leave Highfield even if he felt up to it. Indoors, before a blazing coal fire, she decided, was the only sensible place to be on such a bleak day.
The thought of spending a day in the captain’s company caused a flutter in her belly, though she scowled at her reaction. Oh, the man was undeniably pleasing to the eye and not without a certain charm, but something about Aldous Northcott didn’t quite make sense.
While his ordeal on the moor might be responsible for some of his confused behavior, it didn’t entirely explain it away. His reaction to her, in particular, had been beyond strange. The look on his face when she’d announced her name had been one of utter shock, like that of a man who’d been introduced to a ghost. And the subsequent way he kept staring at her had been unsettling rather than flattering.
“I’m truly sorry, Grace. I didn’t know. I was only a child. Please forgive me.”
Sorry for what? Forgive him for what? And the casual use of her Christian name was an unusual lapse for a man of his breeding. But it didn’t sound like a lapse. Nor did it sound casual. Rather, it gave Grace an impression of absolute familiarity. As if Aldous Northcott had known her forever. He’d admitted to knowing Julian, but it had apparently been a brief, childhood friendship. One that had not endured. She wondered why, since the Captain admitted that Julian had made a ‘lasting impression’ on him. Yet another enigma.
And, heavens above, he’d dared to touch her. Taken her hand in his. Her father’s back had visibly stiffened, prompting Grace to deflect the incident, suggesting the captain’s outrageous behavior was due to a feverish mind.
But his forehead had been cool. No sign of fever.
Then had followed the strangest question of all. “Are you real, Grace?
He’d gone from acting as though he’d known her all his life to doubting her existence. Extremely odd.
After she’d reassured him, his demeanor had changed. Almost as if he’d awoken from a dream. He’d subsequently addressed her according to propriety and requested a glass of brandy, which he’d drunk a little faster than wisdom decreed. After that, he’d retired to bed.
A sudden gust of wind rattled Grace’s window, startling her from her reverie. With cold nipping at her face, she pulled the curtains shut and tugged her wrap tighter about her shoulders. She had yet to hear the downstairs clock chime and wondered at the hour. As a rule, Connie brought tea to her room at six each morning. Unwilling to wait, she dressed hurriedly by candlelight and pinned her unruly hair back in its customary tight chignon.
Not a sound disturbed the household, which suggested an early hour. Grace crept past the captain’s chamber, feeling the same flutter of anticipation in her belly as she wondered how he fared. The mystery of him excited and intrigued her. Perhaps she might solve it today.
The clock in the hallway showed a quarter to five. Grace shivered as she opened the parlor door, expecting to see a cold hearth. She was not beyond setting a fire and resolved to do so. To her surprise, the fireplace greeted her with a bright flame, its warmth already lifting the early morning chill from the room.
“Miss Thackeray.” The silhouette of a man rose up from her father’s armchair. “Good morning.”
“Oh! Captain Northcott.” Grace’s fingers flew to her throat as if to halt her gasp of surprise. “I didn’t think anyone… I mean, I assumed you’d still be asleep,”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He gave an apologetic smile. “I’m used to rising early, though I confess not quite as early as this. I hope you don’t mind that I set the fire.”
“No, not at all. It’s most welcoming.” Grace hesitated a moment as propriety lifted its head again. She decided to ignore it and closed the door behind her. At twenty-one years of age, with nary a suitor in sight, what did she care about such things? And though their guest had exhibited some odd behavior, she didn’t find him in the least threatening. “How are you feeling? You are indeed up and about early. Did you manage to get any sleep?”
“I’m feeling much better, Miss Thackeray. Thank you.” He waited till she’d taken the seat opposite before retaking his own. “And yes, I slept.”
“Good.” Grace cursed the now familiar flutter in her stomach as she scrutinized his appearance. “You certainly look better this morning.”
In truth, he looked rather weary, though his color had improved. His near-black hair had been combed into a semblance of neatness, but the dark beginnings of a beard shadowed his jaw, giving him a somewhat unkempt appearance. The question of his belongings had not been broached the previous evening. He’d had no luggage except for a couple of saddle bags, which had been placed in his chamber.
As if aware of the direction of her thoughts, the captain rubbed his jaw. “My luggage was to follow on, so I only have a few things with m
e—enough for a couple of days. Please excuse my lack of grooming. I didn’t dare shave this morning. Still feel a little bit shaky, I’m afraid. My room has a rather splendid Oriental rug on the floor, and I didn’t want to bleed on it.”
Grace smiled. “I appreciate that, Captain. And I’m sure Herbert will be happy to assist you with shaving. He’ll be up and about anytime. I don’t think it would be wise to continue your journey today, either. The conditions outside are still frightful.”
He returned her smile, though it lasted but a moment. “Yes, they are. It seems I must make use of your hospitality a little longer yet.”
“You’re most welcome to it, sir, for as long as you have need. Though I do hope you manage to get home in time for Christmas.”
An odd expression flitted across his face as he turned away to gaze into the fire. “You’re very kind, Miss Thackeray.”
Such a polite and stilted exchange, Grace thought. An entirely different flavor to that of the previous evening. She had so many questions, but did she dare ask them? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as Julian used to say. Julian. Dear God, she missed him so. Perhaps speaking of him would be a good place to begin.
She cleared her throat and fiddled with her skirts. “I was wondering, Captain, if you’d tell me how you first met—”
The door opened, and a housemaid stepped into the room with a bucket of coal, her eyes widening as she halted. “Beg pardon, Miss. I didn’t realize there was someone in here.”
“That’s all right, Peggy.” Grace gestured to the hearth. “Fill the scuttle and then ask Connie to bring some tea and toast, please. Or would you prefer coffee, Captain Northcott?”
He shifted in the chair. “Tea is fine, Miss Thackeray.”
The girl did as bidden, bobbing a curtsey as she left.
“We don’t have a large permanent staff at Highfield,” Grace said after the door closed once more. “We really don’t need one, since there’s only my father and I. We’ve become somewhat reclusive of late, I’m afraid. Father’s health has declined since Julian died, so he doesn’t travel anymore.”
The captain shook his head. “I was truly sorry to hear of Julian’s death, Miss Thackeray.”
A brief smile touched her lips. “I light a candle for him each night and place it in the wheel-window.”
“A sign of life,” he murmured.
“Pardon?”
“Last night, Highfield’s windows were all dark except for that solitary candle, so I knew someone was home.” He regarded her with an indefinable expression. “For me, it was a sign of life.”
“Oh, I see!” Gooseflesh prickled across the back of her neck. “That’s…that’s actually a wonderful way to describe it. Julian was always so full of life.”
“And I first met him at the oak tree.” He arched a questioning brow. “I assume that’s what you were about to ask me before we were interrupted.”
“Yes.” Grace’s heart took a little leap. “Yes, it was. Will you tell me about it, please, Captain?”
“I—”
A knock came to the door, and Herbert entered with a tray of the requested tea and toast.
Grace rose, barely suppressing a sigh. “Why are you doing that, Herbert? Where’s Constance?”
“She was on her way here with the tray, Miss, and so was I, so I relieved her of it. No need for us both to be bothering you.” He gave a nod of greeting to Captain Northcott and set the tray down on the sideboard. “Lord Thackeray asked me to let you know he won’t be down for breakfast but will join you for lunch.”
“Oh, dear.” Grace rubbed at her temple. “He had a bad night?”
Herbert grimaced. “A restless night, Miss, though he appears to be in fairly good spirits. He said not to worry yourself. He’d simply like to have a little more sleep. I’m to wake him at eleven.”
Somewhat appeased, Grace heaved a sigh. “Very well. Thank you, Herbert. I’ll serve the tea.”
The man nodded again. “I’m also at your service, Captain Northcott, should there be anything you need.”
The captain rubbed his jaw again. “A shave would be most welcome, Herbert. A little later, perhaps?”
“As you wish, sir. Just say when. Breakfast at nine, Miss?”
“Yes, thank you.” Grace fidgeted as the door closed. “Right, hopefully, there’ll be no further interruptions. How do you take your tea, Captain Northcott?”
*
Aldous had spent much of the night trying to come to terms with the truth about Grace. Though it gladdened his heart beyond words, he could scarcely use it to absolve himself. Perhaps, though, he might now move on with his life and find fulfillment. The only additional regret was learning of Julian’s demise, and at Waterloo, no less. The image of the surgeon’s bloody apron slid into his mind.
Aldous thrust it aside and instead regarded the young woman seated across from him. Her hair had been pulled back in the usual unflattering manner, though with a little less care, perhaps, than the previous evening. He wondered what it looked like loose.
She fidgeted.
He was staring, he realized, and cleared his throat. For the first time ever, he’d be sharing memories of his visit to Highfield. But not all of them, he’d decided. Only those meaningful to Grace.
“The first time I met Julian, he was sitting up in the old oak tree,” he began. “It was a Wednesday. I know that, because…”
And his tale continued.
Grace sat facing him, her tea going cold in its cup, her gaze intent as she listened without interrupting. He surely imagined the images reflected in her eyes—visions of her brother as she had never known him. A skinny boy with curls and freckles, who had dropped out of an ancient oak tree and landed at Aldous’s feet. A boy who loved his pony, an extraordinary house called Highfield, and his new-born baby sister.
Grace had cried at that, soundless tears that slid down her cheeks, dragging Aldous’s self-worth with them. He sent up a silent prayer begging forgiveness, remembering the other time she’d cried. He’d gone on to describe the rain shower and the subsequent game of dominoes, though he’d omitted to say where the game had taken place or who had won.
“When the rain stopped, I said goodbye and returned to Northcott Manor. I left two days later for London.”
“My mother died on the Thursday, so you wouldn’t have known about it.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “And you never saw Julian after that?”
“Not after I left Northcott, no.” Not exactly a lie, in context. “I was sent off to boarding school almost immediately. Then I went to Oxford, and from there into the army. This is my first visit to Yorkshire since I was a child.”
“Well, you certainly paint a vivid picture with your words, Captain. Your recall of that single day is quite remarkable.” Grace heaved a sigh. “Please make allowances for my earlier tears. I hope they didn’t discomfort you too much.”
Oh, the pertinence of that remark! Aldous took back his prayer and cursed himself to an eternity in Hades instead. “It was a special day that has stayed clear in my memory, Miss Thackeray. As for your tears, I regret having caused them.”
She shook her head. “I’m fortunate to have heard about your brief friendship with my brother, though I must say I think it a pity it didn’t continue. I believe it could have been something quite special.”
*
Aldous, now clean-shaven, had joined Grace for breakfast. Two hours later, they were still seated at the table, talking about anything and everything. Aldous found himself drawn to her, eager to learn about her likes and dislikes. For almost his entire existence, she’d been an unknown part of him. A life unlived.
Through her, too, he renewed his connection to Julian. Whenever Grace spoke of her brother, a light came to her eyes. And Aldous found himself wishing, foolishly, that he might merit a similar light in her eyes one day. He knew, of course, it could never be. Not with her or any other woman.
Lord Thackeray appeared around noon, assuring Grace that he felt quit
e rested. The rest of the day passed in a lazy but pleasant fashion, ending with a casual dinner. Outside, a fresh, south-westerly wind had begun to shift the snow.
“I should think you’ll be on your way tomorrow, Captain,” Lord Thackeray said. “Not that we’re in a hurry to see you leave, of course. But I’m sure you’d like to be with your family for Christmas.”
“I’m more than grateful for your hospitality, my lord.” Aldous gave a grim smile. “If not for Highfield, I doubt I’d have seen Christmas at all this year.”
“I’d rather not linger on that thought,” Grace said, setting her napkin aside. “I wonder, Captain, if you’d care to accompany me while I light Julian’s candle.”
He rose. “I’d be honored, Miss Thackeray.”
“Good. And after that, I think I shall retire.” She went to her father and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight, Father.”
“Goodnight, my dear.”
Though not a particularly religious man, Aldous nevertheless whispered a prayer for his childhood friend as Grace lit the solitary candle.
“A sign of life,” she said, eyes soft as she regarded him. “From now on, Captain, I shall always think of it that way.”
Chapter Five
Friday, 24 December, 1819 AD
Aldous paused at the oak tree and looked back toward Highfield. What was it about that blasted house? Once again, his experience there had been profound, linking him inexorably to its ancient walls and those who lived within. While some ghosts had been put to rest, others had manifested. And Grace Thackeray, it seemed, still occupied his heart.
“No escape, Aldous,” he murmured, urging his horse onward. “No escape.”
His unexpected arrival at Northcott Manor created quite a stir. Again, for some unfathomable reason, he never mentioned Highfield. Only that the coach had been delayed, and with it, his luggage.
