by Jane Ashford
The group paused to look at a huge painting of a battle. In the wavering light of their candles the mounted troopers seemed to lunge at each other. “Is that meant to be Bosworth Field?” asked Sarah.
“Yes,” replied Compton. “That’s supposed to be John Rathbone, the third baron, in the center.”
“The one with his eyes nearly closed?” asked Charlotte.
The duke nodded. “He looks the same in his portrait in the gallery. Half-asleep.”
Sleepwalking, thought Ada. She’d never done anything like that before. It worried her. Well, she never would again, she vowed, pushing the subject from her thoughts. One could refuse to think about distressing topics. That mostly worked.
“Not too smart for fighting,” said Tom. “I’d think you’d want to keep your eyes open for that.”
“Indeed,” said Macklin.
At Ada’s feet, Ella sneezed. She looked down and saw that her little dog’s fur was coated with dust. She bent to brush her off as the others moved on and was surprised by a low growl. “I’m only cleaning you, Ella,” she said. Then she realized that Ella wasn’t looking at her. Following the dog’s gaze, Ada discovered a pair of glowing green eyes staring from under a chest in the corner. “Oh!” she cried.
“What is it?” The duke was beside her. Ada pointed. The eyes disappeared and reappeared, as if something had slowly blinked.
“Just one of the cats,” said Compton. “I expect we’ve passed several by this time.”
“But Ella didn’t bark.” Her dog’s growl was more a felt vibration than a sound.
“A mark of wisdom,” he replied. “These cats are larger than she is and more than half wild.”
“Oh.” Ada decided to carry her dog. That fact that Ella didn’t object to being picked up, as she usually would have, said much.
“Are you completely recovered?” Compton added. “I was concerned last night—”
“I am,” she interrupted.
He stepped back, looking daunted. Which Ada regretted, but she didn’t want anyone to overhear and ask what he was talking about. He’d promised not to tell.
They passed through another locked door into a section of the house with bare stone walls and no furnishings. Ada felt a breath of air against her cheek. She set Ella and her candle down, put on the shawl she’d been carrying over her arm, and retrieved the dog and the light. Moving forward, Ada stumbled over an uneven spot in the tiles. “Broken flooring along here,” warned the duke. “Tread carefully.”
“You could play hide-and-seek forever in this place,” said Charlotte.
“‘Forever’ is the word,” replied Compton. “There was no way to check all the possible hiding places.”
It sounded as if he spoke from experience. Ada could imagine Delia hiding so well she couldn’t be found. And then popping out in triumph when everyone had given up. Except there had only been the two of them in this great pile—no everyone. That seemed sad.
They emerged from a sizable room at a spot where the outer wall had fallen away. The opening showed a wide view of the valley below. Everyone set their candlesticks on a stone ledge. With a glance at Ada, Charlotte herded the others over to look out. “Stay back from the edge,” Compton said. He started toward the group.
It was now or never. Ada spoke before he could move away. “Where was Delia’s room?”
He stopped and looked down at her.
“She said not to call her Lady Delia. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I?” He gestured at the ruined wall. “I’m in no position to stand on ceremony.”
When she’d first seen this man last year, Ada had been surprised by the idea that she would like to kiss him. After last night, the thought was back, much stronger. Nearly irresistible. Which made normal conversation difficult. “Delia used to talk about her turret,” Ada said. His dark eyes and the shape of his lips were so distracting. The word spellbound floated through Ada’s consciousness. “It sounded like an amazing place.”
“We’ve passed that stair,” he said. “It’s just as you leave the modern wing.”
“Delia lived in the old part of the house?” It seemed an odd quirk. Then, when she thought of her lost friend, it fit. She’d been unusual. As was her brother. Living here at Alberdene, both Rathbones had become rather like legendary figures in their crumbling castle, Ada thought.
“Yes. My father let my sister do as she pleased in many ways. They were kindred spirits.” His tone was flat.
“Do you mind me asking about her?” Ada gazed up at him. “People go all stiff when I mention Delia. They think I should have forgotten her by now.” As if a girl so fierce and vital one morning and then stiff and cold at the foot of a cliff a few hours later could be simply dismissed. She pushed away the image of Delia dead. Such people were idiots.
“I don’t mind,” he replied slowly, as if just now realizing this. “I’ve had no one to talk to about her death.”
“Or her life,” said Ada. “The way she died was terrible, but it didn’t wipe out her existence! We ought to be able to speak of her.”
Compton looked much struck by this observation. He nodded.
“She was such an original. Of course you knew her better than I.” He would tell her pleasant things about his sister, Ada thought. Memories that would outweigh Delia’s sad end. She would remember her friend, who would never hurt her, and that would replace the dreams.
“I doubt it,” he replied. “She was five years younger. I was sent off to school when she was scarcely more than a toddler. Our mother had fallen ill and—”
“Your papa could think of nothing but her,” said Ada. “He put everyone else out of the way.” At his look of surprise, she added. “That’s what Delia told me.”
“Did she?”
Ada nodded. “She said it felt as if the whole world went off and left her.”
He looked concerned. “I didn’t want to go. Particularly to…”
When he said no more, Ada asked, “To?”
“A somewhat strange school,” he answered in a distant tone.
“Well, you didn’t have any choice, I suppose.” Ella wriggled in her arms. Ada looked at the little dog. “If I set you down, will you go to Sarah?”
Ella’s tongue lolled, her eyes bright.
Ada put her on the floor, keeping hold of her lead. With a few quick steps, she handed the lead to Sarah and returned.
Compton was gazing at her as if he found her puzzling. Ada spoke quickly, before he could say that they should rejoin the others. “Partly it was just Delia being dramatic, I think, about the turret,” she said, picking up the conversation a few steps back from where they’d left off. “She loved living in this house. She made it sound like a fairy-tale castle.”
“An exaggeration,” said Compton, encompassing the ruins with a gesture.
“That depends on the fairy tale, I suppose.”
The duke looked startled. He examined her as if he wondered whether she was joking, and then he smiled.
A smile couldn’t actually warm you, Ada thought. Except this one did. It sent a wave of heat rushing through her and left her a bit breathless. “Delia couldn’t help embroidering, I think,” she managed. “She described the house as like a dragon lying over the ridge, with the tower as its head.”
“That was my idea! A blatant appropriation.” His smile faded. “I thought they didn’t like it.”
“They?”
“Delia and my father.” He looked out through the opening in the wall. “They preferred their own forms of language.”
“Forms? I don’t understand.”
“That was the point.” He appeared to be seeing something other than the valley view. “They seemed more alike every time I came home from school. They had private jokes and wild theories that went on and on until I was quite bewildered. After a while, it felt
as if they were the Alberdene family and I was an interloper.”
“I’m sure they didn’t mean that,” said Ada.
“Are you? Why?”
He turned, and his dark gaze transfixed her. Ada didn’t know how to answer. She’d spoken without thinking, out of an impulse to comfort.
After what seemed like a long time, but wasn’t, he went on. “I don’t know. I only had one school holiday a year, so I scarcely saw them. And then Papa died, and I was expected to take charge. I think Delia resented that a good deal.”
Ada could imagine this. Her friend had been very proprietary about her home. But these weren’t the carefree childish memories she’d been expecting. More of a sad fairy tale of young people shut up in towers, she thought.
“And of course she missed Papa more than I did,” he continued. “She hardly spoke. She seemed so isolated. That’s why I sent her to school. To make friends. A respected school with pupils from good families. Though she didn’t want to go. Which is a mild way of describing—” Compton blinked. He looked down at Ada. “I beg your pardon. I can’t think what made me run on like that.”
“Being allowed to talk about Delia suddenly,” she answered. “I’ve done the same. It makes some people uncomfortable.”
“Does it?” He seemed to be one of them.
“But not me.”
The duke examined her, then smiled again. “Delia did make friends, as I’d hoped. I’m glad. And perhaps you knew my sister better than I ever did.”
His smile could melt hearts, Ada thought. Those that weren’t already molten. “I cared about her,” she managed. “Would you show me her room?”
“Oh, I—”
“She called it her aerie.”
He nodded. “I suppose your friends would like to see it as well.” He looked over at the group.
“Oh no, it should be just the two of us.”
The duke blinked.
As well he might. That had come out rather more forcefully than Ada intended. And the request—demand?—was not precisely proper. Indeed, it might be considered improper. But she had a mission to accomplish and no time to spare. Her aunt wouldn’t let her stay at Alberdene long. “Tomorrow morning,” she declared. She would find him before the others were up.
“Yes, I think that is a rowan tree,” said Charlotte loudly.
It was a clear signal that the other conversation was limping badly.
Compton turned to his other guests. “We should move on.”
Ada couldn’t deny it. She could regret it, though. And she did. He hadn’t actually promised to show her Delia’s room. She hadn’t told him about the paper she’d found. Or asked him what he thought it might mean. Remembering things like facts was next to impossible when he was gazing at her.
“Leave the candles,” said Compton, moving toward an archway further along. “We’ll get them when we come back this way.” He gestured at Tom, who snuffed the flames.
As she took Ella back from Sarah, Ada began to plan. She needed to see where Delia had nested in this rambling building. For a whole variety of reasons. There would be much to learn there. And then she had a great many things to say to Delia’s brother. More occurred to her with every moment now that he was a little distance away. She simply needed to remember them when he was nearby. Perhaps she should make notes?
The duke led them on through an increasingly ruined building. The path turned from tiles to broken fragments and then to dirt as the walls grew lower around them. Occasionally, a short run of stairs took them higher. One had a missing tread they had to step carefully over. Finally, they passed under a stone arch and came to the remains of the tower on the top of the ridge. Stone steps brought them to a broken platform that had once been a floor. Ada pulled her shawl closer in the crisp breeze.
A panorama spread out around them. The ridge dropped away from the tower on all sides. Behind them, the house rambled downward. It did look rather like an ungainly animal sprawled over the hill, Ada thought. Ahead was a valley with a small river at the bottom. Hills rolled away at the sides, splashed with autumn colors. Ella strained at the end of her leash, sniffing.
Charlotte and Tom went to examine a ruined stairwell in the middle of the tower. The opening was choked with rubble. Harriet and Sarah flanked Lord Macklin and drew him over to point out features in the valley. Ada took advantage. “So we will go to see Delia’s room tomorrow morning. After breakfast.” She made these statements rather than questions. Her aunt didn’t leave her room until noon. There would be time.
“Umm,” said the duke, sounding distracted. He moved toward the group standing with the earl. “Don’t go too close to that large rock, Miss Finch,” he said. “It isn’t stable.”
His voice was filled with concern. Any chance of a tête-à-tête was over for now, Ada thought. But it was all right. She’d wait for tomorrow.
Ella backed away from one jumble of stones, her hackles raised.
“That leads to the cats’ main den,” said Compton. “Best keep her away. That footing isn’t safe, Miss Moran. Do step back.”
He was sounding more and more uneasy. Most likely their perch reminded him of Delia’s fall. It rather did Ada. “The wind is chilly, isn’t it?” she said. “We should go back.”
Sarah’s reproachful look crossed the duke’s grateful one, and Ada basked a bit in the latter. She’d make it up to Sarah later, Ada thought. That, and the rest. She suspected that she would owe her friends a number of favors before this visit ended.
A mocking look from Charlotte assured her that she was right. Comradely accounts were being tallied. Reciprocation would be required.
Peter was glad to usher his guests away from the tower ruins. He knew that Miss Moran, at least, wanted to stay, but his mind was full of potential accidents—a young lady stepping wrong and breaking an ankle or, worse, falling as Delia had. He could almost see a slender figure stumbling and disappearing over a bit of broken parapet. Foolish, perhaps, but it seemed impossible to watch over them all.
Particularly with Miss Ada at his elbow. She occupied his attention in a way no one had before in his life. And she was certainly more forthright than any young lady he’d ever talked with. Not that there’d been very many. Were fashionable girls usually so outspoken? Was the haut ton not at all like his imaginings?
Peter glanced at her and took in those fearsome eyebrows, recalling that the formidable Miss Julia Grandison was her aunt. Perhaps that was it—a tendency to give orders ran in Miss Ada’s family. She’d nearly snapped his nose off when he’d started to inquire about the sleepwalking. And yet last night, she’d been a creature of fathomless gazes and soft curves. Altogether a confusing situation. It seemed all too likely he’d make a misstep.
She’d been a good friend to his sister. He knew that. Exactly the sort of connection he’d hoped for when he sent Delia away. If he hadn’t known that already, he would have heard it in the way Miss Ada spoke of her today.
Her words had touched something long hidden and neglected. Was he glad or sorry to have his sister so vividly evoked? Peter wasn’t sure. Now, he almost expected to round a corner and find her here, digging through some ancient cabinet, hands filthy, a smudge of dust on her nose. She’d always been doing things like that. No one had known Alberdene better than Delia. And vice versa, in a way. Sometimes one of the cats would come out and sit at her feet, and they would stare at each other, silently passing arcane knowledge. They did for no one else. Certainly not him.
Must he think of that?
Ahead, Miss Finch threw back her head and laughed at some remark Tom had made. She looked carefree and extremely pretty. Peter decided he would seat her on his left side at dinner tonight. It made sense to shift the young ladies about after all, so as not to single out any one in the group. And if pleasure came into it, well, that was a bonus. He would enjoy becoming better acquainted with a girl who laug
hed so happily.
This appealing idea lasted just moments before reality rushed in. He had nothing to offer any lady, Peter thought—a title as threadbare as his tattered sofa cushions, manners wholly without town polish, a creaking estate that was certainly nothing to laugh about. What had he been thinking? Flirtation could only lead to disappointment, if not worse.
He walked faster, moving ahead of the ladies. Directing them to retrieve the candlesticks, he took them back by a different route. They went up a set of stairs in the seventeenth-century section and across the upper floor of cramped, mostly empty bedchambers. He ignored the swag of tapestry that covered one entry to Delia’s old quarters. Of course he couldn’t take Miss Ada up there alone. No doubt she had already realized that.
“Are you all right?” asked Macklin, who had come up beside him.
Behind them, Miss Ada’s dog sneezed three times in quick succession.
“Spirits dampened by the decay of my domain,” Peter said, attempting lightness.
“The years have certainly taken their toll,” replied the older man.
This was one of the things Peter liked most about Macklin. The earl didn’t offer empty platitudes. Yet there had been no disparagement in his tone either. He simply said the thing that others might have evaded or glossed over. It was curiously relaxing.
They came down at a different door into the modern wing. Peter unlocked it and ushered his group out into a corridor near the kitchen. As he was relocking the entry, he was surprised to hear Miss Julia Grandison’s voice booming nearby. Concerned that she had some complaint, he turned in that direction, hardly aware that the others were following.
