A Haunting at Havenwood (Seasons of Change Book 6)

by Sally Britton

  He paused, halfway down the lane, and turned to look at the Lodge. Framed by the woods, with gray clouds creeping across the sky, the old stone and timber house looked as it always had. As he had always loved Havenwood. His time spent among the woods, climbing up the trees and over the hills, were among his favorite memories. He had first dreamed of treasure hunts, bandits, and adventure beneath the shadows of the Havenwood trees.

  Why not spend more time during the year at the Lodge? He could, when not dancing attendance on his sisters during the Season, retreat to Havenwood. Louisa seemed to enjoy the countryside, and the quiet it offered.

  His chest warmed as he considered making plans to include Louisa’s desires and needs. Would she accept an offer of courtship? If things went well, would she accept him?

  Chasing after a kitten through the back garden had not been Louisa’s plan when she took the little rascal outside. Louisa had named the little beast Thyme, but the name Terror seemed more appropriate. The gray-striped tabby had run through the garden, chasing after the wind.

  “This is hardly ladylike,” Louisa called, hurrying across the stone pavers to the back of the walled-in garden. “Cook said you were perfectly calm when she brought you out. I must say, I expected better of you.”

  Thyme paused in her run, only to bound at a moth resting in the grass. The moth took flight without harm, and Thyme followed.

  Louisa laughed when the kitten attempted another attack, but the moth had climbed too high, so Thyme instead performed a strange aerial somersault, then tumbled onto her feet.

  The kitten’s tail twitched, and she looked at Louisa with obvious disdain.

  “I cannot help it. You were ridiculous.” Louisa laughed again when the kitten flicked its tail and rolled onto its back, waving paws in the air.

  Lowering herself to the grass beside the kitten, Louisa plucked a thick blade of grass and dangled it just out of reach of the beastie. Each time the paw batted at the grass, barely out of its grasp, Louisa felt the band around her heart loosen.

  She had hardly slept the night before and had been distracted all morning. So distracted, she had nearly dropped her aunt’s favorite teapot, sewn a sleeve closed, and tried to read a book upside-down.

  Aunt Penrith had sent her out of doors, half-exasperated. “Fresh air will help clear your mind. Come back when you wish, but not before you can focus on the present.” Then her great-aunt had muttered something about besotted young people.

  Louisa released a sigh and dropped the grass into Thyme’s waiting paws. The cat started chewing the tip, then shredding it with her sharp little teeth.

  I am not besotted. There was no point in speaking the thought aloud. Kittens certainly did not understand people or their complicated emotions.

  A crisp breeze snapped through the garden, making Louisa shiver. Though Autumn was but halfway through, the days had not yet been too cold. Perhaps that would change at October’s end.

  Louisa laid back in the grass, staring at the brush of dark clouds above. The clouds threatened rain, though she had yet to hear the rumble of thunder.

  Closing her eyes, Louisa thought again on the previous evening. Mr. Cunningham’s character had surprised her. Though he treated her kindly, and with solicitude, his true nature had revealed itself when he openly mocked Ras. She had expected such behavior from his haughty sisters, but surely they had thought to restrain themselves, given their interest in the Grey family fortune.

  The whole family had, instead, proved horrid.

  Ras just sat there, through the abuse, saying nothing.

  Everyone had their faults. She had rather hers be something like a stammer than a streak of cruelty.

  She brushed aside the unpleasant thoughts and instead focused on the moments at the pianoforte. While she could claim no great skill with the instrument, she did enjoy playing. And Ras’s voice had more than made up for any skill she lacked. He sang so well—and there was never a stammer in the song.

  There had been glances between them, too, that made her blush to remember. She had felt, rather unreasonably she supposed, that they understood one another’s thoughts with those glances. And just before Ras left, when they faced each other at the door, she had been so certain that he felt as she did. That he felt there was more to be had than mere friendship.

  It was all in her imagination. It must be. Her lingering curiosity regarding a kiss had bloomed into a fantasy that involved more. If he came upon her before she untangled reality from her personal fiction, Louisa was in very real danger of betraying her feelings.

  “Miss Banner?”

  Her heart gave one great thud, and her eyes fluttered open.

  Ras bent over her, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. “Are you napping out of doors today?”

  Her smile came most naturally. “Of course. Did you not know, it is the very height of fashion to take one’s ease in damp grass? You ought to try it for yourself. I find it most refreshing.”

  His grin appeared, and his eyebrows raised as he teased her. “I imagine the effect is similar to sea-bathing, as nearly the same amount of water must be used. Especially as you are about to enjoy the rainfall.”

  She blinked and turned her eyes skyward. The clouds had darkened. “Ah, yes. That might be a bit too much.”

  His gloved hand appeared above her. “Then allow me to remove you from the situation.”

  Louisa had ventured out of doors with the cat and without gloves or bonnet. She had put on her spencer and boots but had given no other thought to warmth. She had not meant to be outside long.

  She took his hand and had the pleasure of seeing her slim fingers disappear in his grasp. Then he tugged her upward until she stood erect once more. She met his blue eyes squarely with her gaze, and the world grew still.

  She spoke in a hushed tone, though there was no one to hear but him. “I did not expect to see you again so soon.”

  “I did not think to come.” His thumb brushed gently across her bare knuckles. “But I found that I could not remain home. So here I am.” There was more to his explanation, and his eyes silently beseeched her to understand.

  Louisa’s cheeks warmed, and she lowered her gaze to his cravat. The knot was crooked, the folds and fluffs of the neckcloth rumpled. He had done it himself, of course, without a valet to assist him. Louisa smiled and put her free hand to the cloth to tug an edge straight.

  His other gloved hand caught hers against his chest. Louisa raised her eyelashes slowly, drawing in a quick breath.

  He caught her lips in his, stealing away what remained of her gasp.

  Kissing Ras was nothing like she had imagined. It was much, much better.

  His hands released hers to go around her waist, to the small of her back, holding her close. His lips slanted across hers, certain of each movement, offering her affection and reassurance and more she had no words to describe.

  When they parted his eyes remained closed, and he tilted his forehead to rest against hers. “I have longed to taste you like that, Louisa. I could wait no longer. I hope—I hope you did not mind.” His sky blue eyes opened, full of wonder and concern.

  “Not in the least.” Her breath escaped in a soft laugh. “I was rather curious myself.”

  He kissed her again, a soft brush of the lips this time, and then stepped back. He retook her hand in his. He began to speak, stammering a single word, until he swallowed and began again, speaking more slowly. “Will you allow me to court you?”

  Louisa’s mother would have advised her to hide her joy at the question. But as she had hidden nothing thus far from the rather wonderful man standing before her, Louisa’s smile came straight from her heart. “Yes. Please.”

  He returned her grin and bent as though to kiss her again, but Thyme sprung at them from the grass, hooking her little claws in Louisa’s dress before darting away again as though she had been particularly clever.

  Ras and Louisa laughed. He threaded his fingers through hers and they followed after the kitt
en, hardly speaking. But the need for words lessened when people spoke to each other with their hearts.

  Chapter 19

  I am to be married.

  Louisa stared at that single sentence in her mother’s handwriting, uncomprehending. She had woken late to the sound of rain pattering against the window, her throat aching. Aunt Penrith insisted Louisa go immediately back to bed and had sent her with tea and the sealed letter to her room. The tea had included large spoonfuls of honey.

  Mrs. Banner wrote the words in her familiar sharp hand, but the meaning behind them made no sense. Her mother. Married?

  My dear friend Mrs. Shirley reintroduced me to her brother. We are to wed the first Sunday in November. As my daughter, I expect your presence at our wedding. Mr. Gillingsworth and I will spend the Season in London, as I have always wished. You may live at his house in Bromley, which is near enough should I have need of you.

  The rest of the letter included detailed instructions for Louisa to make her way to Mrs. Shirley’s abode in Newcastle. Nothing more. No affectionate asides, nothing reassuring about the requirement for Louisa to live apart from her mother. Louisa was to pay Sarah half of the money they had promised the maid for a year’s time and dismiss her.

  Sinking back against her pillow, Louisa rubbed at her eyes. Her throat felt better after the tea, but a growing ache in her head made her feel far from well.

  Louisa put the letter upon her bedside table and snuggled deeper into the bed, hiding beneath her quilt.

  The lack of her mother’s scrutiny and dictation had allowed Louisa freedom, and that freedom had led her to Ras. For the first time in her life, she came and went according to her own pleasure. She spoke to whom she wished, formed her own opinions, and had the liberty to feel as she desired. She had accompanied Sarah to the Unicorn to speak to Bert and his mother. She had gone on long walks down country lanes and over hills.

  Most importantly, Louisa had fallen in love.

  She sniffled and emerged from beneath the bedcovers to find her handkerchief. When she took it from the table, she spotted her little notebook and pencil. The notebook containing all her thoughts on the treasure and the clues she had gathered at Havenwood.

  What was she to do? Abandon the search? And what of her new and tender relationship with Ras? Would their affection, so recently declared, last if they were parted?

  Louisa blew her nose and groaned. The action had made an explosion of pain occur within her head.

  Oh, and what if her mother found out about the Grey family fortune? Not the treasure, of course, but the money earned from their ownership of the mines. Mrs. Banner would ruin everything, pushing Louisa to behave a certain way, or pursue Ras in a distasteful manner.

  Her eyes filled with tears, the frustration and uncertainty destroying all good feelings. The rain outside continued, the downpour making her spirits sink further into gloom.

  A light knock on the door would have been easy to ignore. Louisa could have feigned sleep. But instead she dabbed at her nose before calling out, “Come in, please.”

  Aunt Penrith entered the room, a plate of ginger biscuits in hand, her smile as genuine and chipper as ever. She had a bright green shawl over one arm. “I thought I would bring you a bit more cheer, since the weather and your health fairly well trapped you inside today.”

  After she put the plate on the table, she took the shawl in both hands and leaned over Louisa, wrapping it over her shoulders. Then she plumped up Louisa’s pillow and bustled about the room, putting things to rights. “Have you clean handkerchiefs in the bureau?”

  “In the top right drawer.” Louisa watched her great aunt, a new pain in her heart. Though she had only been in her aunt’s home a few weeks, she recognized a warmth of spirit her aunt possessed that Mrs. Banner never even pretended. The contrast between her mother’s business-like letter and Aunt Penrith’s natural compassion was enough to make Louisa cry.

  “Oh, dear child. Tears?” Aunt Penrith hurried to the bed, taking up Louisa’s stool from her dressing table in order to settle beside her. The kindly woman handed Louisa the clean white handkerchiefs, then patted her knee through the blanket. “There, there, Louisa. Whatever has made you cry? It is not Mr. Grey, is it?” Her eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. “If he has hurt your heart in some way, I will have a word with him.”

  That made Louisa laugh, though the sound was watery and not at all merry. “No. Not Mr. Grey.” She sniffled and looked to her table where the letter remained, innocent in its appearance. “My mother’s letter—” She broke off, uncertain as to how to explain.

  Aunt Penrith did not rush her nor snatch the letter up to read it for herself as Mrs. Banner would have done. Instead, she waited, without any sign of impatience. That decided it for Louisa. She handed the letter to Aunt Penrith.

  “Please, read it. You ought to know.” She gripped the handkerchief tightly in her hand, looking down at her lap. Louisa waited for her aunt’s censure, disbelief, or even her indifference. For several seconds, the only sound in the room was that of the raindrops on the glass.

  Aunt Penrith lowered the letter to her lap, then she removed her spectacles and stared hard at Louisa. “It seems you have a choice to make. Though you must not fear on my account. Perhaps you would like your mother’s new house better than this one, and you would be nearer London. But if you decide to go, and you do not like it, you would always be welcome back here.”

  “If I decide to go?” Louisa’s swollen nose made her words come out rounder in sound than usual. “But—mustn’t I go to my mother?”

  “I do not see why it is necessary.” Aunt Penrith patted her on the knee again. “You are of age, at one and twenty. You can choose to go to your mother, as she asks, or to stay here and send her your good wishes. People very rarely travel for weddings, be they for friend or family.” Her aunt shifted, sitting upright. “I would never dream of telling anyone to disrespect their parent. You know that. But I am a firm believer that there comes a time when we must do what is best for ourselves. Your mother sent you here, without regard to how you would be received. I could have put you to work as a scullery maid and I do not think she would have cared.”

  For the first time since meeting her great aunt, Louisa saw a spark of fire in the woman’s eyes that had more to do with anger than wit. “Were you married, your mother would not make this demand of you. As it seems she does not intend to live in the same household as you, I do not see why you must go, unless it is what you want. You may stay here with me, and Sarah, too.”

  With such a blunt statement made, Louisa at last dared to speak the same way. “But what will happen to me after a year?” No one had ever fully discussed that point with her. Her mother said she would live with her aunt for a year, and that was all there was to the explanation.

  “You may stay on, dear. For as long as you wish. And should anything happen to me, the house will be sold, and the funds given to you for your own care. A woman ought to have the ability to be independent, should she wish it.”

  Louisa stared at her aunt, and her eyes filled with tears all over again. This time, inspired by an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. “You would keep me, Aunt Penrith?”

  “Always, child.” Aunt Penrith’s eyes appeared somewhat misty, but her cheerful smile—the one that made Louisa feel as though her great-aunt would have made the best mother in the world—reappeared. “I always adored your father. He was a kind, solicitous little boy, and a compassionate man. He wrote me nearly every week after my husband died. He lost his mother near the same time. In his letters, he always mentioned you. He wrote of how you had grown, the silly scrapes you would fall into, and how very much he loved you. I wrote to your mother some time ago and asked if you might come to stay with me one summer. She never wrote back.”

  Aunt Penrith’s eyebrows drew together and she shook her head, as though mystified. “I cannot think why.”

  Louisa knew. Her mother had been trying to marry Louisa off to someone of fortu
ne and had used Louisa the way one would a favorite accessory—as something to talk about and show off to her friends.

  Yet in private, Louisa was either ignored or criticized.

  Aunt Penrith had given her a way to never be either again. “Think on it, dear. Do not make big decisions in haste. It is always better to consider things closely, so when the time comes, you may go forward without regret.”

  Louisa nodded slowly, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Her aunt was everything that was good. There was also Ras to consider. Yes, she ought to think carefully before making any decisions.

  The note Ras sent to the Manse, after two days of missing Louisa, was answered by her great-aunt. As was proper. Louisa had a cold, and so would necessarily keep indoors. He had delivered copies of his other two finished novels to the Manse for her, but had not been allowed to see her then, either. At least she might enjoy his words, if not his company.

  Ras rattled about the Lodge with a scowl. Mrs. Douglas, not at all cowed by his mood, carried about her work with a lofty tilt to her head. She kept humming merry songs, too, as though that would somehow cheer him. It only made concentration more difficult.

  His book was nearly finished, yet he could not think of a way to end it. The baron and his governess had found their treasure, the majority of the credit going to the penniless woman and making her a woman of fortune, worthy of the baron’s attention. It was the perfect ending to a tale riddled with dark forests and stormy nights. Yet it did not sit quite right with Ras.

  Something was missing.

  “I am all for education, lad, but I really hoped ye would be more of a man of action.”

  Ras wished his grandfather’s ghost would go missing.