When You Wish

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Oh, no, I prefer to live quietly,” Miss Cresswell insisted in sincere tones.

  “Then we shall suit each other perfectly.”

  “Yes.” Miss Cresswell conjured a hesitant smile. “Although I am not quite certain what my duties shall be.”

  “Well, to be honest, I haven’t the faintest notion. What does a companion usually do?”

  Cedric watched Miss Cresswell blink in surprise. “Well . . . I suppose they answer correspondence and read aloud and ensure that their employer is always comfortable.”

  Lady Hartshore took a moment to ponder the suggestions.

  “That seems rather dull for you, my dear,” the older woman at last concluded. “A lovely young maiden should be enjoying the local entertainments, not dancing attendance upon an old woman.”

  Cedric lifted a hand to cover his twitching lips as he prepared for the revelations to come. The prim and proper Miss Cresswell was about to discover the true reason his aunt had hired a companion.

  “I do not understand.” Miss Cresswell’s brows puckered. “I am here to be your companion, am I not?”

  “Certainly,” Lady Hartshore assured her with another pat on the hand. “Fredrick was quite emphatic that I must hire a companion.”

  “Fredrick?”

  “My dear husband.”

  “Oh ... but . . . I presumed you were a widow.”

  Cedric’s hidden smile widened. He was far too familiar with his aunt to consider the notion she might remain discreet. She found nothing odd at all in her unusual notions.

  “I am. Fredrick died several years ago,” Lady Hartshore said serenely. “Still, he visits me quite frequently. I should be lost without him, you know.”

  The slender frame slowly stiffened as Miss Cresswell struggled to accept the truth of Lady Hartshore’s words.

  “Fredrick is a ... ghost?”

  As always, Lady Hartshore misinterpreted the hint of horror that accompanied her blithe confession.

  “Oh, you needn’t fear,” she assured the younger woman. “He isn’t a frightening specter. He merely bears me company and makes suggestions from time to time.”

  “I see.”

  “I must admit I was quite astonished when he first told me to hire a companion,” Lady Hartshore continued to chatter, blissfully unaware of the rather sick expression on her guest’s countenance. “After all, I am not feeble in any way. But I have learned to always heed dear Fredrick’s suggestions. You know, he once awoke me and told me to go down to the parlor and I discovered that a candle had caught the drapes on fire. And then there was the morning he locked Bart in his chambers so that he could not go in search of his treasure and we had that terrible flood. Of course, Bart was quite furious, and to be perfectly honest I am not certain that he has completely forgiven Fredrick. Still, it has taught me to always mind what Fredrick tells me.”

  Miss Cresswell’s lips opened once, twice, and then three times before she could speak.

  “Are you telling me that you hired me because a ghost told you to?”

  “Oh, no,” the countess denied, her expression sweetly sincere. “It was Fredrick who suggested that I hire a companion, but it was Mrs. Borelli who actually read the tea leaves and determined that you were the perfect choice.”

  Cedric felt a mixture of amusement and sympathy as Miss Cresswell’s hand dropped to clench in her lap. Even those closely acquainted with his aunt were at times disarmed by her casual reference to her dead husband. And, of course, it did not improve matters that her cook was a proclaimed fortune-teller. All very disturbing for a maiden who valued respectability above all things.

  “Oh,” she muttered.

  “And now that you have arrived, I am quite certain the tea leaves were right. What a delight it will be to have a young person in the house. Bart and I have become quite tedious with only the two of us to bear each other company.”

  Miss Cresswell was shaking her head before Lady Hartshore even finished.

  “Actually . . . I mean . . . perhaps . . .” The maiden stammered in an attempt to extricate herself from the clearly disturbing encounter.

  Cedric straightened, realizing that the moment to intercede had arrived. But before he could speak, the door to the parlor was thrown open to reveal a tall, portly gentleman with gray hair and florid face. He stepped briskly into the room, and Cedric sighed at the sight of his aunt’s brother. Although he loved Bartholomew Carson as dearly as he loved his aunt, he realized that Miss Cresswell was not about to be reassured by the owner of Mayford. In fact, he was quite certain that her faltering nerve was about to be shattered completely.

  “Cassie, you must speak with those gardeners,” he bellowed in the loud voice that had once commanded a thousand soldiers. “I will not have them searching for my treasure when my back is turned. Should have that beady-eyed one strung up by his toenails.”

  Unperturbed by the thunderous interruption, Lady Hartshore waved a delicate hand.

  “Yes, yes, Bart, I will speak with them, but first I wish to introduce you to my new companion, Miss Cresswell.”

  Giving a grunt, Bart glanced over the stiffly silent Miss Cresswell.

  “Companion, eh? About time. Deuced tired of searching for every fallal you lose around the house. Black Bart at your service.”

  “Black Bart ...” Miss Cresswell’s already pale face drained to a near white.

  Bart readily performed a deep bow. “The pirate, don’t you know.”

  Lady Hartshore smiled at her brother. “I was just telling Miss Cresswell how nice it will be to have a young person around the house.”

  “Aye. It has become devilishly quiet around here,” Bart agreed.

  Cedric watched carefully as Miss Cresswell clutched the folds of her skirt. He was not certain whether she was about to faint or flee.

  “Actually, I am not certain if I—”

  “Aunt Cassie,” Cedric firmly intruded into her hesitant words. “Perhaps you would request Mrs. Borelli to bring in tea? I have been longing for her scones for days.”

  As expected, his aunt readily rose to her feet with a pleased expression.

  “Of course, my dear. I do know how much you love scones.”

  “I’ll be off as well,” Bart stated in firm tones. “Can’t trust them gardeners for a moment. Sly lot. Ought to be hung.”

  Together the brother and sister left the parlor, giving Cedric an opportunity to speak alone with Miss Cresswell.

  Or at least attempt to speak with her, he silently corrected himself as he was stabbed by a glittering emerald gaze. She did not appear much in the mood for a reasonable discussion.

  “Why did you not warn me?” she gritted out.

  He shrugged as he crossed toward the sofa. “I wished you to meet my family without any preconceived notions.”

  “You mean that you did not wish to admit that your aunt speaks with ghosts and her brother believes he is a pirate.”

  Cedric’s smile faded at her scathing tone. “They are somewhat eccentric.”

  “Somewhat?” She drew in a shaky breath. “I begin to wonder if I have arrived at Bedlam.”

  “They are also kind and always willing to help those in need,” he pointed out in low tones.

  She sniffed at his words. “Surely you could not expect a respectable maiden to remain in such a household?”

  His features hardened at her sharp question. He might sympathize with her shock, but no one was allowed to insult his family. Despite their fancies, they were far more worthy than the vast majority of the ton. They held no false pretenses, they did not seek position or power, and most important, they used their fortune to help others rather than abusing the less fortunate to line their own coffers. He felt nothing but pride in calling them family.

  “Allow me to tell you of these people you have so readily dismissed as mad, Miss Cresswell,” he said in cold tones. “My aunt took me in after my utterly respectable parents abandoned me for the pleasures of society and were eventually killed by highwa
ymen. She devoted her entire life to providing me and every other child in the neighborhood every delight we could desire.”

  A rather defensive expression settled upon the strained features. “She speaks with ghosts.”

  Cedric shrugged. “Yes. After my uncle was thrown from his horse and his neck broken, Aunt Cassie nearly died from grief. It was only the belief that her true love was still a part of her life that she managed to find the strength to go on.”

  A hint of confusion darkened the emerald eyes before her well-trained defenses returned.

  “And what of Mr. Carson?”

  His gaze narrowed in a dangerous fashion. “Once Bart was the finest general this country has ever known. He was honored by the king for his bravery and skill upon the battlefield. It was only after being wounded in India that he developed a rather harmless belief that he was Black Bart. That does not make him crazy or evil. Indeed, I have nothing but the greatest respect for Bartholomew Carson.”

  “I still feel it would be best if I return to London,” she at last muttered.

  “Why?”

  She faltered for a moment at his blunt attack.

  “Your aunt has no need of a companion.”

  Although Cedric readily agreed with her logic, he was aware that his aunt had convinced herself that she was in need of Miss Cresswell’s presence. If the maiden were to bolt, then Lady Hartshore would no doubt fret and stew herself into an illness.

  And, of course, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind, he would be denied the pleasure of discovering the mystery she was attempting to hide.

  “Perhaps not in the traditional sense,” he agreed, “but I believe she would find a great deal of happiness in your presence.”

  She unconsciously licked her lips at his gentle pressure.

  “I cannot simply remain here with no duties.”

  A wry smile softened his stern countenance.

  “There are any number of duties you could perform, not the least of which is keeping track of the endless books, handkerchiefs, and needlework my aunt is constantly losing. And, of course, ensuring she recalls to eat at least one meal a day. She can be remarkably scatterbrained when it comes to the more mundane matters.”

  “A maid would surely do as well?”

  “No,” he firmly denied. “What she truly needs is someone to bear her company and allow her to fuss over them. She is lonely. Surely that is what a respectable companion is for?”

  With a shaky motion she rose to her feet. Cedric closely studied her pale features. He could detect no deep-rooted fear of being in a haunted house or terror she might be murdered by a crazed pirate. Her urgency to leave seemed to have more to do with the thought of being in a household that might be considered strange.

  “This is not what I was expecting,” she muttered lowly.

  Cedric felt a flare of rueful amusement. He was quite certain no maiden could have been expecting his aunt Cassie or Black Bart.

  “Would you have preferred a sour old puss who treated you with the bitter contempt usually reserved for maidens in your position?” he asked softly.

  Her hands unconsciously twisted together. “I just want a dull, predictable position among a dull, predictable family.”

  He moved closer to grasp her tangled fingers.

  “A rather odd desire.”

  For once she did not immediately pull away and he hid an amused smile. She must be deeply disturbed not to recall she was supposed to dislike his touch.

  “Not for me,” she muttered.

  “Miss Cresswell, allow me to offer you a proposition.”

  Her eyes widened at his soft tone. “No.”

  He was momentarily baffled by her fierce reaction, then abruptly realizing that she had misinterpreted his request, he gave a low chuckle.

  “Not that sort of proposition, my dear, although I will not deny that I would certainly be willing to discuss a more intimate arrangement should you desire,” he assured her. “I was thinking more in terms of your position at Mayford.”

  The shock faded, but the wariness remained. “What?”

  Cedric took a moment to consider his rash notion before giving an unconscious shrug. His aunt’s happiness was of paramount importance.

  “Remain for a month,” he urged. “If at the end of that time you still desire to leave, then I shall pay you three months salary so that you are able to chose your next position with care.”

  She stilled as she reluctantly met his steady gaze. “Why do you wish me to remain?”

  In truth Cedric was not certain that he wished to ponder the question too deeply. Instead, he audaciously trailed a finger down her satin cheek.

  “Because Fredrick and Mrs. Borelli’s tea leaves are never wrong.”

  * * *

  Only moments later, Cedric tracked down his aunt just leaving the kitchen. He had been reluctant to leave Miss Cresswell, far from certain she would not flee Mayford the moment his back was turned. But the realization that he could not lock her in the cellar or compel her to stay had forced him to realize he had done all that he could for the moment. Perhaps it would be best to give her the opportunity to become acquainted with his aunt without his presence. A rueful smile touched his lips. Indeed, she would no doubt be much more inclined to remain without the unfortunate reminder he was a relative of Lady Hartshore’s.

  “Oh, Cedric,” his aunt cried as she caught sight of his tall form. “Mrs. Borelli is just finishing the tea tray.”

  “I fear I must be returning home,” he gently apologized.

  “So soon?”

  “Yes.” He took a moment to study the tiny, birdlike features. “What do you think of Miss Cresswell?”

  The gray head tilted. “She is very lovely.”

  He met the deceptively innocent expression with a wry smile. “Yes, I had noticed.”

  “Mmm ... I thought you had.”

  Not about to be distracted by thoughts of Miss Cresswell’s loveliness or the pleasure of her lips, Cedric returned the conversation to the issue at hand.

  “Are you certain you wish her to stay?”

  “But of course,” Cassie answered with a hint of surprise. “Fredrick was most insistent.”

  And that, of course, settled the matter, he inwardly sighed.

  “I do not suppose he has told you why Miss Cresswell should be at Mayford?”

  She waved a chiding finger in his direction. “You know he cannot tell me the future. I believe it must be against the rules.”

  “Rules among the netherworld?” he teased.

  “Of course. Spirits cannot simply flutter about, doing as they please.”

  Cedric had to laugh at the sheer absurdity. “Indeed not. All those ghosts rattling around with no direction.”

  “You are quizzing me.”

  “Perhaps a bit.”

  Cassie remained undisturbed by his teasing. “Fredrick is never wrong. At least since he has passed to the other side.”

  Cedric was in no position to refute such a claim, since his uncle deigned to speak only with his wife, but his concern did not lay with the long-departed Lord Hartshore.

  “Perhaps not, but I do feel it incumbent upon me to warn you that there is every likelihood Miss Cresswell will flee back to London at the first opportunity.”

  She met his gaze squarely. “Then we must endeavor to keep her here. At least until we discover why she is needed.”

  Cedric grimaced, thinking of Miss Cresswell’s stubborn nature. “That is no doubt easier said than done.”

  “We shall find some means.”

  He felt a familiar flare of rueful amusement at his aunt’s blithe confidence in fate.

  “What an incurable optimist you are. I do hope that Miss Cresswell will not disappoint you.”

  She searched his countenance at his low words. “Do you not like her?”

  He slowly crossed his arms over his chest. “On the contrary, I find her utterly fascinating.”

  “What do you mean?”


  “I mean that I wonder why a well-educated, well-dressed maiden with a veritable fortune hung around her neck would chose to become your companion. And why she is so frightened to enjoy her life.”

  “We shall discover the truth in time.”

  Cedric gave a slow nod. “Yes.”

  “And she will certainly add a bit of gaiety to this dismal winter,” Cassie continued. “I dearly love Bart, but he is not the best of company.”

  “As long as you are not too disappointed if you awaken and discover that she has bolted,” he warned, knowing how swiftly his aunt became attached to those around her.

  She reached up to gently pat his cheek. “All will be well, I am certain.”

  Cedric captured her hand. “I do hope you are right. You mean a great deal to me, my dearest.”

  A smile lit her tiny features. “You are a good boy.”

  Cedric gave a sudden chuckle. “Actually I have recently been informed that I am a lecher of helpless ladies, annoying, an arrogant beast, and a rogue.”

  “Nonsense,” Cassie loyally denied.

  Giving the hand a light kiss, Cedric stepped back. “Take care of my wood nymph. I shall return on the morrow.”

  Four

  Emma awoke the next morning to discover that her ankle was much improved. Unfortunately her head was thick and faintly throbbing from a sleepless night.

  For hours she had tossed across the vast bed, struggling with the decision that lay before her.

  She did not want to remain at Mayford, she told herself. How could she? The entire household was batty. Ghosts and pirates and fortune-tellers ... it was absurd. A respectable maiden would not remain. Not only would she be distinctly uncomfortable, but what other matron would hire her after discovering she had been in the employ of such a family?

  And, of course, there was the disturbing knowledge that Lord Hartshore would be far too close for comfort.

  The man was a menace, she brooded. From the moment he had appeared standing over her like a dark angel, he had bullied, charmed, and unnerved her. And as for his kisses . . . well, that was something best not dwelt upon.

  How could she possibly endure the knowledge he might appear at any moment? She would be a twittering ball of nerves by the time she left Kent.