“Where are you off to?”
She spun and collapsed onto the bench by the low table. When Corey held out a glass of red wine, she watched her own hand raise to take it. She stared at him, then at the wine.
“Go ahead,” he urged. “’Tis no ghostly brew, just some good burgundy brought by an interloper from France. It may return some of the color to your cheeks.”
“Where did you get this?” She looked at the dressing room door. “How did you get this in here without being seen?”
He smiled. “Don’t forget. These have been my rooms since I came home from France. Even before …” He scowled, then rushed on, “I could slip through these rooms without anyone seeing me. It would be a shame if I could not skulk about them now.”
Ellen took a slow sip of the wine in the delightfully chilled glass, then another. The sturdy flavor of the bracing wine flowed through her, cooling the trepidation burning in her heart. Lowering the glass, she said, “All right. What do we do now?”
“Rest.”
At Marian’s cheerful voice, Ellen glanced over her shoulder. Marian bustled into the room, looked around, and smiled as she gave Ellen a buss on the cheek. While Sullivan set out the dishes on the tray she had brought in, Marian flitted about the room, adjusting a book here and moving a figurine there. Ellen smiled her thanks to Sullivan, even though she doubted if she could swallow a single bite of the toast.
“Marian, you should be pleased to see that I am sitting quietly,” Ellen said, wondering how she could convince Corey to leave so she might speak with her friend in private. If he vanished, that would be worse, for she could not guess if he were eavesdropping.
There was no worry about that. Corey settled himself on the chair by the fireplace, a grin warning her that he was enjoying the whole situation far more than he should.
“Go away!” Ellen mouthed.
“Did you say something, dear?” Marian asked. Her pale yellow wrapper flowed back to reveal her ankles, which she would never have bared if she had had any idea a man might see.
“Only that I wish to go home.”
“Soon, my dear.” She tapped her chin and frowned. “I need to send word to your family of this mishap.”
“Mishap?” repeated Corey with a chuckle. “Marian has developed a rare talent for understatement, I see.”
Ellen wanted to hush him. Her lips tightened when he folded his hands behind his head and grinned at her. Blast him! He was relishing every moment of her discomfort. What kind of gentleman was he? No kind, she reminded herself with a suppressed shudder. He was a phantasm.
Marian went to the window and lowered it. “The doctor said no drafts, Ellen. You must not sicken in addition to your injuries.” She pointed to the chair by the hearth. “May I sit and keep you company during your breakfast?”
“No!” she cried. “Don’t sit there!”
Marian paused, her back end only an inch from Corey’s lap. “Whatever is wrong, Ellen?”
“Sit here.” She grasped the back of another chair and pulled it closer. The squeak of its legs against the floor ached through her head, and she decided the truth would be the very best excuse. “My head hurts, and I do not wish to shout across this grand room.”
“As you wish.” Marian took the seat. With a frown, she said, “You seem uncommonly unsettled.”
“It has been an uncommonly unsettling day.”
Corey interjected, “No truer words have ever been uttered.”
Ellen flashed him a scowl, but fixed a smile on her face for her friend. “You can see that I am resting as the doctor ordered.”
“I am glad you have come to your senses.” Marian toyed with the lace on the front of her wrapper. “I had feared you would stay in the dismals for days. You were barely consolable last night when you were told of Lord Wulfric’s death.”
“I have cried enough.”
Corey grinned and rocked the chair back on two feet.
With a gasp, Ellen jumped up. She shoved his chair forward. Its feet crashed onto the floor.
Marian leaped to her feet. “Ellen, whatever are you doing? You shall break that chair.”
“I thought it was tipping over.”
“How could it tip over all by itself?”
Ellen had no answer for that. Certainly not one she could give Marian. Mumbling that her eyes must have been playing a trick on her, she let Marian settle her in bed. Honestly, she was delighted to rest against the mound of pillows that Marian arranged around her.
“You must be more sensible,” Marian cautioned. “Poor Lorenzo is quite beside himself to think of what you have suffered here.”
“He is not to blame for what happened.”
Corey stood and came to lean on the bedpost across from where Marian was tucking the counterpane around Ellen. He said wryly, “Lorenzo will exult in the chance to apologize for days to come. You shall find his endless attempts at atonement a trial, I can assure you.”
“He could not,” Ellen went on, “see into the future. No one can. Can they?”
“Not I,” Corey replied with a grin. “Otherwise, I vow I would have listened more carefully to Fenton.”
“Of course not,” Marian said.
“Fenton?” Ellen asked. She looked at Marian. “Who is Fenton?”
“What are you talking about?” Her friend’s face lengthened with bafflement. “My dear, mayhap I should have the doctor come back and examine you again. You seem unable to follow the course of a simple conversation.”
Corey chuckled. “’Tis because this is no simple conversation. Fenton is the old man who warned us about the fireworks, Ellen.”
A knock on the door spared Ellen from having to answer either of them. She was surprised when she almost laughed as Corey stepped back and gave a deep bow as Marian rushed past him. Somehow, he made even these bizarre circumstances amusing. She never had met anyone quite like him, and she could not help wondering what he might have been like if he had remained alive. Was he always so whimsical?
Marian opened the door only wide enough so she could see out. Then, telling Ellen she would return straightaway and to eat, she slipped out into the hall.
“Lorenzo probably has some crisis,” Corey said, sitting on the bottom of the bed. “Marian is right. You should eat. You are nearly as pale as a specter, and who should know that better than I?”
“Is this how it is going to be? Must I suffer your endless pranks?” She flung out her hands. “If I had a smidgen of good sense, I would go out there and denounce you before the whole household.”
“And they would lock you away in Bedlam.” He pointed to the plate on the tray Marian had set on the table beside the bed. “Please eat. There is enough sorrow around here without you causing more by cocking up your toes in the wake of my demise. You need to eat and get yourself back on two solid feet.”
“And then?”
“What do you think? I shall find you a match made in heaven.” He chuckled. “Or as close as Corey Wolfe can come to it.”
Four
Ellen cautiously entered the stable. She still did not trust her knees to hold her up, but with every hour, her strength was returning.
Hay crunched beneath her high-lows, and she was glad she had chosen her boots instead of slippers. The aromas from the beasts and the recently cleaned leather brought back beloved memories of her simple life in Scotland. Then she had fantasized about living a grand whirl of parties and soirées in a splendid house like Wolfe Abbey. It was most peculiar now that she was staying in such a magnificent house, she found the most welcome within the stables.
Of course, she reminded herself sternly, when she had journeyed south into England, she never could have imagined her life would take this absurd turn.
Something shifted in the shadows. Not something, she realized, but someone.
A small man, not as tall as she, inched out of the darkest corner. He was bent like the trees clinging to the seashore cliffs. She could not guess how old he might be. His hair wa
s lined with silver, but his face was one that would look as old at a score of years as at three times that number.
It was almost as if he had been waiting for her, as if he knew she would be coming. He put his fingers to the brim of the floppy felt cap.
“Are you Fenton?” she asked.
“Aye. Who be ye?”
“Ellen Dunbar.”
His brows shot up. “So ye be she?” He walked around her, reminding her of a small songbird chirping and hopping about. “Ye were with the master the other night.”
“Yes.” Dampening her lips, she said, “I heard you warning him about the fireworks. Why?”
“Simple, ’tis. Just repeatin’ what I’d told the master before. Warned him that the blind buzzard firin’ off the rockets had no more sense than one of the sheep down on the lea.”
“Why didn’t he heed you?”
“Wanted those rockets powerfully bad. Been lookin’ forward to celebratin’ the end of Boney’s war.”
Ellen nodded. The old man’s words confirmed what she had already learned about Corey. He apparently had been in the army during the war. At one point, his family must have given him up for dead if Mr. Wolfe had taken the title of Lord Wulfric for a time. It was all most confusing, but she would not ask Fenton about that when she had other questions for him. Later she would quiz Marian.
“But how did you know there would be an accident?” she asked.
He bent to rub his right knee. “Heard it in my bones.”
“Heard it?”
“Creak like the roof of the stable in a storm when trouble be coming.”
“Do you hear anything now?”
“No.”
“I am glad.” Ellen forced a smile. What had she expected him to say? That his bones were shrieking out a warning?
“But ye be disturbed.”
More than you can guess, she was tempted to answer. “It is always disturbing to have someone die so young.”
“’Tain’t right.”
“I agree.” She took a deep breath, then said, “I wish he had listened to you.”
“Aye, so do I. Then this wouldn’t be happenin’. ’Twould be easier on all of us, ’specially ye, Miss Dunbar.”
Ellen was unsure how to answer. She appreciated his compassion, but she did not want it. To surrender now to the pain bubbling within her like a witch’s cauldron would strip away every bit of her façade. She could not reveal the truth of her disquiet. Nobody spoke of what happened to those who lost their minds, but it would not be pleasant to be shut away for the rest of her life.
With difficulty, Ellen raised her parasol as she walked back out into the afternoon sunshine. The expanse of garden between her and the Abbey seemed wider than when she had crossed it only minutes ago. Maybe it was only her frustration that made it so. She had hoped for a simple answer, but only found more questions.
The soft sound of a bird in the bushes and the buzz of insects closer to the ground were nearly lost beneath the crunch of the seashells beneath her boots. The shells which had been spread out in a meandering path were as dry and white as fleshless bones.
She shuddered, trying to throw off her dreary thoughts. Tears pricked her eyes. Even that simple motion sent a pain down her arm. Pausing beneath the cool shade of an oak, she stared at the ocean past the house. Without a division between earth and sky, the grayness stretched endlessly.
“More confused?”
Ellen whirled around, then scowled when she saw Corey behind her. “Did you ever consider how many years you could take off a soul’s life by sneaking around like that?”
“The shells on this path make it impossible for anybody to skulk about.” He toyed with a few of them with the toe of his boot.
“Anybody, yes, but not a ghost.”
“Oh.”
She laughed at the chagrin on his face. “I suppose you shall accustom yourself to that eventually.”
“I suspect I must.”
“I did not expect to see you out here.”
Corey folded his arms over his chest and looked around. “All of this is my home.” His gaze returned to her. “Odd that you seem to know more about what I should and should not do than I do.”
“We Scots are fond of ghostly tales.”
“You should tell me a few. Mayhap then I would know what the parameters of this new existence are for me.”
“You are English!” She laughed as they continued along the path toward the house. “I doubt if our old stories would have any bearing on this.”
“So what did Fenton tell you?”
Ellen stopped and faced him. “Are you spying upon me again?”
He held up his hands, laughing. “I told you I did not peek into your rooms. Nor did I sneak after you to eavesdrop on your conversation. ’Twas only a guess. You are coming from the direction of the stables, and I saw how you tensed when I mentioned Fenton’s name earlier.”
“He is an eccentric chap.”
“But his idiosyncratic ways have proven to be worthwhile. I should have heeded his warnings.” He took a step closer to her. “I fear my mind was on other matters at that moment. Matters of the scent of a sweet cologne that teased me and a slender hand upon my arm.”
“Corey, please don’t,” she whispered.
“You would deny me the enjoyment of recalling those last memories of physical pleasure?”
“No, but to speak of them now …” She rushed along the path although she knew it was as impossible to escape from him as from the longings his words brought to life. She did not want to remember how strong his arm had been beneath her fingers and how she had imagined that arm drawing her into an embrace as his lips caressed hers.
No! She must never think of these things. Never!
She settled the parasol on her shoulder where it would hide her face from Corey. Then she wondered if she could conceal anything from a man who apparently could wander through walls at will.
“Ellen, if I said something to offend you—”
“Offend?” Her laugh was terse. “No, you did not offend me. It simply is too late to talk about what might have been.”
“Now that is the sensible Scot speaking.”
“You think this can be changed?”
“Who can tell?”
Ellen had no answer for him. Listening as he spoke of recent work on the garden as if no harsh words had been exchanged, she was glad he did not ask her any more questions. Her breath banged against her side when they reached the steps leading up to a side door. Only now was she discovering how she had been sapped by her injuries.
Blinking, as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dusk within, Ellen closed her parasol and loosened the ribbons on her bonnet. The small entry was at the foot of a set of stairs leading to the hallway near her bedchamber, and she wanted nothing more, at the moment, than to kick off her boots and relax in her bed.
“You did too much,” Corey said as he leaned his elbow on the black walnut banister. “You should have sent for Fenton to come here.”
“On what pretext?”
“A good question to which I do not have a good answer.”
Footfalls came toward them. Ellen waved Corey to silence, although it was unnecessary. No one could hear him save her.
A man, who was not much taller than Fenton, walked toward Ellen. He possessed an aura of serenity that contrasted with Corey’s sudden gasp. Wanting to ask what was amiss, Ellen could only smile.
The man stopped. “Miss Dunbar?”
“Yes.”
“I am Armstead. I was my lord’s man.”
“What can I do for you, Armstead?” Her voice was colder than she wanted, but she was too aware of Corey listening.
He struggled to smile and failed, his face gaining years as his wrinkles deepened with sorrow. “I heard you sat with him at his last breath, Miss Dunbar. They kept me out, but I am glad you were there.”
“I recall so little of that.” She touched her head. “My brain was muddled.”
“I understand. I simply wished to tell you that I am glad my lord was not alone.”
Corey said, “Tell him how much I have treasured his years of service.”
“I am sure,” she said to the distraught man, “Lord Wulfric treasured your attentive service over so many years.”
“How kind of you to say that, Miss Dunbar.”
“What Lord Wulfric would say himself if he were able.”
Corey grinned and nodded. “You are doing a famous job with this, Ellen.”
“Thank you, again.” Armstead squared his shoulders and smiled sadly. “I wished to speak to you before I left.”
“Leave?” Corey shouted, but only Ellen’s ears rang. “Where are you going? Ellen, ask him where he’s going!”
She flashed Corey a frown, but obeyed.
“Mr. Wolfe—excuse me, Lord Wulfric has granted me leave to visit my family in Manchester for a few weeks,” the old man replied. “My sister has long wished for me to spend some time with her.”
“Spare me another frown,” Corey said, moving to stand beside Armstead so Ellen could not avoid looking at him. “He never mentioned that to me. I would have gladly allowed him some time to take a flying visit to see his sister. He even could have had longer, although I must own I was grateful for Armstead’s help with more than my wardrobe. If Lorenzo had half a brain, he would glean every bit of advice Armstead can offer before he sends the man on his way.”
Ellen twisted her fingers through the ribbons on her parasol. “Have a good sojourn, Armstead. I know Lord Wulfric will be pleased to see you upon your return.”
“Yes,” he said, but his tone suggested he might stay in Manchester.
“Damn!” Corey’s hands fisted at his sides. “Persuade him to come back, Ellen.”
“I shall leave after the funeral services tomorrow, Miss Dunbar,” the old man went on, “but I wanted to speak with you before I left. Good day.”
Ellen ignored Corey, who continued to demand she tell Armstead to return to Wolfe Abbey, as she bid Armstead a good day. As soon as the valet was out of earshot, she whirled to face Corey and nearly fell. She gripped the banister to keep herself on her feet. “I am fine,” she said, waving him aside.
A Phantom Affair Page 5
