“Don’t you understand? I do not want to laugh. Then I might feel something. I do not want to feel anything.” She bent her head. “I wish I never had to feel anything ever again.”
Corey knelt beside her. “Do not wish that. That is as good as being dead.”
She raised her tearstained face to meet his gaze. “Is that how you are able to deal with this? You feel nothing?”
“No, I feel too much.” He sat back on his heels. “Why do you think I wish to see you laugh? I can sense the pain you are hiding within you.”
His gentle words undid her completely. She pressed her hand to her face and sobbed. All the fear, all the disbelief, all the battered dreams burst forth in a torrent of anguish.
“Do not grieve,” he whispered. He brushed his fingers tentatively on her shoulder.
With a gasp, she jerked away. She put her hand onto her shoulder and cried, “What did you do?”
“I touched you. Did I hurt you?” He asked the words as if he could not believe them himself.
Slowly she drew her hand back. Beneath it, her skin was scored as if with fire.
“I burned you?” he gasped.
“With cold,” she whispered. “As cold as the grave.”
Five
The low sky threatened rain as Ellen walked down the front steps of Wolfe Abbey toward Marian’s carriage. Lord Wulfric was speaking quietly with Marian, so Ellen had the excuse to rush past them to get into the carriage. She looked back at the grand house.
She gently cradled her aching arm, then winced as she moved her shoulder. Each time she closed her eyes, she could see the horror on Corey’s face when he realized how his touch had hurt her. She had not stayed to soothe him last night. Racing out of the room, she had not returned. Marian had graciously let her share her room, and Ellen had allowed her bosom-bow to think she was distressed solely because of the funeral.
And Corey had vanished as completely as if he had never existed.
Lord Wulfric handed Marian into the carriage. “I hope you will call in a few days, Marian,” he said. “I recall how empty this house seemed when I was alone before. When mine is the only voice save the servants’, it becomes dreary.”
“Mayhap you should go to Town.”
He shook his head. “Such a stimulating life belonged to Corey or to Nessa, not to me. I prefer this life in grassville, but not always alone.” He looked at Ellen and smiled. “Thank you for your compassion during the past few days.”
“I fear I have done little.”
“That you were so calm in the midst of this, when you were injured as well, gave me more strength than you can guess. You mourned with such dignity, it inspired all of us.”
Ellen longed to tell him the truth. She had not mourned for Corey … until now. Only now was she saying good-bye to him. Marian would be a good neighbor and give Lord Wulfric a look-in, but if Ellen had a smidgen of sense about her, she would stay far from Wolfe Abbey and Corey Wolfe.
“Thank you,” she said, knowing anything else she might say could betray the secret she must bury as deeply in her heart as Corey’s corpse was beneath the earth. “I appreciate your kindness, my lord.”
He nodded, looking oddly uncomfortable. She wondered which of her words had so unsettled him, then realized it was the title. Brashly she put her hand over his on the side of the door. His wish that his cousin might come again from the dead to claim the title was futile, but the truth might ease his pain.
“Ellen, recall yourself!” hissed Marian. Shock emblazoned her face.
“Marian,” returned Lord Wulfric in the same tone, “do not chide Miss Dunbar when she is only continuing to be generous with her sympathy.”
Ellen gulped back her gasp. For a moment, she had seen a resemblance to Corey in the twinkle in Lord Wulfric’s eyes. She had dismissed Lord Wulfric as insignificant. Clearly there was more to him than she had guessed. Again she was tempted to tell him the truth. Mayhap she did not need to worry. Corey would not be a quiet ghost, content to wander the corridors of the Abbey in silence. Sooner or later, Lord Wulfric was sure to encounter him.
After a few more words of consolation, Marian signaled for the coachman to drive them along the sea road toward Herrold Hall. Ellen took a single glance back at the huge house.
So lowly not even Marian would hear, she whispered, “Good-bye, Corey.”
Rain struck the windows in a futile attempt to find a way into Herrold Hall. The mighty expanse of glass cast doubts on Marian’s assertion that her husband’s family had held this land for dozens of generations. Unlike Wolfe Abbey, which had been built to repel any invasion, this house was designed with leisurely living in mind.
Ellen stood by the largest window in the library and stared out at the pond past the gardens at the base of the hill. The day was fading into dusk, and she could barely see the water swirling amid the cattails on the shore.
No day had ever been as long as this one. Marian’s prattling had rung through Ellen’s head until Ellen had sought any excuse to seek her room. When she had arrived there, she found Sullivan unpacking her things. The abigail had told her, with a smile, that Lord Wulfric wished her to continue to serve Miss Dunbar while she was visiting Herrold Hall.
“Not as if his lordship needs a lady’s maid in the Abbey,” Sullivan had said with a grin.
Ellen suspected Marian’s hand in this arrangement, because Marian had been vexed at sharing her abigail Holmes. Other times, she might have been thrilled to see a friendly face, but all Ellen could think of was finding some place to be alone with her thoughts.
The book room at the back of the house on the second floor had offered that solitude. As a fire snapped on the stone hearth, she had watched the storm sweep up out of the sea to crash around the house.
“Here you are!”
At Marian’s merry voice, Ellen sighed. Marian was so resolved that Ellen not lose herself in melancholy she was haunting Ellen here as surely as Corey had at Wolfe Abbey.
No, she would not think of him now. Nor would she think of how she had left the Abbey without seeking Corey out. What could she have said to him? None of the usual platitudes would serve.
“Look!” Marian crowed. “Your arm must be better.”
Ellen smiled. She had dispensed with the bandages. Although her arm remained tender around the lacerations and her skin was a peculiar collection of colors, she was delighted to be free of the constraining bandages. “Mr. Bridges told me this afternoon he was pleased with my recovery.”
“As I am.” Marian settled herself in a chair by the window and shivered. “I do despise rainy days.”
“I find them cozy.”
“That is because you were raised in that dreary country to the north. I daresay, you seldom enjoyed a sunny day.”
Ellen did not want to discuss Scottish weather. Not when it was clear something was bothering Marian. Sitting next to her friend, she asked, “What is amiss?”
Marian’s deep sigh filled the room, but she managed a smile. “I had thought to put the tragedy behind us when we left Wolfe Abbey, but I find myself thinking of Corey Wolfe too often.”
“You knew him for many years.”
“Tolerated him would be closer to the truth.” She smiled sadly. “I vow I never met a more vexing man. Even when we were young, he could not resist jesting on every occasion. When he defied his father and went to buy a commission, no one was more startled than I, for I had been certain his claims of doing just that were nothing but another joke.”
The door opened, and a maid came in with a tea tray. Marian motioned for it to be set on a table near her. Marian poured tea for Ellen and held out the cup.
Stirring sugar into it, Ellen said, “Then Corey—”
Marian glanced at her sharply. “I did not realize you were such good friends that you were using first names.”
“It comes of hearing you speak of him with such affection, I suspect.” Hurrying on before Marian could ask another question, she said, “You shall mi
ss his laughter.”
“I never thought I would say yes, but you are right.” Leaning back in her chair, Marian gazed up at the plaster flowers looping across the ceiling. “I recall a time when I would have been glad to be rid of him. It was the night of my first real party. I had been brought out in Town a few weeks before, but my parents wished me to marry Reginald. The party was to give him a chance to court me.”
Ellen took a sip of her tea, so Marian might not see her expression. She had never met Marian’s parents, for they had died before she came to England. What she had heard made her grateful their paths had never crossed. Marian’s country squire father had been determined to advance their family’s status by marrying their only child to the local baron. If Corey had been a few years older, he would have been the target of their matchmaking.
“Corey somehow managed to sneak into the house before the party,” Marian continued. “I suspect he was thirteen or fourteen at the time, but he always was able to slip in and out of places without anyone seeing him. Like some kind of phantom, causing trouble when no one was looking.”
Ellen choked on her tea. She waved aside Marian’s concern. “I am fine. Swallowed wrong,” she whispered. If Marian probed further, she would have to devise another lie. She could not own that Marian’s words were too close to the truth. “So what did he do?”
“He put some sort of chemical on the cloths in the room where the gentlemen might check their appearance before returning to the ballroom. It was invisible beneath the lights, but when one of them went out into the garden, their hands and faces—and anything they had touched—glowed like Japanese lanterns.”
“That must have been most embarrassing!”
“Yes.” Marian chuckled. “’Twas especially embarrassing for Lord Patterson.”
“Was he covered with the chemical?”
“The man never touched any of the cloths, but apparently his wife was aglow after her rendezvous in the garden with Mr. Winston.”
“How do you know the perpetrator?” Ellen gasped.
“Corey owned to the deed. He always did. That was half the fun for him.” She balanced her cup on the arm of the chair. “I recall his father was in quite a pelter over the whole, but the old lord loved a joke as much as Corey did. Thank goodness Lorenzo has more sense than the two of them put together.” Her eyes narrowed in a predatory expression Ellen had come to recognize. “You seemed very friendly with Lorenzo on our parting this morning.”
“I wished only to comfort him.”
“Out of comfort comes other emotions.”
“Marian, please do not make something out of nothing.”
“Lorenzo is not an impossible match for you, although you could do better. He may have the title, but the Abbey is not his. I think we can find a finer match for you.”
Ellen stood and put her cup on the tray. “I do not wish to speak of finding a husband now.”
“Oh, dear.” Marian rose, clasping her hands in front of her. “You think you’re in love with Corey, don’t you?”
“Nonsense!”
“I know you, Ellen! I know how impossibly fast you give away your heart.”
Going back to the window, she looked out. “And you know how impossibly fast I take it back.” She sank to the window bench. “Yes, Marian, I did enjoy the short time I had with him in the garden, but that is over.”
“Marian, where are you?” came a shout before Marian could answer.
Ellen tensed as the door crashed open, and a man strode in. Lord Reginald Herrold was the complete opposite of his wife. A hulk of a man, he walked with hunched shoulders as if he feared they would brush against the walls of the wide passages. He seldom was seen in the company of the ton. His life was focused on tending to the strain of hunting dogs he was breeding at Herrold Hall, and he was seldom seen without one following on his heels.
Today was no exception. The brindled hound bounded into the room. One glance in Marian’s direction and her disgusted mutter must have given it fair warning. It turned toward Ellen.
She bent and held out her hand. The dog wagged all over as it sniffed her fingers. Petting its silken head, she smiled. “Aren’t you a fine one?”
The dog licked her palm as Lord Herrold said in his surprisingly mellow tenor, “Bonnie is the best of the latest litter. You have an excellent eye, Miss Dunbar.”
“I have always been fond of dogs.”
“Reginald,” Marian said, “you know these beasts are not trained to be in the house.” Turning to Ellen, she lamented, “One of them chewed a large hole in my favorite gown, and another …” She flushed. “My rug shall never be the same.”
“I shall keep an eye on Bonnie’s behavior,” he replied before turning back to Ellen. “By the end of the week, I hope to have Bonnie begin her training for the hunt. Mayhap you would enjoy watching, Miss Dunbar.”
“I would be delighted, my lord.” Anything, she thought, to keep from thinking of Corey.
Marian sniffed. “You need not be polite, Ellen. Reginald will understand you do not wish to rise before dawn and tramp through wet grass.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she replied.
Lord Herrold smiled. “I forget. You are a real lass of daisyville, not like Marian here, who enjoys the country only when it is as tame as her garden.”
“Now, Reginald,” his wife said with a pout, “you know that is not true. I relish a good ride through the leas.”
He put his arm around her. “True.”
Neither of them noticed when Ellen slipped out of the room.
With a smile, she climbed the curving stairs. Although Marian’s parents had thought only of advancing themselves with this marriage, it had brought their daughter much happiness. They shared a kind of love she never had experienced—a love that lasted beyond the first meeting of eyes amidst a crowd, a love that needed no pretense, a love that grew stronger as lief diminishing in the light of reality.
Ellen opened the door to her bedchamber. When she saw it was empty, she sighed with relief. Mayhap she had found a haven at last. She liked this room, for it overlooked the sea. Marian had tried to persuade her to take a room in another wing, but Ellen had been insistent.
Throwing open the window near the door to the dressing room, she took a deep breath of the fresh air. The rain had slowed to a drizzle and would not come in on the dark green and purple Persian rug. She smiled, suspecting Marian would be even less unforgiving of Ellen’s thoughtlessly ruining a rug than she had been of her husband’s dogs.
The room was not large. With the tester bed and an armoire filling most of the floor, there was little room for the dressing table and a chair. The small chest at the foot of the bed was covered with a paisley shawl, its fringe dripping on the carpet.
Sullivan had unpacked for her. Ellen was grateful for the considerate woman’s assistance, because she guessed Mr. Bridges was right when he said it would be at least a fortnight before she had full use of her arm again.
Sitting on the wide bench at the dressing table, Ellen touched the silver brushes. They had been a gift on her last birthday from her dear friend Romayne. Each time she used them, she thought of her last visit with her friend. They had ridden wildly across the moors and talked late into the night. Now Romayne was a wife and a mother, and Ellen was as confused as she had been when Romayne took her to her first soirée in London.
Her hand tightened on the brush. What would Romayne, who was so prosaic and so romantic at the same time, think of this muddle? Ellen wished Romayne were here to advise her.
“But how would I tell you?” she asked aloud.
“Tell me what?”
Ellen peered into the glass. She saw only her own reflection. Glancing over her shoulder, she discovered Corey sitting, cross-legged, on the windowsill. He grinned.
“You look surprised,” he said as he jumped down. His boots made no sound on the floor. “Did you think I would fail to see how you were doing?”
She stared. If she did not know be
tter, she would swear he was a living man. The warm bronze of his face suggested he had been spending hours along the strand or riding through the hills. While he walked toward her, the easy motion of his muscles spoke of the hard life he had known during his years with the army. He was as commanding as a phantom as he had been as a man.
“How is your shoulder?” he asked. “Much better, I hope.”
Somehow she found her voice. “How can you be here?”
He raised his hands. “Never underestimate the wiles of a ghost, Edie.”
“That nickname is growing tiresome.”
“I would suggest you acclimate yourself to it. I like how it feels when I say it, and I like how it makes your eyes snap.”
She put her hairbrush back onto the dressing table and stood. “You aren’t answering my question. How can you be here? I thought a ghost was shackled to the place of his death.”
“So that is why you hied out of Wolfe Abbey without saying good-bye. You wanted to rid yourself of me.”
“Do you blame me?”
He grinned. “Not in the least. I shall be a most irritating apparition.” He sat on the high bed and arched his brows as if daring her to scold him for being so bold. “You need not frown at me. I am not avoiding an answer to annoy you. I simply do not have an answer. I was wondering how you fared, and here I am. Mayhap I am shackled to you as lief Wolfe Abbey.”
With a groan, she said, “I hope not!”
“Such a complimentary answer.”
“Would you want someone else invading your life?”
“No.”
Ellen was taken aback by his quiet answer. Gathering her scattered wits, she fired back, “Then you can see why I wish you to begone.”
“How can I when I have a pledge to fulfill?”
She groaned and sat at the dressing table. “What did I do to deserve this?”
Rising, he dropped next to her on the bench. She noted he was careful to keep his coat from touching her. “Look,” he said softly.
“At what?”
“At the glass.”
She frowned at her reflection. Mayhap she was supposed to discern a clue to explain this madness. “I see only me.”
A Phantom Affair Page 7
