A Phantom Affair

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Only you?” He laughed lowly. “My dear Edie, look deeper. Look at what I see when I look into your enticing blue eyes. See the gentleness within.”

  “I am not gentle. I have a temper as fiery as the sun.”

  “That only proves how gentle you are, for you have not lost your temper in my presence, save for when you threw that book at me.”

  Ellen laughed. It was impossible to remain somber when Corey was determined to tease her. “That should serve as a warning to you.”

  “It did.” He gave an exaggerated shiver, then stood. “So you have not answered me. How is your shoulder?”

  Gingerly she touched the spot that remained tender. “It is better.” When his face lengthened with despair, she leapt to her feet. “Corey, do not blame yourself. How were you to know?”

  “I could have tested my touch on someone else … like Marian, for example. I have tested her patience for more years than she would wish to own.”

  “So I understand.”

  “What tales has she told you?”

  Ellen shook her head. “There are some things you should not know, Corey.”

  “I know Marian continues with her plan to find you a husband.”

  “You do?”

  He chuckled. “One of the advantages—one of the rare advantages—to being a ghost is that I can eavesdrop on conversations whenever I wish. She is in her chambers right this moment—”

  “You are wrong. She is with Lord Herrold in the library.”

  “No, for Reggie—now there is a lifeless chap if ever there was one—is out in the rain with his dogs.”

  “Corey, I left them—” Barking from beyond her window silenced her. When he gave her a superior smile, she said, “I thought they would linger longer in the library.”

  “Did you think Marian would let one of Reggie’s dogs run tame through her house while she enjoyed a few kisses? I have long suspected her rugs are more important to her than her husband’s desires.”

  “You are unbelievable!”

  He laughed. “Just realistic. As Marian is, for she is writing invitations to an outing on the morrow. She and Reggie are inviting a collection of eligible lads for you to peruse.”

  “Tomorrow? Why, your funeral was only yesterday!”

  “Life, as they say, continues on, even without Corey Wolfe.”

  “But Marian would not plan a gathering so close to the funeral.”

  “She wouldn’t? Check for yourself.” He motioned toward the door. It swung open.

  Ellen looked from the door to him. “How did you do that?”

  “I am not quite sure, but it is a handy power to have.” He wiggled his fingers. “I wonder what other bits of magic I can conjure up.”

  “Please spare me an exhibition. This is unsettling enough.”

  “As unsettling as Marian’s plans?”

  “How could she? She is your friend.”

  “And she is extraordinarily practical. I am dead. You need a husband. She can do nothing about the former, but she feels she can do much about the latter.” He rubbed his hands together. “This shall be most entertaining. Never have Marian and I combined our efforts toward one common goal. You might as well accustom yourself to the inevitable, Edie. Before the summer is over, you shall be betrothed.”

  Six

  Marian tapped her chin as she looked at the list in front of her. So many details to consider for this gathering. Everything must be perfect. No need to send Lorenzo an invitation, for he would have to refuse. ’Twas a shame. After what she had witnessed upon their departure from Wolfe Abbey, it was possible Lorenzo might wish to be counted among those vying for Ellen’s hand.

  She smiled. That was what it must be. A contest which the finest suitor would win was certain to appeal to Ellen. How could any young woman turn away from a man who had bested all others to win her attention?

  Lorenzo Wolfe would not be Marian’s first choice for Ellen. Not even her second or third. Although he possessed that respected title and clearly viewed Ellen with fondness, the Wolfe Abbey lands now belonged to Corey’s sister, Vanessa. Marian had heard enough hints of Ellen’s past to guess it had been one without many luxuries. If Ellen had not been brought to London and sponsored by the Duke of Westhampton’s granddaughter, she might still be living in that dank country to the north. Marian was determined Ellen would have every comfort she wished, for she could imagine wanting nothing less for her bosom-bow.

  But which man would be the best choice for Ellen? She had turned down the proposal of a viscount and dismissed an earl’s flirting as tiresome. She had been infatuated—at least temporarily—with a man who disdained playing cards and then another who seldom left the board of green cloth. One gentleman who had called was so handsome he could have graced a statue, and another had been as obese as Prinny himself. She had treated each with kindness. Over and over, Ellen had been teased by love, but every time she had ended up unbetrothed.

  Marian frowned and tapped her chin. With the end of each flirtation, Ellen’s comment had been nearly the same. She wanted a man who was undeniably honest with her, a man she could be honest with in return. No pretense, no court-promises, nothing but honesty. And a man who stirred her heart, bringing to life the aura of romance lying quiescent within her. A man who would not fill her with ennui before a fortnight passed.

  Did such a man exist for her? Marian dared not cede herself to despair at the thought that no living man could live up to such impossible standards.

  When the door opened, she turned on her chair. She nodded to the maid who was bringing in fresh soaps, then turned back to her task. Mayhap she should send for Ellen. The bride-to-be should take part in the choices for the prospective groom.

  Marian whirled at a shriek and a crash. The maid was staring at the bed while the soaps were broken in pieces on the gold rug.

  “Why are you making all that noise?” Marian demanded.

  “My lady,” the girl said with a half-curtsy, “forgive me. I thought I saw …”

  She waited for the girl to continue, then asked, “What?”

  “I am not sure. Something moved over here.”

  Marian set herself on her feet and crossed the room. “What did you think you saw?”

  Her quivering finger pointed at the table. “I would swear, madam, that bottle moved from one side to the other.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “But I saw—”

  “You saw nothing. Now clean up this mess, and continue your chores. I shall have no foolishness in this house.”

  Corey hastily stepped aside as Marian went back to her writing table. Although she could not see him and probably could have walked right through him, that was not a sensation he anticipated with pleasure. How many times had he chided her for walking over people? She was a determined woman, and woe be to the man—be he alive or dead—who got in her way.

  He went to the writing table and peered over her shoulder. When she shivered, he took a half-step back. Blast this aura of deathly cold surrounding him! How was he to fulfill his pledge if he distressed anyone he came close to?

  He never had suspected he and Marian would ever work toward the same end. As he read the notes Marian had made, he guessed he would have to do little, save watch. She had listed all the eligible bachelors of gentle birth in the shire. The stack of notes at one side of the desk showed he had not been mistaken when he guessed Marian was not going to be deterred from her quest for a husband for Ellen by something as inconvenient as her husband’s kisses.

  He sat on the chair by her bed and shook his head. “I thought you would mourn me a while longer than you shall the chicken for tonight’s dinner, Marian.”

  She looked up at a knock on the door. Corey stood and edged into the shadows as the door opened. Just now, he did not want Edie to see him spying on her hostess. He had guessed Edie would waste no time coming to confirm his assertion.

  “Do come in,” Marian said with a smile as she stood. “I thought you were resting, El
len.”

  “My mind is filled with so many things that rest is impossible.”

  “Oh, my poor dear.” She put her hand on Edie’s arm and steered her to the padded bench by the window. “I wish we had not gone to Wolfe Abbey for the fireworks. Then you would not be suffering so.”

  “But you wished me to meet Lord Wulfric.”

  Marian sighed. “He might have been a suitable suitor for you.”

  Corey frowned. Might have been suitable? Marian’s demure hits had been amusing when he was alive and could counter them with his own, but he had thought she had a sisterly affection for him. It was unsettling to discover how little she thought of him now that he was dead.

  “I am sure Lord Wulfric would have been suitable,” Edie said.

  Now that was more like it. His grin returned.

  “However,” she continued, “it is senseless to talk about this when …”

  “Yes, the dear lad is gone.”

  “So it would seem.”

  Corey tried to swallow his chuckle, but it burst from him.

  Ellen whirled, straining to see into every corner of the room.

  “What is it?” asked Marian with sudden alarm. “Is something wrong?”

  “I thought I heard—”

  “Not you, too!”

  Ellen frowned. “What do you mean? Have you seen—I mean, have you heard—?”

  Marian interrupted sharply, “I have seen and heard nothing. That empty-headed maid who was in here earlier was going on and on about a bottle being moved on the table. Now you are prattling about sounds in the shadows.”

  Ellen looked around the room again, even though she would not see Corey if he did not wish to be seen. This was beneath reproach. If he was going to hover, being bothersome to an extreme, he should have the common courtesy of being visible whenever he was about.

  “Forgive me, Marian,” she said quietly. “’Tis as I told you. I am too much distressed. Even the breath of the wind against the panes makes me uneasy.”

  “I have just the antidote for your low spirits.”

  “The most vile spirits may be exactly what I have.” She frowned in the direction the sound had come from—a muffled laugh, if she were not mistaken.

  “Then I suggest an outing with some of my dearest friends.”

  “Is it not too soon after Lord Wulfric’s death for such a gathering?”

  “He would have been invited.” Marian’s pink wrapper swept out behind her like a train as she said, “I had concocted the idea for this gathering before his unfortunate demise. ’Tis a shame. Corey would have enjoyed what I have planned for the morrow, if the sun does us a favor and shines warmly. ’Twill be nothing formal, simply a gathering of old friends—and new—by the shore.”

  Ellen smiled. She hoped Corey was in the room. It would serve him right to hear Marian’s practical suggestions. A motion in a shadowed corner caught her eye. Corey? Mayhap, but she could not be certain.

  Her smile widened as she said, “An outing sounds wonderful, Marian. I would be delighted to meet your friends.”

  The day was made to order for a sojourn to the beach. Sunshine bleached the sky to the palest blue, and the sea brushed the shore as gently as a mother caressing her babe. Overhead, birds circled, their songs blending with the sound of the waves.

  Ellen was glad a gentle path led to the sand, for she would not have been willing to risk clambering up and down the cliffs. Her white cambric gown was edged with flounces matching the lace dripping from her parasol. The pebbles in the path pricked through her thin slippers, and she wished she had dared to wear her boots. Marian would have been put to the blush by such an ensemble, for she had insisted Ellen wear her best while meeting several of the eligibles in the shire.

  Solely to herself could Ellen own that she had hoped for rain today. The whole of her life was a shocking mull with both Marian and Corey anxious to find her a match. At the very least, she should be grateful Corey had not joined the caravan leaving for the beach.

  She looked back when she heard a frightened screech. Dear Marian! Only her determination to find Ellen a match would have convinced her to come to the beach. Marian had disclosed on the way to the path that this was the one where she had taken a header, and since then, she had avoided the cliffs whenever possible.

  “Then why are we having an outing on the beach?” Ellen had asked.

  “Because ’tis such a perfect site for a gathering of friends.”

  Unable to argue with Marian’s answer, although she questioned her friend’s logic, Ellen had asked nothing else. Instead, she had adjusted the light gray ribbons on her tall straw bonnet. She did not want it flying off in the sea breeze.

  Dirt sifted into Ellen’s slippers as she stepped onto the pebbled beach. In the curve of the cove, she could see a sandy stretch. A troop of servants were setting out blankets and baskets on the sand. Ellen sighed. It would be much more sensible to sit here where the stones would keep away the sand, but Marian wanted a gathering by the sea, and she would have exactly that.

  “Do you need some help across this uneven ground?” asked a warm, tenor voice behind Ellen.

  She smiled at the towheaded man. His tall hat would not protect him from the sun as her bonnet and parasol did, and already his ears were becoming red. “That is kind of you to offer, sir.”

  He took her hand and bowed over it. The sun glittered off the gold buttons and watch chain on his waistcoat as he straightened. “Your servant Josiah Adams, Miss Dunbar.”

  “You’re American!”

  He smiled as he offered his arm. When she put her hand on his navy wool sleeve, he said, “Not by birth, although my father’s work took us to the United States shortly after I was born. I had thought I had rid myself in the past six months of the frightful accent I learned in Philadelphia.”

  “Only a hint remains.” She smiled as he led her around a tidal pool. “Mayhap my ear is more attuned than others, for my own accent announces my birthland as clearly as if it were printed on my forehead.”

  “Now that is a grim thought. To think of your lovely face marred by such a mark.”

  Once Ellen would have been taken aback by the compliment, but during three Seasons in Town, she had learned the art of words that meant nothing. She simply smiled as they reached the blankets and the servant who held a tray with cooled wine.

  Mr. Adams handed her a glass before selecting one for himself. “This was an excellent idea, Miss Dunbar. Yours?”

  “Marian should receive all the credit for this.” Turning, she watched as the litter chair brought Marian across the beach.

  It stopped near the blankets, and Marian pushed aside the brocade curtains to peer out. Ellen put her hand out to her friend, whose face was a rather bilious shade of gray. Marian grasped it with her trembling fingers.

  “Mayhap this was not the best idea I have ever had,” Marian whispered as she eased out of the chair.

  Ellen tried not to smile as she assisted Marian out onto the sand. She had sympathy for her friend’s queasy expression, but without question, Marian had brought this upon herself. They could have had their outing many other places. They need not have come down these cliffs which clearly distressed Marian beyond words. Yet, Marian had insisted they come here. Mayhap she was trying to overcome the fears that haunted her. If only it were that easy to get rid of a haunting …

  “Dear Marian, you must sit immediately. The fresh air off the sea and the sun’s warmth will surely ease your discomfort at having to come down that steep path. You do like the sea when you are on its level.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We shall enjoy ourselves here, then find another way we can go to get back to Herrold Hall.”

  “There is none, so I shall have no choice but to climb that path once more,” Marian whispered. She glanced toward the cliffs and placed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Dear me, they look even more precipitous from this angle.”

  “Mayhap you should sit,” Ellen suggeste
d again, although Marian’s emoting was raising her suspicions that her friend might not be as distressed as she must want everyone to think. What was Marian about now? Mayhap she was judging her friend unfairly. Marian’s face was a peculiar shade of gray. “Is there anything that will help soothe your battered nerves?”

  “Wine,” Marian ordered.

  Ellen pressed her glass into her friend’s trembling hand. Marian swayed. Three women and two gentlemen reached out to catch her if she swooned. Ellen took Marian’s elbow and guided her to the blanket.

  “This is want-witted,” Ellen whispered. “You are ill. We must return to Herrold Hall posthaste.”

  “Give me some time to fortify myself before I go up those blasted cliffs again.” Marian winked at Ellen before raising her voice, “You are such a dear friend, always thinking of someone else before yourself. Isn’t she a dear?”

  As a wave of assent washed through the gathering, Ellen stood. How perfectly Marian gauged the feelings of those around her! She continued to gush about Ellen while their meal was served by the silent servant. Wishing she could find a way to tell Marian to stop without drawing everyone’s attention, Ellen picked at her food.

  “So you are Marian’s latest protégé,” Mr. Adams said with a chuckle as he sat next to her.

  “I would use a different term.”

  He laughed again, and she knew her answer had been too dreary.

  With a smile, she said, “Marian is a dear soul.”

  “But she will never be happy until you are settled in married bliss.”

  Ellen set her plate on the blanket and folded her hands in her lap. “Has she been that obvious?”

  “I have seen her like before. The British ton does not have a monopoly on friends who wish to see other friends enjoying marriage as they do.”

  Ellen was glad that someone called a question to Mr. Adams. To let her face reveal her true feelings about Marian’s marriage would mark her as an ungrateful wretch. Still, the truth was that what Marian considered a happy marriage was exactly what Ellen wished to avoid. She yearned for a match that was not just advantageous for the families involved, but would be a melding of two hearts and souls into one.