A Phantom Affair

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Applause tore her from her thoughts. Ellen turned to see Lorenzo smiling and Mr. Pratt soothing his disappointment with the young blonde who had stayed close to his side.

  “Congratulate me, Ellen.” Collecting the basket, Lorenzo held out his arm to her. “The best five pounds I ever spent.”

  “I hope you think so when you see what is in it.”

  “What is inside?”

  “A surprise,” she said with a gulp. What would Corey put in a nuncheon basket? She dared not think. She looked at Corey, who was edging toward them slowly.

  “You need not worry,” Corey told her. “I would not put anything in there to poison you.”

  She frowned at Corey as Lorenzo turned to speak to several gentlemen who came over to him.

  “Or Lorenzo,” Corey added with reluctance. “That might not have been the truth if Kenneth had proven to be the victor.” Corey took a single step into the sunshine, then paused, putting his hand to his head. “I shall speak with you back in your rooms.”

  “You are leaving?” she whispered, astonished.

  “I seem to be most comfortable in the shadows, Edie. This bright sunshine sucks out my energy, making me feel as if I have run from here to London.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  He smiled sadly. “Nor did I.”

  “Would you like me to come and sit with you beneath the trees for a while?”

  “Enjoy the fair. After all, Lorenzo has paid well for the chance to eat that basket’s contents with you. I shall see you this evening.”

  A tremor of dismay fled through her as she realized the glow around him was weak, so weak it had almost vanished. Was this what happened when a ghost was sickening? Or did ghosts get ill? She could understand none of this.

  “Go, if you must,” she whispered. “Do not stay if it is dangerous for you.”

  “Is that concern I hear, Edie, or just elation that I shall not be here for the rest of the day?”

  “I own it will not be the same without you being here to comment on everything.”

  “I thought you would be pleased to be without my voice rumbling in your ears for a few hours.”

  Ellen stared up at him, wanting to speak the truth. She wanted him with her all the time. Even if he irritated her to the point she had to fight to keep her temper from exploding out, she missed him when he was not about.

  Love. She loved this phantom who had no more being than a dream. When had she fallen in love with him? When had she been so want-witted as to let her life get caught up in this absurdity? Certainly it had not been when he had been overbearing or when he had played tricks on her as he had today. Yet when she saw the desire in his eyes, her lips ached for his against them.

  “Corey, take care of yourself. I don’t want to lose the sound of your voice rumbling in my ears forever.”

  “You won’t.” He brushed the brim of her bonnet with the back of his hand. “I promise you that.”

  He was gone before she could reply.

  Lorenzo brought Ellen into the conversation with his friends, whose names Ellen could not remember when she was thinking only of Corey. Pretending to listen, Ellen wondered what would happen when she returned to London at the end of her stay with Marian. Would Corey go with her? If he were attached to her as he had told Fenton, then he must. Or would she be restrained from leaving grassville?

  The questions taunted her as she walked with Lorenzo to a sunny knoll overlooking the small stream that twisted between thick clumps of wildflowers. When they were sitting on a smooth stone, Ellen cautiously lifted the cloth on top of the basket. She smiled with relief when she saw meat and bread as well as a canister of wine and two pieces of chocolate cake. Corey had been, as always, honest.

  Handing Lorenzo a plate and some of the meat and bread that had been neatly wrapped, she said, “Thank you, Lorenzo. I truly appreciate your bidding on this basket. Mr. Pratt’s company is—”

  “A fate worse than death?”

  “Not quite that bad.” Again she lowered her eyes. Death was not the worst fate to be suffered. Losing her heart to a man who was dead was even worse.

  “I am glad for your company, Ellen. No one else would wish to speak of the things that you seem to find interesting, although I suspect you are often too polite to tell me to put an end to my babbling.”

  She unwrapped her food and said, “Then I shall babble about your poetry and tell you how wonderful I think it is.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.”

  Corey was sure neither Edie nor Lorenzo had heard his silent groan as she innocently uttered those words he had vowed she would speak to another man. The words that would close him out of her life forever. How easy it had been to make that pledge when his mind had been reeling from its passage from life to whatever hell he had been consigned to! He could imagine no torture more horribly exquisite than witnessing this.

  From where he stood in the invigorating shadows, he watched Lorenzo’s smile broaden as his cousin touched Edie’s shoulder lightly. Corey did not move closer, even though he wanted to step between the two. Easily he had thwarted Pratt when the beef-headed block had tried to court Edie. This complication he had not foreseen.

  When he heard her soft laugh, something twisted in his gut. Mayhap he was the fool. This should have been the obvious solution from the beginning. Lorenzo was a decent chap, although he had as much imagination as a rock. He would make Edie a faithful husband who would be attentive to her every need.

  His fingers curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. Blast it all to perdition! She had needs he did not want to think of Lorenzo fulfilling. His cousin would have the opportunity to taste her soft mouth and draw her slender form against him.

  He slammed his fist against a tree. Damn! Nothing! He could feel nothing when he struck the rough bark. The only thing he could feel was this soul-deep anguish. He wanted Edie for his own. All the other women he had avoided entangling his life with had not prepared him for the sensations swirling through him when he savored her pert smile and sharp wit. When she gazed up at him, the anger, which had driven him to the war and back, vanished into a yearning to make her laugh.

  A Wolfe’s vow lasts forever.

  For the first time, he understood how long eternity could be.

  Thirteen

  Fenton was perched on a small stool by the door to the stables when Ellen drew in the gig and stepped down onto the crushed stone. Although he looked up, his fingers did not slow as he cleaned the leather harness draped across his lap like a lady’s fine wrap.

  “I need to speak with you,” she said as she pushed back her bonnet so she could see past the brim to be certain they were alone. If someone else chanced upon this conversation, it might cause even more problems.

  “Yer welcome to sit and talk.” He pointed with a stained finger to another stool. His voice remained calm as he asked, “How be his lordship? Thought to see him again, but he be about with ye.”

  “I need your advice.” She balanced on the uncomfortable stool.

  “Ye can tell anyone ye wish about Lord Wulfric.”

  “How did you know what I wanted to ask?”

  He grinned at her, and she wished he had not. Even though there was nothing malicious in the expression, she was unnerved by its suggestion that he knew more about this whole muddle than he would tell her.

  “What else would ye be askin’?” He gave a shrug. “Tell anyone ye please. No one’ll take heed of ye. Just think ye be crazy like old Fenton.”

  “Don’t you think Lorenzo should know the truth?”

  “Do ye think he should know?”

  She rose, unable to sit as she tried to unsnarl her thoughts. “The knowledge might assuage his grief, if he believed me.”

  “And that be the rub, missy. Who would be believin’ ye?” Again he caught her gaze. “Would ye believe it if ye be told that his lordship be a ghost wanderin’ about the countryside?”

  “I don’t know.”

&n
bsp; “Ye know.” He rubbed the leather more vigorously. “Ye would call anyone with such a tale a moony. Advice ye want? Advice I give ye. Be careful, missy. I would not like to see ye locked away in an asylum. ’Tis no place for his lordship.”

  Ellen had been about to thank him for his concern, then spun on her heel and stamped back to the gig. His only thoughts were for Corey … as hers were, she must own. There must be some way to extricate all of them from this. If only she had some idea how.

  Ellen set her embroidery down onto her lap and stared through the windows making up one wall of the solar. Rain slid along the panes, twisting in contorted paths along the uneven glass. For the first time in days, she was alone with her thoughts, and she did not like a single one.

  Her life was becoming too complicated. The questions that had taunted her at the fair still had no answers. By the end of the next week, she should be leaving for Westhampton Hall to join Romayne for the duke’s birthday party. If she went, Corey might be forced to go with her. She knew how it would hurt him to leave and mayhap never see Wolfe Abbey again, because she was skeptical about the wisdom of ever returning to this place. He might not have wished for the obligations of his title, but she could not mistake his love for his family’s home.

  He belonged here as surely as he had while alive. To take him into exile across England would be wrong. Yet, she could not stay here forever.

  Could she?

  If she had not seen the truth on his face the afternoon of the fair, she might have been able to leave without worry. He cared about her too much. Mayhap he even loved her as she loved him. She could imagine no more poignant irony. He had stayed earth-bound in order to find her a man who touched her heart. The only one who had was Corey Wolfe … the late Corey Wolfe.

  A commotion sounded from the garden. Rising, Ellen went to the window. In spite of her grim mood, she could not help smiling as she saw Lord Herrold rush by at the best speed he could. A dozen pups swarmed in a dozen directions, each of them staying just beyond his fingers and yelping loudly.

  “Oh, here you are!” Marian came into the room, looked out the window, and shook her head. “I do hope Reginald will think to wipe his feet before he tracks all that mud across my rugs.”

  “You love him, don’t you?” Ellen asked.

  Marian stared at her in astonishment. “He is my husband. What a silly thing to ask.”

  “But do you love him?”

  Sitting on the chair in front of an ancient tapestry of a knight fighting a dragon in vain, she said, “I suppose I must.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Ellen, these are the queerest questions.” Her eyes brightened. “Does this mean you are in love?”

  She shrugged as she went back to gather up her embroidery. “How would I know?”

  “You would know.” She nodded her head sagely. “He will be constantly in your mind. Even in your dreams. When you dance with him, you tingle as if you stood too close to a pond in a thunderstorm.”

  “Dance …” she whispered.

  “Aha!” Marian wore her broadest smile when Ellen looked at her.

  “Aha what?”

  “Dance! You are thinking of Kenneth Pratt, aren’t you?”

  She shuddered at the very thought. “Please, Marian, that is not funny, even in jest.”

  “I did not mean it as a jest.”

  “Then it is even less funny. The man thinks only of himself and his own pleasures.”

  “Reginald might be described much the same, and he is a good husband to me.”

  “Reginald is nothing like Kenneth Pratt!”

  “No?” Marian glanced toward the window and smiled gently. “In some ways, they are much alike. There are those who say Reginald thinks only of his dogs. That is true. Reginald concentrates much of his time on his beloved dogs, but he does love me at least as much.” Her smile became more genuine. “And that is very, very much, Ellen.”

  “I am glad.”

  “But if you have no tendre for Kenneth, then who?”

  Ellen should have guessed her friend would come back to her question with all due speed. Just as she was about to answer, although she had no idea what she might say, a maid rushed in.

  “Milady,” the woman cried, “Cook tried to keep him out until he cleaned his boots, but—”

  Marian flung her hands into the air as her husband rushed into the room. “Reginald, look at the mess you have made of my rugs!”

  “Forgive me. I am all at sixes and sevens.” He looked as if he might weep. “One of the pups has vanished.”

  Marian’s anger vanished immediately as she put her hands out to him. “Dear Reginald, surely you miscounted the litter.”

  “No, one has run away.” He dropped onto a brocade-covered chair, ignoring his wife’s wince as the dampness on his coat stained the white fabric. “The best of the lot. She’s young, but she can already follow a burning scent right to the breeding earth. Dash it!”

  “Can we help you look?” Ellen asked.

  He shook his head. “’Twill soon be dark.” Putting his hand over Marian’s as she knelt beside his chair, he sighed. “All we can do is hope she will return.”

  When Marian leaned her head on his arm, Ellen went out into the hallway and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. Once she was certain she was alone in the room and that the door to the dressing room was securely latched, she called out Corey’s name.

  “Over here,” came back the answer.

  Ellen whirled to see him sitting on the chair by the hearth. When he cautiously came to his feet, she asked, “Is something wrong? How do you feel?”

  “I am dead. How do you think I feel?” he fired back.

  “You look … different.”

  “How?”

  She shrugged. “I am not sure.”

  “If I could see my reflection in a glass, I might be able to help you.” His jaunty tone sounded coerced. “So what can I do for you today, Edie? Do you need something, or are you simply lonely between calls?”

  “Corey, what is wrong?” She took a step toward him, then paused when he turned and walked away to look out the window. “Something is bothering you.”

  “Nothing important.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Mayhap ’tis nothing more than I grow tired of this folly. You should stop delaying and choose a husband, Edie, so I might rid myself of this baleful existence which is neither life nor death.”

  “Is it so terrible?”

  When he faced her, she saw the truth on his face. She never had viewed such misery. “’Tis more terrible than you can guess.” He shook himself and smiled. “But there is no need to linger on such grim thoughts when you wished to speak with me. What is it?”

  “Nothing of import.”

  “You know how useless it is to try to fill my head with your out-and-outers. The truth, Edie.”

  “That is the truth.” She sat on the bench in front of her dressing table and looked up at him. “Lord Herrold is all upset about his pups, and I wished to speak of something else. That is all.”

  “Then we shall speak of other things. What—?”

  Ellen glanced toward the door when the impatient knock sounded a second time. Rising, she went to open it.

  A maid bowed her head toward Ellen. “Lady Herrold wishes to remind you dinner is ready.”

  “Thank you. I shall be down in the catching up of a garter.”

  The maid nodded and walked away.

  Ellen turned, but swallowed the words on her tongue. The room was empty. She went out into the hall and closed the door behind her. Although she waited, no glow filled the long corridor, save for the light from the lamps.

  Something was amiss with Corey. That was evident, but she could not guess what the problem might be … unless he had been honest. Mayhap he was disgusted with being caught in the nether regions between life and death. Mayhap it was time for her to make a decision. She just must make sure it was not one she would regret for the rest of her life.

&n
bsp; No one spoke in the grand dining room as dinner was served. Ellen worried her linen napkin and stared at her plate. The idea of eating threatened to make her ill. Listening to the patter of rain on the windows that swept from the floor to the friezed ceiling fifteen feet above, she glanced at her hosts. Lord Herrold had eaten no more than she had, and Marian was toying with her roast beef as if she, too, had lost all interest in eating.

  “My lord,” announced a footman, “Lord Wulfric awaits you in the foyer.”

  Lord Herrold tossed his napkin on top of his food. “What is Lorenzo doing out on such a dreary night?”

  “Mayhap we should go and find out,” suggested Marian. She smiled weakly at Ellen. “You may stay and eat if you wish.”

  “Alone?” She shook her head. “This will give me the chance to thank Lorenzo for his company at the fair.”

  Marian’s smile broadened, and Ellen knew her answer was just what her friend had hoped to hear.

  The foyer was bright with the brass chandelier hanging from the rotunda roof two floors above. Lorenzo smiled as they came into the octagonal room. He looked down at the mud dripping onto the marble floor. “Forgive me for making such a mess, but Reggie, I thought you might wish this returned to you without delay.”

  Lord Herrold rushed forward as Lorenzo swept aside his coat and pulled out a wet, matted ball of fur. “Where did you find her?” He cradled the shivering pup in his arms, climbing the stairs and turning toward the parlor.

  “Not my parlor,” moaned Marian as she hurried after him. “Reginald, not on my best settee.”

  Ellen exchanged a smile with Lorenzo. As the footman took his soaked greatcoat, she said, “You are considerate to come out on a night such as this.”

  “Reginald loves his dogs more than anything in the world, save his wife.”

  “Mayhap.”

  He chuckled. “At least as much as he would children of his own. I would not have left a toddler by the side of the road, and to own the truth, I saw her on my way to stop by and bring you this.”