by Sara Freeze
Once her brother departed, Lady Holt summoned a footman to help her son set the table to rights. Refusing to stand to the side and let the two men do all the work, Ariadne seized a chair and set it down with a solid thump. When she raised her head, she saw James smiling his approval as he lifted one of the heavier end chairs. The table fell silent once everyone was seated. Finally, Lady Holt sighed and said, “Mrs. Alton, I must commend you and your daughter for your incredible steadfastness in the face of our, well, unusual situation.”
“You will find, Lady Holt, that my daughter and I are quite resilient. It is in our natures.” Mrs. Alton smiled as two footmen carried in platters stacked high with breads, preserves, eggs, and meats.
“And we are so happy to be here,” Ariadne added. “A little mischief with a few chairs will not deter us in the slightest.”
“Perhaps a visit to the village is in order,” Lady Holt suggested. “My son usually is preoccupied with his work on the estate, so we ladies will need to find our own entertainment. In the afternoon, I will make my visits to some of our tenants. One woman, Mrs. Heath, just had a baby and she seems to be in a spot of bother. She has been terribly weepy, the poor dear, and her husband believes she could use some company.”
“My mother should rest after our journey yesterday,” Ariadne said, “but I would very much like to accompany you, if it isn’t too much trouble, Lady Holt.”
The rest of the day passed by in a whirlwind of shopping and visits. Ariadne watched in quiet surprise as Lady Holt squeezed Mrs. Heath’s hands; Lady Partington had never touched anyone below her rank, stating that she feared catching a disease. When they returned to Holt Hall, Ariadne busied herself with continuing to learn the staff members’ names.
Lord Holt was absent from the dinner table, and Ariadne tried to dismiss the odd pang in her heart as she adjourned to her bedchamber for the night without seeing him. In fact, whereas her mother placidly went off to her own chamber to rest, Ariadne felt a deep restlessness within. As a lady’s maid, she hadn’t labored quite as many hours as the other maids, yet she had often worked on mending her mistress’s clothes until the candle in her tiny attic room sputtered out. Now, she had no pressing tasks to perform, so with a sigh, Ariadne trudged over to the ornate bed.
She had just settled into bed and was leaning over to blow out her candle when she heard male voices directly below her window. Ariadne tried desperately to quell the urge to look then finally gave in and sprung out of bed, inwardly giving thanks the candle still burned. Biting her lip, she gently eased open her window and peeked outside. Lord Holt clutched a torch in one hand and was lifting his other hand to bid goodbye to a man in rough working clothes.
She really ought to draw away from the window. Lord Holt was turning around now, and it would be terribly scandalous for her to be seen in her nightgown, even if it was pristine and plain.
Too late now. Holt turned, and the light from her flickering candle must have caught his eye. He paused and lifted his torch high, the flames casting shadows across his face. Though her cheeks burned and her fingers shook, Ariadne remained in place. “I bid you a good night, my lord.”
Shadows flitted across Holt’s face. She dared to believe a small smile softened the hard planes of his face. “James.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are to call me James when we are alone.” Just as before, when James had withdrawn from his hand from her arm, he seemed to regret his overture, and he glanced away from the window. “It is late. I should leave you be.”
“Good night, then,” she hesitated, the intimacy of the moment drawing out, “James.”
James jerked his head back, surprised etched on his rugged face. He was silent a moment, as though pondering his response. Finally, he nodded and said, “Good night Ariadne.” His gaze lingered on her face for another minute before he finally departed.
An hour later, Ariadne still remained awake. She rolled her eyes at the idea that what chased away sleep was not the quite legitimate concern of a ghost wandering the estate but rather the entirely human and comparably less dangerous master of that estate.
And therein, Ariadne knew, lay the danger. She could handle a ghost, but could she handle her growing affection for James?
Chapter Four
A shrill shriek echoed within though the venerable rooms of Holt House. Ariadne threw on her plain white wrapper and lurched out the door. Just moments before, she’d been having the most delightful dream of James standing below her bedroom window, their brief intimacy of the night before renewed. He had been stretching out his hand, and in the glow of her dreamy haze, she had been reaching out to grasp it. Another shriek punctured the air, and Ariadne grimaced as the comforting warmth of her dream faded away altogether.
She flew down the stairs and toward the hubbub of voices. “What is heaven’s name is going on?” she cried out as she encountered the chaos before her. One maid sobbed into her hands as the housekeeper patted her shoulder. Two footmen huddled in a doorway opposite from them.
“The painting, miss, the painting.” The maid’s blotchy face peered from between her fingers.
“Oh, my,” Ariadne breathed as she viewed the painting James had stared at just the day before. Except now there was no painting of the regal ancestor with his resplendent wig, just a white canvas; the glaring face of James’s ancestor had been entirely erased. At least, Ariadne thought with a weary optimism, the ornate frame was completely undamaged. Seeing the frightened faces around her, Ariadne rallied herself. “Where is Lord Holt?”
“I am here.”
Ariadne spun around and saw James enter the room with a panting footman right behind him. James must have been right in the middle of one of his farming projects when he was interrupted. His sleeves were rolled up, and mud caked his trousers and his boots. In all, he looked more like a workman than an aristocrat; Ariadne thought she had never seen anyone more handsome. She flushed and pulled her wrapper tighter around herself. This was hardly the time to be sighing over the master of the estate.
“What the devil has happened now?” James scowled at the painting. Instantly, a flurry of voices began talking in unison.
“The devil has happened! Devil’s work, my lord,” said one voice.
“We are cursed, indeed we are,” sobbed another voice.
Ariadne issued an impatient huff. “Nothing of the kind, my lord. What we have here is a very old painting that clearly has not weathered the passage of time well. We mustn’t allow ourselves to become carried away.”
“But Miss Alton, the portrait was just fine a few hours ago,” Mrs. Dawes spluttered. “It is the spirit, up to his fiendish ways.”
Ariadne lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps it is not the poor beleaguered spirit that is to blame.” She clasped her hands in front of her and gazed at the blank canvas. “Perhaps a nice dusting will help set everything to rights.”
James cleared his throat then said “It seems the spirit has been running amuck after all.”
Ariadne looked from him to the canvas then back to James again. “Perhaps the spirit is merely trying to help. The painting may not have suited his artistic sensibilities.”
“Ah, yes, spirit as artistic critic. Sounds perfectly reasonable to me. Perhaps he can work on Cruikshank’s nonsense when he is finished here.” James turned back to his staff members. “Time to return to your duties, everyone. Miss Alton and I will sort this out.”
The staff members all cast puzzled looks at James and Ariadne but obediently trundled from the room.
“You realize this all sounds a bit mad.”
“You just said it sounded reasonable. I believe the word ‘perfectly’ was even used as a superlative.” Ariadne tilted her head to one side.
James ran a hand through his hair.
“Are you having second thoughts about taking me as a wife?” Ariadne fiddled with the plain trimming at the neck of her wrapper, too shy suddenly to meet his gaze.
“Not all. Given the circu
mstances, perhaps, the madder my wife is, the better. And for other reasons, I grow more eager to take you as a wife with each hour that passes.”
Ariadne blushed. His subtle emphasis on “take” had not been lost on her. After the terrible incident with Albert Partington, she had sworn to herself she would never be “taken”—especially by some pampered gentleman. But James was no Albert; he was a man who worked hard for his family and for the people on his estate. As she gazed at his face, she noticed a small fleck of dirt on his cheek. Without stopping to consider her actions, she reached up and smoothed it away with her thumb.
James sucked in his breath; his fierce gaze burned down into hers. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt a woman’s soft touch.” He ran an appreciative gaze over her body. “Or been in the presence of a woman still in her bedclothes.”
Ariadne refused to quail; she was no young miss, after all. She lifted her chin and said, “My presence was needed here; I would not let propriety stand in the way during an emergency. And I am surprised about your, well, your woman comment. You are not an unattractive man.”
“Now it is my turn to be flattered,” James said with a wry chuckle.
“Don’t change the subject.” Ariadne folded her arms. “Why have you been alone all these years? A man of your position can have whatever—and whomever—he wants.”
“Not if he has responsibilities and people who are counting on him.” James turned to the side and hefted the painting off the wall. Ariadne tried hard—and failed—not to notice how his muscles bunched and flexed under his shirt. “To be honest, I labor all day and often fall into bed absolutely weary to the bone.” He scowled at the blank canvas. “And I have no desire to be a reprobate like many of my forefathers. Not to mention, few ladies are interested in being wooed by a man covered in mud and reeking of the outdoors.”
Then they don’t know what they’re missing. For one mortifying moment, Ariadne thought she had spoken the words aloud. When James grunted and started lugging the painting toward the vestibule, she realized her secret was safe.
“Also, most ladies tend to steer clear of gentlemen with haunted manors.”
“Thankfully, some of us are more enlightened.” Ariadne offered him a tentative smile. “And I do not scare that easily.”
“No, you don’t. And for that, I am more grateful than I can say.”
Woods, the butler, gasped when he saw James hauling the painting across the foyer. “My lord, really. A footman can perform that task.” With a regal snap of his fingers, Woods summoned a young footman with a sheepish expression to take the painting from James.
“Woods, see what you can do to calm the staff. Miss Alton did an excellent job rallying the kitchen staff this morning. I would hate to see them falling into melancholy again.”
“Of course, my lord. I will begin making rounds immediately and reassuring the more timorous souls.” Woods made a formal bow and then drifted away.
They wandered back in the direction they had come and James frowned at the empty space on the wall. Ariadne patted his arm as she said, “At least you have this lovely side cabinet here. I will have one of the maids decorate it with some candles, so the space will seem less empty.”
“So, what is our next step, my intrepid spirit charmer?”
“We continue on with the plans for the ball. We cannot allow the spirit to take away our control.”
“Control? We have none as it pertains to the spirit. The wretched thing has always seen fit to precisely what it wanted.”
“But, based on what Lady Holt told me in the carriage yesterday, it seems to grow bolder when we have an emotional response to its antics. We must maintain our composure.” Ariadne smiled limpidly at her prospective groom. “All the best etiquette books advise remaining graceful under pressure.”
James growled under his breath.
“What was that, my lord?”
“Absolutely nothing, Miss Alton. As always, I bow to your inestimable wisdom in all matters concerning hauntings and spirits.” With a gallant air, he offered Ariadne his arm. “Allow me to escort you back to the staircase, so you can prepare yourself for the day ahead, such as it is.”
“And you will be working, of course.” Ariadne tried not to stare at the sign of her small hand against his muscled forearm. She was not used to having a male escort; Lady Partington had frowned upon any of her staff members, especially the women, having male callers. Although she claimed she was concerned about morality, Ariadne knew she didn’t want anything, especially love, distracting the staff from their numerous duties.
“Yes, another long day in the fields. I hope you will not be too bereft.” Something akin to regret shone in James’s eyes.
“I always find something to do,” Ariadne said simply. They paused at the bottom of the steps, and James bowed over her hand. If only, she thought wistfully as Holt took his leave at the front door, she could find something to do with him—something scandalous that her proper lady’s maid persona would be properly shocked about. Ariadne pressed cool hands against her flushed cheeks. What was happening to her? She couldn’t afford to lose her carefully cultivated serenity. Her mother depended upon her for their survival.
A cool breeze drifted through the corridor, and Ariadne shivered and tightened the belt of her robe. “How delightfully cool and refreshing it is in the entryway,” she said for the spirit’s benefit. As she ascended the stairs to her room, a small smiled played across her lips. She had come to Holt Hall to become a wife; who would have thought she would actually have fun as well?
Chapter Five
The fun was now eluding her. Ariadne stared up at the ceiling as another shriek pierced the air. For the third morning in a row, the spirit has been up to its usual hijinks. In a fit of cleverness, it focused its energy on a different servant each day. On the first morning, it had turned a blonde-haired servant’s hair bright red. On the second morning, it let all the horses loose in the downstairs level of the hall. The house still reeked of manure and horseflesh. She wondered what the impish spirit had in store for all of them this morning.
Throughout it all, James maintained a grim serenity as he elected to follow Ariadne’s plan to maintain an unruffled air in the hopes that the spirit would lose interest if they didn’t show any emotion.
Realizing her presence was no doubt needed downstairs, she threw on her wrapper. At this point, James had seen her in nightclothes so much that their wedding night would hardly be a revelation, she thought with a sour grimace. She met James at the bottom of the staircase and placed one comforting hand on his forearm as he escorted her to the cluster of servants in front of the ballroom.
“What is it now, Woods?”
Woods stood in the foyer, his usual stoic demeanor transformed into one of horror. “It is simply too terrible for words, Miss Alton.”
“Try for words anyway, Woods. I have not a gift for pantomime,” Ariadne said.
“I lack that gift as well,” James said, glancing down at her hand on his arm. As Ariadne began to lift her hand from his arm, he pressed one of his large hands over hers, keeping hers in place. Lady Holt approached just then, and Ariadne did not miss the approving smile she cast toward their joined hands.
“That hoydenish spirit has defaced the ballroom floor.” Woods lower lip trembled with indignation. “He has besmirched the noble Holt floors.”
“I had no idea our floors held such as exalted status.”
Woods, usually so reserved with his long whiskers and ramrod stiff posture, actually wrung his hands. “My lord, I do not know how to convey such terrible tidings.”
“Just tell me what’s happened, Woods,” James said with a weary sigh as he ran his hand through his hair. “I have work waiting for me in the fields.”
“Your work can wait, James my darling,” Lady Holt said. “The staff clearly are in an uproar, and I cannot imagine what Miss Alton must be thinking.”
“I am curious to know what has happened now.” Ariadne clasped
her hands. “Please speak freely, Woods.”
“The spirit has seen fit to chalk the ballroom floors.”
James chuckled. “Although I confess I am not an expert on ballrooms and dancing, I believe such a practice is not unheard of. Are you sure my mother was not responsible? I thought I heard her tell my uncle she was to engage a local artist to make some fashionable designs on the floor.
Woods gasped as he glanced at Lady Holt. “I do not believe Lady Holt’s pure and esteemed mind could conceive of such images as the spirit has covered the floor with. They are, well, my lord, they are obscene,” Woods said in a strangled voice. He mopped at his forehead with a pristine linen handkerchief. “I am at a loss, my lord, indeed I am. Holt Hall has never witnessed such a shocking sight.”
“Get ahold of yourself, man,” James said in a bracing voice. “Go fortify yourself with a brandy and advise the staff no one is to enter the ballroom for the next few hours.”
“My lord, you should not have to subject yourself to such a sight. Your delicate sensibilities, my lord.” Woods dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief.
“If I succumb to a fit of the vapors, I am sure Miss Alton will revive me.”
“Yes, my lord.” Woods lurched away, casting them a woebegone expression over his shoulder. Lady Holt accompanied him, darting a curious look over her shoulder as they departed.
“I believe Woods has missed his calling on the stage,” Ariadne said. “He would put Edmund Kean to shame.”
James gazed down at her. “I am more concerned about my tendency to become overwrought at the sight of some improper images. How do you intend to revive me?”
“I do not have any smelling salts on my person,” Ariadne said, darting him a shy smile. “What do you suggest?”
“I will leave that to your imagination.” He sighed as he saw a few maids peeking around the corner. “Let us inspect this latest disaster.” He pushed open the door with a gentle nudge. “After you,” James said, stepping to the side. Ariadne made to enter the room then stumbled as James reached out an arm at the last minute to block her entrance. “Ariadne, wait. I must have lost my senses. You should not be subjected to such a scene.”
