Love in the Moonlight: A Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Collection: 7 Delightful Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Stories (Regency Collections Book 6)

by Arietta Richmond

  “I must apologize that my son is not here for dinner,” Elizabeth said, pausing in her conversation with Pamela to direct her regrets to Madalene. “Gabriel went out earlier and promised he’d be home in plenty of time. I’m not sure what’s happened, but I hope he’ll be here quickly. I can’t wait for you to meet him, my dear.”

  Elizabeth smiled coyly at Madalene who did not miss the slight wink the Countess directed to Pamela.

  Madalene smiled and nodded to the Countess, a bit unnerved that Elizabeth and her mother seemed a little too keen for Madalene and Gabriel to meet. She knew that her mother was anxious to find her a husband, despite Madalene’s lack of interest.

  The food was excellent and much better than the more robust fare they’d subsisted on during their travels. Madalene didn’t exactly have a strong stomach when it came to constant boat or carriage travel, so she’d avoided all but the most necessary of food over the past weeks. They ate through rare pauses in conversation between the two older women and, as the plates were taken away, Elizabeth pursed her lips and looked around with a sigh.

  “How ungracious of him,” the Countess said, when the last plates were cleared and it was obvious that the Earl would not be joining them even for an after-dinner drink. She was dismayed that her son had made such an unfortunate first impression on their guests by his absence.

  “It’s nothing,” Pamela said, patting Elizabeth’s hand. “He has an entire estate to run. Indulge the Earl in this. We can meet him tomorrow, when it’s more convenient - isn’t that right, Madalene?”

  She’d been staring at a rather ominous picture of a stern man in a powdered wig that hung just behind the Countess. Caught off guard at hearing her name, she blinked.

  “Umm… yes?” She said hesitantly, and drew a stern look from her mother. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was amused and glanced over her shoulder at the painting.

  “Oh, I see you’ve met great-great uncle Herbert,” she said with a flick of the wrist in the painting’s direction. “He helped build the manor and was buried somewhere near the forest in the back fields. When my late husband was a boy, his older brothers would tease him and tell him the ghost of Great Uncle Herbert would get him if he didn’t share his sweet pie with them.”

  The older women laughed at the notion and Madalene gave a polite smile, but it wasn’t exactly out of the realm of possibility, she mused. If ghosts wandered the earth, this dreary manor in particular would be a fantastic home for them, with all its dark corners and empty spaces.

  When she’d said that very same thing to her mother while they walked down the staircase to dinner, her mother had clicked her tongue at Madalene.

  “You read far too many novels,” she’d admonished her daughter. “It might be time for you to take up poetry and put aside these fanciful notions of ghosts and spirits.”

  She roundly ignored her mother, as her novels and fantastical stories of lost loves and tragic circumstances had carried Madalene through many of her worst nights since her father passed. She’d certainly not be giving those up anytime soon. And as far as poetry went? She’d sooner scrub the staircase top to bottom with a bucket of soap and a horse brush before she’d ever put serious effort into reading modern poetry.

  Now, with the prospect of finding her way toward her own bedroom at the end of a dark and winding hallway, while her mother was located along a corridor in the opposite direction, Madalene began to see some small amount of truth to her mother’s words. As another burst of wind howled against the window pane and a blast of air made its way in an attack on the meager candle flame that Gemma carried as she led her to her room, Madalene made a firm resolution to read more poetry.

  Volumes more poetry.

  Nothing but poetry if she somehow managed to make it to the safety of her room without being set upon by a vengeful wraith or restless ghost.

  Gemma glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Madalene’s teeth chattering.

  “Would ye like me to build the fire bigger in yer room, Miss?”

  Madalene clamped her mouth closed and shook her head.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  She wanted to say more to reassure the girl that she was fine, but Madalene wasn’t certain she was fine, and really just wanted to be behind a closed door and beneath her covers quickly.

  Once inside her bedroom, after Gemma had helped her out of her gown and pulled the pins from her hair, Madalene nestled into the musty smelling blankets, beat at the stiff, unforgiving pillows and commenced tossing and turning relentlessly for the next hour.

  “This is impossible,” she spoke aloud as she sat up in bed and frowned. Beside her, Matilda was awake as well and perked her ears up in the direction of the door. Following her terrier’s gaze, Madalene watched, half expecting Gemma or another servant to knock asking if she needed anything.

  “Pillows that don’t feel like river stones would be a great start,” she muttered, rolling her aching neck from side to side.

  From above her head, the floorboard creaked with heavy thumps, as though something, or someone, began moving around on the floor above her. The only problem was, at dinner, the Countess had told them that the upper level of the manor was uninhabited, having been closed off years earlier for lack of use.

  The thumps were loud and violent and she gasped when it seemed one was right above her head and then suddenly stopped — no footsteps or sounds of motion following it. After a few moments of eerie silence, her bedroom door creaked with a load groan and Matilda growled.

  Madalene gripped the blanket around her and covered her mouth with her hand to restrain herself from crying out, lest she also scare Matilda. The little dog growled and began showing her teeth in the direction of the door, which was now open a few inches.

  “Hello?” she whispered, praying fervently that nobody answered.

  Matilda was on high alert now, her back low and her growl louder. Madalene reached out to stroke the dog’s back in an effort to calm her, but without warning, the animal shot off the bed, across the room, and out the door into the darkness.

  “Matilda!” Madalene called, fumbling out of bed and getting tangled in the sheets as she tried to follow her dog. She grabbed a robe as she rounded the corner of the bed and hastily tied it over her chemise. She didn’t have time to find slippers, and said a quick prayer that she wouldn’t catch her death of a cold in pursuit of the silly little dog.

  “Matilda, come back!” She hissed into the darkness. She plodded along the carpeted parts of the hallway, regretting the fact that, in her haste, she hadn’t bothered to light a candle to see by.

  Ahead, she heard the sounds of Matilda’s nails on the stone floors, and she quickened her pace.

  “Get back here right now!” She was louder this time in hopes that Matilda would hear and circle back toward her, tail tucked. No such luck - Madalene pushed on.

  “Matilda,” she whispered as loudly as she could, as she stepped gingerly over the cold, rough surface of the stone floor. The wind outside was louder than ever now, and the fogged glass of the few windows was streaked with rain.

  A door slammed a floor above her as she neared the staircase, shaking the manor and causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. Clutching her hands to the fabric at her neck, Madalene gave herself a stern talking to, telling herself that she needed to be brave, that she needed to get all thoughts of spirits and demons out of her head, that she desperately needed more poetry in her life.

  As she reached the stairs, she heard Matilda’s high-pitched yap from down below, and a sigh of temporary relief flowed from Madalene’s lips. At least the dog hadn’t run upstairs — she wasn’t sure she had the nerve to follow her in the direction of the strange noises coming from the area of the manor that was supposed to be empty.

  Madalene cast a nervous glance over her shoulder at the landing above her as she took her first tentative steps down to the main hall in the direction she’d heard Matilda’s barking. She took the steps agonizingly slowly, i
n the fear that she’d miss one and break her neck in a tumble down to the landing. The entire way, she whispered the dog’s name in the hope that the stubborn little creature would return to her.

  As she reached the bottom, she took a moment to orient herself and adjust her eyes before venturing to the right, which she believed was the way to the kitchens. If she knew her animal, the fearless Matilda would be attempting to introduce herself to the cook in the hope of being given a few scraps.

  In a finely furnished sitting room, Madalene managed to bump into the sharp corners of no fewer than three tables of various sizes, almost guaranteeing herself unsightly bruises over the course of the next few days.

  She even managed to get her foot caught in a rug, causing her to fall to her knees and let out a howl of pain.

  That managed to get her dog’s attention, and as she was rubbing her sore joint, Matilda suddenly joined her and leapt upon her, a wet tongue finding Madalene’s cheek, reassuring her mistress that all was well.

  “No dinner for you tomorrow, Missy,” she said as she regained her feet. Looking up, she could tell from the light coming from a nearby doorway that she’d reached the kitchen. She heard voices floating from the gap between the door and the ground.

  “…sure in a tizzy tonight,” an older woman’s voice said. Her interest piqued, Madalene pushed closer and held her dog to her chest while she listened.

  “Probably all worked up on account of the visitors,” another voice, also female, added. “Must be trying to scare the wits out of ‘em so’s they flee. Oh, lord, what a night to arrive at Warfield.”

  Madalene’s mind raced, replaying the thumping above her bed, the slamming doors, and the opening door to her room. She had read about ghosts and spirits and thought it was all fiction and fantasy. But this house would be just the sort of place she would expect to find them, if they were real. Was a spirit trying to lure her somewhere? To her doom?

  She’d read enough to know never, ever follow a spirt out onto the moors no matter how handsome, but Madalene would be sure to include dark stairways leading to the closed off areas of old manor houses on the list, too.

  “I expect the Earl will see to her tomorrow,” the muffled voice said from beyond the door to the kitchen. “He wants her here and no way is he lettin’ her go away.”

  Eyes wide, Madalene did her best to move noiselessly away from the kitchen and retrace her steps. Who are they talking about? Me? The Earl does not want me to go away? Madalene recalled the Countess at dinner, winking to her mother. Was everyone in on the plot to marry her off to the Earl? A man she had never met.

  As she reached the staircase in the main hall that would lead her back to the relative safety of her room - if anyplace in this sinister manor could be considered safe - the front door blew open with a draft of cold air and a silhouette appeared against the darkness outside. A torrent of rain fell and a streak of lightening appeared to illuminate the sky behind the dark shadow. The hallway that was already poorly lit from the dying entryway candles was immersed in darkness as the wind blew out the few remaining flames.

  Frozen in place, Madalene gripped the staircase and clutched Matilda to her chest. She held her breath, afraid she would gasp and give herself away. Was this a robber? Was it a spirit? Blinking, she forced herself to draw a shallow breath as the imposing figure slammed the door and began stalking straight toward her, water forming puddles in its footsteps as it moved.

  The closer the figure approached, the louder the thundering in Madalene’s ears grew until she was certain that the newcomer would be able to hear the pounding in her chest. As she took a few cautious backward steps, the trio of candles halfway up the staircase that she’d been blocking a moment earlier cast just enough light to illuminate the face of a stern, though somewhat handsome, man, whose dark brown hair was plastered to his forehead and nearly into his eyes as rainwater ran down his face.

  He stopped and stared at her, removed his gloves, and wiped the water from his face.

  “I… ummm… who…” Madalene was unable to find the words. Did he belong here? Was he an intruder?

  “Miss Montclair, I believe?”

  “Yes,” she stammered, managing to find her tongue as the man moved closer. He held out his hand and without thinking she gave hers, letting him grasp it lightly and bow over it.

  “I am Gabriel Hatcher. I apologize for missing dinner and the opportunity to welcome you and your mother when you arrived,” the man said. “I had… ah… business to attend to.”

  The Earl.

  The truth hit her slowly, like a gathering drop of storm water rolling down his chiselled cheekbone. In better light, even being overly wet and cold, he was a good looking fellow and she wondered how he was still unmarried at his age, and with his considerable fortune.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, looking down and suddenly realizing she was meeting the Earl in a robe and with bare feet. “My dog ran downstairs and I followed to fetch her. This is hardly a good first impression.”

  “Nonsense, I see no problem here,” he said with an odd smile and a glint in his eye. Was he talking about her current state of undress? “I quite like dogs.”

  With an audible swallow, she glanced down at Matilda who, miracle of miracles, was not only not growling at the man, but was allowing him to scratch behind her ears.

  Before Madalene could further embarrass herself, the Earl bowed and took his leave.

  “I hope to see more of you tomorrow,” he said with a low chuckle before moving toward a darkened hallway at the back of the house.

  She blinked a moment and looked down at Matilda, realizing that her dressing gown had slipped from her shoulder as the Earl had been petting the dog, exposing the mound of her breast. Cheeks red, Madalene scurried up the stairs, and to her room, before the next clap of thunder struck.

  Chapter Three

  During the following days, Madalene and her mother settled into the estate as best they could. The Countess was a warm hostess who took great pleasure in making her guests feel at home, assuring them that they were welcome to stay as long as they liked, even permanently. It pleased Madalene to see her mother more relaxed and at ease than she had been since the Baron’s death, although, whenever Pamela thought she was not being watched, a solemn grief still shadowed her face.

  Gabriel usually joined the women for breakfast and dinner but was pensive at the table and a man of few words. Between the hours of those two meals, he was nowhere to be seen. Madalene had expected to be embarrassed in his presence, after their initial meeting, but Gabriel made no mention of their brief encounter. It was as if it had not occurred at all. Even her mother had stopped speaking of the Earl as an eligible bachelor in her presence. Was it possible that now they’d met, the Earl had told her mother, in no uncertain terms, that under no circumstances would he be interested in a match with her?

  What is wrong with me? It is not as if he is such a fabulous catch. Then Madalene would remind herself that she had no interest in finding a husband to begin with.

  Her mother interrupted her thoughts, snapping Madalene back to the present.

  “Are you ready for service? We need to leave if we want to be on time.”

  The dreary church.

  Madalene had almost forgotten about the ramshackle building they’d passed on the journey into the village.

  “Yes, I’m ready,” she said, although the lack of enthusiasm in her voice could not be mistaken.

  “Good,” her mother said as she rose. “We’re arriving a bit early so that we can meet the vicar and his family. He has a daughter close to your age and they’d like to introduce the two of you.”

  That perked Madalene up a bit and she hurried to finish her breakfast, before joining her mother in front of the manor, where the carriage was waiting.

  The ride was blessedly short — and bumpy.

  “Why are the roads so bad here?” she complained miserably as she was bounced nearly off her bench.

  “The winters a
re harsh and that means lots of freezing and thawing,” her mother murmured, her eyes cast out the window.

  “Mamma,” Madalene ventured a little nervously. “Do you hear strange things at night?”

  Her mother blinked and looked over.

  “Strange? What do you mean strange?”

  Madalene took a deep breath.

  “Do you hear things that sound like spirits? Slamming doors? Footsteps in the ceiling?”

  Pamela Montclair shook her head.

  “You are getting used to a new home, dear. All old houses have creaks that sound loud in the night when everything else is silent.”

  “No. It is more than that. It is not just creaks that occur.”

  Madalene continued, undeterred, despite her mother’s sceptical expression. “I hear footsteps and voices. I am certain that they come from the upper floor. But the Countess told us that the upper level has been closed for years. Do you think that the manor is haunted?”

  “You’re being silly,” she laughed. “What have I told you about those novels? We’re simply living in a larger manor with more people about. Sounds carry and seem to come from another direction. I declare, you’re always looking to make things a bigger issue than they really are.”

  That stung a bit, and Madalene retreated back into her own thoughts. She knew what she had heard, even if her mother didn’t, and there was still the odd conversation, which she had overheard, between the servants on the night that they had arrived. Something was amiss and she was going to find out what.

  ~~~~~

  Hester Fabens, the vicar’s daughter, was everything that Madalene had hoped she would be. She was kind, well-spoken, and full of fanciful ideas and notions about Warfield Manor and its inhabitants.

  “There have been rumours about the Wrothams for ages,” she whispered conspiratorially, when their mothers had sent them off to explore the church grounds while they prepared for the service. “But things got much more macabre when the current Earl returned, after living abroad for many years. Some say he joined a foreign fighting band while my parents think he simply went to study in France.”