"Mrs. Thornton believes them."
"Yes," Joseph said and moved onto another bush.
"If fact, she believes a curse killed her family."
Joseph didn't say anything, which suggested that he didn't necessarily believe otherwise. "Best not to be talking of such things." It was clear he didn't like discussing it. For all she could guess, he even believed in this curse, maybe even in that drawing being infused with magical power.
That old woman's warning came back to her, saying that there was evil all around them. With so many people fearing around her, it was hard to convince herself there was nothing to fear. Percy was being sensible, but was he blinded? Or was she the blinded one?
Lost in her own thoughts, she walked toward the stairs, but turned. "We have been invited to Lord Cresswell's ball," she said, more for wanting to see how Joseph reacted. There were things about what he believed that he wasn't telling her.
"A ball would be nice. Get all dressed up in your fineries," he said without looking up.
For the first time, Emmeline questioned Joseph's gentle manner. How much of it was real and how much was practiced? He wasn't here by choice, by some desire to serve. He was forced to be here, and was perhaps better at hiding his hatred than the others. How could she know? She only had his manner to go by and for all she knew, his thoughts were very different from the placid expression on his face. Did he care if they were lured to their deaths?
In fact, did she trust anyone in this place? Mrs. Thornton's concern for her wellbeing had been questionable from the start. Joseph was basically here under duress, and Percy, although the most sensible, had shown quite clearly that underneath his gentlemanly manner, lay a man who felt no qualms about using her to her detriment.
And Lord Cresswell; it was his intentions she truly questioned. Was he part of the evil in this place, meaning them harm in his quest for… In fact, she didn't know what he would quest for—power, money, land? And why throw a ball? Percy was adamant they go, so they would find out one way or another.
Emmeline wrung her hands together, feeling the tension tightening in her shoulders. All these things were circling around her and she had no power over any of them. She was just the companion, duty bound to a mad woman who saw ghosts in every shadow, and Emmeline couldn't entirely convince herself they weren't there.
Chapter 21
It was still raining by the time they reached the Cresswell Plantation house. It had started that morning and hadn't stop since. Not the torrential rain of the storm, but a steady drizzle that glossed every cane leaf. Night was now descending and the carriage lamps cast ghostly shadows across the desolate road.
The pantheon was covered, creating a musty, wet atmosphere within the carriage. Joseph sat in the rain with an oiled coat, gently driving them to their destination.
Mrs. Thornton wore a fine silk gown, while Emmeline had little choice but to wear the dress Lord Cresswell had given her. For some reason, it felt dangerous, like a betrayal, or a commitment of some kind. She didn't understand why it felt so wrong, but it did. Everything about this evening felt wrong. Percy, however, despite Mrs. Thornton's pleading, would not hear of them declining the invitation.
It was as if Percy refused to entertain any notion that all was not as it seemed. There adamantly weren't curses, ill will or silly notions like spirits. He stuck to the story that their terrifying night had been some drunk mariners making fun at their expense. Granted, there had been nothing waking them in the dark of night since, but the memory still clung.
A number of carriages were parked when they arrived, which assured Emmeline that others had indeed been invited to this ball. Both Joseph and Percy held up umbrellas as they descended and walked across the slick gravel that crunched under their feet.
A liveried black man stood by the main entrance, taking the umbrellas or anything else that shouldn't be brought into the house. The girl Emmeline recognized, Tilly, took any cloaks, but none of them wore one. The girl didn't look Emmeline in the eyes or give any indication that they had met before. It felt odd not acknowledging someone.
Music played and there was the tinkling of laughter from inside one of the rooms she hadn't seen the last time she had been there. The manor was more brightly lit now and the multitude of candles lifted the gloomy feeling she had gotten before. The dark wood now shone in a rich, reddish hue.
There were quite a few people invited, wearing dresses finer than any she had seen so far. Silks and velvets, fabrics that were normally too heavy for the climate. The rain made it a modicum cooler. Few of the women wore white like Emmeline did. Still, this dress was a better choice than the drab gray wool she had.
"Felicia," Mrs. Thornton said brightly, moving away, apparently forgiving Percy from making her come.
That left her with Percy, who by etiquette shouldn't simply wander off himself. "I hope you will spare me a dance later," he said.
"Of course," Emmeline said with a forced smile. Hopefully this dance will be earlier in the evening rather than later when he was more influenced by drink. She couldn't really say no. It would be rude.
"I should perhaps get you a drink. Would you like one?"
"I will perhaps have one later, but you should get one."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course."
He walked away to find his first drink of the night. Perhaps it wasn't something she should encourage, but it seemed a good way to excuse him from his duties as chaperone. As for herself, she would find a nice seat along the edge of the ballroom, where women like her—companions—were supposed to sit.
The dancers ahead of her parted and on the other side stood Lord Cresswell. Hair rose up on her arms seeing him there so suddenly as if he just appeared. His dark eyes were on her, but he didn't smile or convey any greeting. He simply watched her. It still astounded her that he would throw a ball, but here it was.
It was a fine event. The dancers, who all shifted forward now, cluttered the space between her and Lord Cresswell, all looking elegant and joyous. Emmeline tried to smile at the sight of their diversion, but she couldn't quite feel the joy.
They were going to part again and to her surprise, Lord Cresswell was still standing there. Neither of them had moved. He watched her. Was she in the way of something? She turned to look behind her but there was no one there particularly. In her heart, she knew he would be there if she looked back, as if daring her to challenge him. This was his party, his domain.
Refusing to look back, she walked away, seeking a safe refuge along the wall. Maybe a drink would be good. There was a table laid out with glasses of champagne, and she made her way there. He must have spared little expense on this ball, because this champagne would come all the way from France. It was lovely, and she liked it even more than last time she'd had it.
"They say the sea voyage doesn't serve the champagne well," the deep, familiar voice said next to her as she finished her first sip. He was over there, and now he was here.
"I have not known it otherwise," she admitted. Turning to him, she felt the full force of his eyes, their dark depths. They had a way of pulling her in, as if trying to mesmerize her. She looked down.
"That is a shame. Maybe one day you will. Perhaps with a husband."
Emmeline didn't know how to response. "Yes," she said, because she couldn't think of anything else to say. "I suppose it is possible."
"You do not have faith in men?" There was surprise in his voice.
"The only men I have really known are priests."
"And me."
"And Percy Thornton," she filled in quickly.
Something darkened his countenance. Emmeline got the feeling he disliked Percy. If it was him that had actually pushed Percy down the stairs that day, then those feelings ran to deep and unbridled hatred.
Would this man in front of her actually try to murder someone? A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. From her first visit here, she wouldn't have guessed it. He was uncaring and even depraved, perhaps, b
ut a murderer? She knew nothing about him, other than his plantation was badly run and his wife had escaped this place—and him.
He exhaled slowly. "What do you think of our beautiful island?" he said after a while.
"It is, of course, beautiful."
"I think you belong on an island like this."
That was a strange thing to say to someone. "I don't think I belong in this heat."
"You get used to it, they say. The first year is the hardest, or so I am told."
Somehow, Emmeline couldn't imagine herself spending years as Mrs. Thornton's companion. "It is very unpredictable, I find."
"Do you?"
"I find that there is much here I don't understand." That was true, and she probably shouldn't have said it.
"Like what?"
"Like why a lord should be spending time chatting to a mere companion."
He smiled. "To ask her to dance, of course."
"I'm not sure that's appropriate."
He shifted his head slightly as he considered her. "Well, it's my ball. I can dance with whom I want. I like your dress."
A flush crept up Emmeline's cheeks. "It's not quite appropriate for a ball."
"You should have told me, I would have sent you another."
"It does perhaps not serve me you sending me gifts," she said.
A smile graced his lips. "No, perhaps not."
He made her nervous; there was no denying it. Licking her lips, she looked up at him again. "I'm glad we have common understanding."
"Or perhaps your discomfort is amusing. Now, please dance with me."
"I… " Emmeline started, not quite knowing how to deal with this. "I am not well versed," she admitted.
"Then I will lead you," he stated, taking her drink out of her hand. There really was no way of backing out of this without making a scene. It was his ball, and in some sense, she felt she ought to dance with him.
With a tug of his hand, he swung her around until they stood next to other couples. This was a quadrille. She did know this dance. It had been part of basic tuition at her school. He had her on the dance floor now and she couldn't do anything but stay, trying to remember the steps as her mind raced with what he'd just said. He found her discomfort amusing. Why? What kind of person would say that? In a sense, she wasn't surprised. When she'd been marooned here, he'd seemed intent on saying things that would shock her with his lack of propriety and blasé attitude.
The dance started and slowly she shifted between the men until she returned to him. The steps were slow and measured, and the waltz portion was coming. Emmeline held her breath as he drew her close—too close for the strictest propriety. Biting her lip, she worried that Mrs. Thornton was watching and that she would never hear the end of this.
His hand settled at her back, warm and firm, sending heat radiating up her back. He swung her sharply and those eyes refused to let her go. She wanted to escape, but all she could do was follow his lead as he took her from one step to the other, their bodies not touching, but very close.
Chapter 22
For once, Emmeline was drawn into a conversation with some of the younger women from the island. She wasn't the center of the conversation, but she was included in the group, which in and of itself, was extraordinary.
They spoke of someone she didn't know, but she acted as if she were interested, just so she could stay included in the conversation. It meant a great deal to her to be included, to be seen as part of their community.
And then Percy interfered, insisted on that dance she had promised him. For a moment, she wished he'd just go away, but it was done now. The young women were watching her expectantly as she placed her hand in Percy's and let him draw her away from the group, and Emmeline was sorry. He wasn't to know, perhaps, that he was drawing her away from what was essentially a momentous development—one she wasn't sure would be repeated. Still, it was something and a development she would treasure. Was it possible that she could even build friendships in this place?
Percy stepped on her toes. Pain pierced up her foot, but her smile remained fixed. Drink had made his a little careless, but he had a wonderful time, it seemed. "Are you enjoying the evening?" he asked.
"Very much."
"Mother has retreated. Stomach complaint."
"Oh," Emmeline said, feeling bad because she hadn't been aware. As a companion, those were things she should know, weren't they? Again, she felt like a failure in her role.
"No doubt she's assuming that Cresswell has poisoned her." Percy laughed as if it was the funniest thing he'd heard. "She's sending the carriage back for us."
"Of course." The thought of sitting in the tight confines of a carriage with an inebriated Percy wasn't a prospect she was looking forward to. She would much have preferred that Mrs. Thornton was there.
"Oh, sorry," he said as he stepped on her toes again. His cheeks were glowing red with drink and merriment.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Cresswell watching her with a drink in his hand. His attention made her uncomfortable, but at least he didn't appear inebriated. Glancing over, she confirmed that he was still watching her. He raised his eyebrows slightly at her attention, then gently saluted her with his drink. Why was he watching her? Had he simply been kind when he'd danced with her? It had resulted in her being included in the conversation of the young women, so she should perhaps be grateful.
"Must see to things," Percy said as the dance ended and he walked off, slightly unstable on his feet.
The group of women had dissipated and Emmeline now had nowhere particular to go, but Lord Cresswell was walking toward her. Twisting her fingers together, she waited. He obviously wanted to further their conversation. Why, she had no idea.
"Lord Cresswell," she said with a small curtsey.
"It seems you have been deserted. You have a habit of placing yourself in distressing situations, it seems."
"I am at a ball, Lord Cresswell. You seem to have a habit of seeing me in distress." Although, he did have a point, a distressing situation was unfolding.
"Mr. Thornton is heavy in his cups. I think I just saw him slip into the card room. He's not done for the evening." It sounded like a warning—one she didn't need.
Emmeline tried to hide her worry. Surely, he wouldn't do anything untoward. Maybe it was better for her to walk home, she wondered. In the dark, in the rain, and on her own, down a road she had only traveled once before. No, things did not look good. Hopefully, she was being overly worrisome and it might all be fine.
"Are you happy in your position?" he asked, drawing her attention back to him.
"Of course," she said. The truth was more complicated than that, but she wasn't about to admit it.
"The Thorntons can be difficult people."
"They have accused you of the same."
He smiled. "I think we both know they have accused me of being more than difficult. Do you miss your convent?" Could he really be anything more than a difficult person? He had a certain direct charm that seemed to cut through layers of etiquette, politeness and reserve. It was as if he allowed no such things, or at least she felt that way—exposed.
"School. I was a mistress at a school prior to coming here, and yes, I do miss the girls. They were lovely."
"My mother was French," he said. "Catholic. She was quite a foreign bird on this island."
That was how Emmeline felt—foreign, as if she didn't belong here. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Percy returning to the ballroom, and she pressed her lips together.
"I have a portrait of her if you would like to see. She was quite beautiful."
"Yes, of course," she said, watching as Percy seemed to be searching for her.
Reluctantly, she took Cresswell’s arms and he led her away from the ballroom and into what looked like his study. They were alone and unseen here, Emmeline noticed, away from the roaming Percy. Was this a good idea? Well, he had been well behaved when she had been utterly alone at his house. In all honestly, she actuall
y trusted him more than Percy, but didn't know if she was correct in her assessment.
"My father installed it here after her death and I never moved it." His attention was on the far wall and when Emmeline looked over, she saw a beautiful woman with dark hair and eyes. That was where his dark features came from. "I never really knew her. Barely have any memories."
"I'm sorry." She certainly could understand that sentiment.
"The Caribbean can be a harsh environment. Don't let the sedate pace fool you; things change quickly here. These islands have bloody pasts."
Emmeline didn't quite know what he was referring to, but it sounded ominous. "What do you mean?"
Her question broke his reverie and he looked over at her, something unreadable in his eyes. It made the hair on her arms rise, but she couldn't account for it. "Were you at Rose Hill the other day?" she asked, mustering her courage to ask what had been plaguing her for a few days. "I thought I saw you. Actually, I am fairly sure I saw you."
"While pacing on the veranda?" That confirmed it in her mind, she hadn’t been imagining things.
"What were you doing there?"
His smile crept wider and Emmeline found she had to look away. There was something much too intent in his eyes. They gave her no pause. "I just found myself there."
"By the sugar mill?"
"No, why would I go to the sugar mill? I have my own."
"I just… " she didn't know how to finish that.
"No, I have no interest in the Rose Hill sugar mill."
"Then, why were you there?"
Cresswell sighed. "I needed to clear my head, so I went for a ride. But it didn't clear my mind. I find my thoughts have been invaded, my peaceful existence disturbed. Peaceful might be a stretch at the best of times, but yes, my existence is disturbed."
Emmeline watched him as he turned away from her, walking over to where a decanter stood, filling a glass with liquid. He didn't offer her one, perhaps because he knew her tastes didn't run to such liquor. Turning around, he leaned on the table, crossing his legs at the ankle. "I threw this ball for you."
The Curse at Rose Hill Page 13
