Harlequin Historical February 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Texas Ranger's DaughterHaunted by the Earl's TouchThe Last De Burgh

by Jenna Kernan

  ‘Gerald said something about the White Lady at breakfast, but that has nothing to do with it. I know what I heard. You must have heard it, too.’

  ‘I heard a noise,’ he admitted grudgingly. ‘Someone calling out.’

  ‘It was more than that. Something bounced across the floor.’ She gave him a suspicious look.

  He gave a shrug. ‘Perhaps it was my footsteps you heard.’

  ‘And the chains rattling?’

  He pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket. ‘I used these to open the door. The stone walls must have magnified the sound.’

  ‘It is not doing it now.’

  ‘You would only hear it from below,’ he said in the patient tones of an adult to a foolish child. She knew

  exactly what it was, because she had used it on many similar occasions. But she was not a child. She knew what she had heard.

  Perhaps she had let Gerald’s stories colour her imagination, but she had heard something. ‘Who was it who called out, then?’

  ‘Again, it might be a trick of the way this place is constructed. Sound travelling through stone from somewhere else.’

  He spoke almost as if he was trying to convince himself.

  ‘But if you heard someone call out and came to see, how did you get up here so quickly? Why didn’t I see you on the stairs ahead of me?’

  ‘I didn’t come up the stairs. I came across the battlements from the other tower. I was going down when...’ He hesitated. ‘I decided to take a look in here.’

  The outside door opening and closing would account for the cold wind rushing past her. Perhaps it was only footsteps and keys echoing off stone walls she had heard. But it did not explain the shrieks and the moans or what had made him close himself inside an obviously empty room.

  She bit her tongue. To say more would be to sound hysterical. He was deliberately making her feel like a fool.

  ‘Then in the absence of anyone needing help, I suppose I should go back down,’ she said finally.

  He held out his arm. ‘Allow me to escort you.’ Masterfully, he took her candle and helped her down the stairs as if she was made of china. It made her feel strangely feminine—not something she should be feeling around him. He was just being polite. But even that seemed out of character. Perhaps he was trying to allay her suspicions.

  Not for a moment did she think his explanations held water.

  At her chamber door he paused, looking down at her. The air thickened and heated around them. Oh, no! Was he going to kiss her again? Her heart thudded wildly in anticipation.

  His breathing hitched. His eyes widened as if he was startled by what was happening. He took a half-step back from her. ‘Until tomorrow, Miss Wilding.’

  Her stomach dipped in disappointment. How mortifying.

  She sketched the briefest curtsy. ‘Indeed.’

  His face suddenly hardened into its normal stern lines. ‘Do not wander about this house, Miss Wilding. You don’t know what dangers may lurk.’

  That sounded very much like a threat. Something inside her trembled at the idea. She stiffened her spine and ignored her racing heart. She reminded herself that she did not respond well to threats.

  Chapter Five

  To Mary’s surprise, the whole family appeared in the drawing room before dinner the next day, although she had seen none of them during daylight hours. The earl looked sartorially splendid this evening in a cream-coloured waistcoat and dark-blue coat, the silver buttons winking in the light of the chandelier.

  Whatever the Beresfords said about him not being a gentleman, his linen was impeccably starched and his crisp dark curls artfully disarrayed. The moment she entered, she felt the touch of his steely gaze from where he was standing slightly apart from his relations.

  Unwanted colour rose to her cheeks. It had nothing to do with that considering look. It was embarrassment at how poor she looked compared to the rest of them.

  With her valise gone, she only had the dress she’d worn yesterday, a fine merino wool decorated with Brussels lace at neckline and cuff. Small pieces of lace, to be sure, but their purchase had been wickedly extravagant for a poor schoolteacher. And hardly worth the investment, once she’d realised Mr Allerdyce’s true intention.

  Gerald ceased listening to his mother and looked over at her. ‘Feeling better, Miss Wilding?’

  The boy was as graceless as a puppy to remind her of the scene he’d interrupted the day before. She smiled coolly. ‘Quite fine, Gerald.’

  His mother’s head came up like a hound scenting a fox. ‘Not well, Miss Wilding?’ She was beautifully dressed, her gown of rose silk and the peacock feather in her turban more suited to a ball than an evening at home. Or were they? What would a country schoolteacher know of the style nobility employed en famille, apart from what she read in the fashion magazines?

  ‘She was crying,’ Gerald declared with a glare at the earl.

  ‘I received some unwelcome news in the post. The earl had nothing to do with it.’

  An expression chased across the earl’s face. Surprise? Had he thought she would expose his dastardly plot to his family? Still, she wasn’t quite sure why she felt the need to defend him, except that they held him in such disdain, it set up her hackles.

  ‘Dinner is served, my lord,’ Manners said.

  Mrs Hampton moved smoothly to take the earl’s arm. An undeniable flash of annoyance darkened his eyes. He was lucky to have a family. Mary would have loved to have an aunt or two. And as the older and most senior woman present it was only polite that he should escort her into dinner.

  He gathered himself quickly, she was pleased to see, walking ahead of the party with all the grace of a courtier. Indeed, his innate elegance continually surprised her.

  Jeffrey held out his arm. ‘Miss Wilding?’

  She took it and instantly became aware of her height. Jeffrey wasn’t short for a man, but she was ridiculously tall for a woman, and she looked down on the top of his head. She could see the whorl of hair at his crown. If he noticed the disparity, he didn’t show it and seated her opposite his aunt, taking the place at Mary’s side. Gerald settled in beside his mother.

  The footmen served the first courses and retired. Conversation was desultory. The weather, which was threatening snow. An invitation to be declined because the family was in mourning.

  During a lull, Mrs Hampton turned to Mary with a condescending smile. ‘You know, there are several Wildings among my acquaintance, my dear. Might you be a relation, perhaps? They are from Norfolk.’

  Her heart stilled. Could she indeed have relatives somewhere? How would she ever know? Since soup required careful attention, as she’d always taught her girls, she sipped at her spoonful of leek and potato before she attempted a reply. The delay gave her a smidgeon of time to think how to word an answer that did not make her seem to be asking for sympathy. ‘I hale from St John’s Parish in Hampshire. I know nothing of my relatives.’

  ‘Perhaps a junior branch, then,’ she said. ‘Had you belonged to one of the great families, they no doubt would have claimed you.’

  ‘Certainly no family members came forward,’ Mary said calmly as if she had never dreamt of an aunt or an uncle searching England for their lost niece.

  ‘I doubt Grandfather would have lifted a hand to help, if there were others with the responsibility,’ Jeffrey drawled. ‘Can I cut you a piece of this excellent fowl, Miss Wilding?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Jeffrey filled her plate with the chicken and some buttered parsnips.

  The earl scowled darkly. ‘St John’s Parish in Hampshire, you said?’

  She met his gaze. ‘You have heard of it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nor me,’ Mrs Hampton said. ‘My brother, now, he is an archdeacon at York Minster.’

 
‘And likely to bore a fellow to death with his sermonising,’ Gerald muttered.

  His mother appeared not to notice.

  Mary had the feeling that Mrs Hampton did a great deal of not noticing when it came to her son. It was one way to avoid unpleasantness, Mary supposed. No wonder he seemed spoilt.

  The servants entered to clear the table and added a remove of game pie.

  ‘It must come as a welcome change, Miss Wilding,’ Mrs Hampton continued, ‘to find yourself visiting such a noble seat as Beresford Abbey. It has been in our family since the Dissolution, you know. The house is quite distinctive, I believe.’

  Mary caught herself glancing at the earl for his reaction, but he seemed intent on the wine in his glass, his expression inscrutable. ‘It is a very interesting house,’ Mary said. ‘Full of strange sounds.’

  Both Jeffrey and Gerald fixed their gazes on her face, both with expressions of innocence. Gerald more angelic than his older cousin, whose shirt points were so high his neck all but disappeared in the starched white cravat.

  ‘Have you heard strange sounds?’ Jeffrey asked. Was his tone a little too innocent?

  ‘What struck me as strange,’ she said, ‘was how loud the sea sounds in some of the passageways. And sometimes in my chamber.’ She had forgotten until this moment that not long before she had heard the racket above her head, the low rumble of the sea had been most distinct.

  The earl did look up then. Instead of offering his earlier plausible explanation, he was watching his cousins.

  Gerald waved an airy hand. ‘Likely the tide was high. Caves run all through these cliffs. Very useful for smuggling or sedition, depending on who holds the crown.’

  ‘The Beresfords are loyal to the House of Hanover,’ Mrs Hampton announced.

  ‘They are now,’ Jeffrey said with a cynical twist to his lips.

  Mary imagined a network of caves beneath the house. ‘Is the house likely to collapse?’

  ‘Not likely,’ Jeffrey scoffed. ‘Or not for centuries.’

  Mary didn’t like the sound of it at all.

  The earl was looking at Jeffrey very intently. ‘Do you know the way into these caves?’

  ‘From the sea. I have seen them from the sailboat we use in the summer,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Never attempted a landing. Too many rocks. The tunnels were blocked up years ago. Isn’t that right, Ger?’

  Gerald nodded.

  The thought of smugglers, or anyone, being able to make their way secretly into the house was downright disturbing.

  * * *

  With a change of tablecloth, the final course appeared. Jeffrey and Gerald descended into an argument about the merits of the local hunt. The earl leaned back in his chair sipping his burgundy and listening with a bored expression. For some odd reason, Mary felt as if he was watching her, but every time she looked his way, his gaze was idly fixed on the two young men.

  Which was good. She did not want his attention.

  Mrs Hampton gave a little sniff and dabbed at her delicate little nose with a handkerchief and leaned closer to the earl. ‘Now the funeral is over I must think about finding a new home. His lordship was very fond of Gerald and insisted we stay here after my dear husband’s demise.’ She sighed. ‘I could go to my brother, naturally. But the demands of his position—archdeacon, you know.’

  The earl grimaced. ‘Actually, madam, I was hoping you would stay. Miss Wilding needs a chaperon.’

  Mrs Hampton visibly brightened. ‘Miss Wilding is staying?’

  ‘Naturally,’ the earl drawled. ‘She has nowhere else to go.’

  Mary felt prickles run across her shoulders and down her back. Prickles of anger. Prickles of pain at his cool dismissal of her loss. She opened her mouth to deny his assertion, then closed it again. He was right. For the moment, she did have nowhere to go. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t formulate a plan.

  ‘I suppose I could remain for a while, if I can be of assistance,’ Mrs Hampton said, her brightening expression giving the lie to her begrudging words. ‘You would like that, would you not, Gerald? If we stayed?’

  Gerald looked at his mother and his eyes lowered as if shielding his thoughts. ‘I wanted to go to London.’

  ‘Not until we are out of mourning,’ his mother said.

  ‘Then it doesn’t matter where we go,’ her son replied with a shrug.

  His lordship ran a fingertip around the rim of his glass, his hard gaze fixed on his aunt. ‘Miss Wilding needs help with her wardrobe.’

  ‘My wardrobe is fine,’ Mary said quickly.

  The earl’s grey gaze settled on her and she wanted to squirm under that intense scrutiny. ‘I understood your luggage went astray. We cannot have the Beresford heiress tramping around the countryside in rags, now can we?’

  His glance flicked over her person and heat flushed to her hairline at that critical regard. He must think her such a dowd, but, more to the point, he seemed to have decided he had the right to make decisions on her behalf.

  Mrs Hampton smiled at her son. ‘Then it is settled. We will stay.’

  Her son flushed. His eyes flashed fury. ‘I don’t see why we want to stay now he is here.’

  ‘A common refrain,’ the earl said coolly. He didn’t look at Mary, but her stomach dipped all the same. Sympathy in the face of his cousin’s rejection, when it really was none of her business.

  ‘I could stay with Jeffrey. At his lodgings,’ Gerald said with a defiant look at his mother. ‘Couldn’t I, cuz?’

  Jeffrey almost choked on a mouthful of food.

  The earl’s lip curled in distaste. ‘What about it, cuz?’ he asked in silken tones. ‘Will you take him in? I for one would be for ever in your debt.’

  It seemed the earl didn’t need her sympathy.

  ‘Gerald. You would not desert me at such a time,’ Mrs Hampton said.

  Gerald shot her a sulky glare.

  ‘You could, of course, old chap. Always welcome,’ Jeffrey said, recovering his voice. ‘But my apartments have only one bed.’

  ‘I could sleep on the floor.’

  Mrs Hampton made a sound of horror.

  Jeffrey shook his head. ‘My man wouldn’t like that above half,’ he pronounced, as if it trumped all objections.

  ‘Your constitution is far too delicate for such hardship, Gerald,’ his mother said. ‘I could not permit it.’

  ‘My dear madam,’ the earl said clearly tired of the conversation, ‘the decision is made. You will chaperon Miss Wilding and see to her dress. And Gerald will of necessity remain at your side.’

  ‘You cannot do better than my aunt for advice on style,’ Jeffrey added, joining the ranks of traitors siding with the earl.

  Mrs Hampton simpered.

  Mary dipped her head meekly. As a reward she received a suspicious glance from the earl which she met head on with a cool smile.

  Gerald, who had subsided into his own thoughts for the previous few moments, raised his head and turned to look at her. ‘What of the White Lady, Miss Wilding?’ he asked. ‘Have you heard any screams or clanking chains?’

  Oh, the wretch. It must be he who had made those noises. Though how, when there had been no sign of him, she could not begin to imagine. She couldn’t keep her gaze from darting to the earl, to see if he shared her opinion.

  He shook his head very slightly. Because he didn’t want Gerald to know he was suspected? Perhaps he intended to catch the boy out. She certainly felt better at this proof she had not imagined those unearthly noises, as well as the proof that the earl was finally taking them seriously.

  She narrowed her eyes, looking at Gerald’s face for signs of guilt, and received a glance of innocent interest.

  The butler entered at that moment. ‘A gentleman to see you, my lord. Lord Templeton. He says he is expec
ted.’

  The earl leapt to his feet. ‘Expected, but not this soon.’

  ‘I have taken the liberty of showing him to the library, my lord, since he declined to join the family in the drawing room for tea.’

  ‘Very good. I will join him there immediately.’

  It was the first time Mary had seen him looked pleased about anything. His delight made him look decidedly more handsome, but his pleasure only added to her resentment that he still had a friend who would come to visit. Hopefully he would be too busy with the man to notice when she slipped away on the morrow.

  ‘How rude,’ Mrs Beresford said, looking at the door that closed behind him. ‘I suppose one can’t expect manners from a coalminer’s son, even if he does have a title.’

  ‘I think he has shown a great deal of forbearance,’ Mary muttered.

  Gerald grinned at her. ‘You did hear the White Lady, didn’t you?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ she said truthfully, giving him a bland look. It wasn’t a lie, because she was now certain it had been Gerald all along.

  Jeffrey raised a brow. ‘I’m glad to hear it, Miss Wilding. As Gerald said this morning, any sighting of her ghostly form usually heralds a death in the family. And one is enough, don’t you think?’

  He looked so dashed innocent that perhaps it was him playing cruel jokes and not his younger cousin. Or they were in it together. Her stomach dipped. ‘Then we certainly have something to be grateful for,’ she replied and put down her knife and fork at the loss of her appetite at what felt like a threat. Another one. ‘One is certainly enough for any family.’

  ‘Will you take tea in the drawing room, Miss Wilding?’ Mrs Hampton asked with what she must have considered a great deal of condescension to one as so far down the social scale.

  Mary gave her a polite smile. ‘No, thank you. I find I am quite tired. I think I will retire.’

  ‘Oh, but we should really pull out some fashion plates. Discuss colours, if we are to go shopping tomorrow.’

  Discuss fashion plates after all that had been implied? ‘Another time.’ She hurried from the room.