“There will be a Ball here, mark my words. It is a very sound idea.” Frances shared a conspiratorial glance with Rowena. “We can start on the guest list first thing tomorrow morning. Either way, whether it is held here at Stonedown or Abbey Grange, I am hosting a picnic at the Abbey and a Ball somewhere in Glastonbury to welcome Harry to the town!”
“Of course, Aunt Frances.” Rowena looked to Harry, “We will have the list ready by the time your friends arrive tomorrow morning.”
“Very good,” he said with more authority than he felt he truly possessed in the present company. Harry’s eyes narrowed somewhat. Normally when someone conspired against him it grated on him, but in this instance it was an Angel and her aunt. Though he should mind, he found that he did not. Over much. There was a part of him that enjoyed it.
Unable to sleep, Rowena tossed and turned. It was disconcerting knowing that Harry Bellingham was sleeping here at Stonedown. Exactly why it bothered her so, she didn’t know. She tried diligently not to think of him. Over and over she lectured herself that being on her own and mistress of her own house, this house, without any man who would exert control over her, was what she wanted. So why was she wasting her time thinking about him?
Rowena witnessed the unhappiness a bad marriage brought to her mother, Anne. Her father, Edward Locke, was a hard, controlling man. He ruled her childhood home, Thornwood Place, with a tight fist. Her mother was virtually a prisoner in her own home. The staff, Anne, and even Rowena feared the wrath of Lord Heathcote upon his occasional visits.
As Rowena grew older, she watched her mother become a shadow of the woman she remembered from her early years. Anne Locke had been so strong and beautiful then. Always happy and smiling. So spirited. Not unlike Frances, her mother’s sister, was to this day. During Rowena’s childhood, when her father was in residence, there were heated arguments between her parents. Anne sometimes seemed in pain or her cheek might look flushed or bruised afterward. There might be a few days following her father’s visits that Anne took to her bed, pleading illness. Rowena didn’t understand until she was older that her father beat her mother when he was angry with her. At least a dozen times that Rowena remembered.
In later years, when Anne walked the house, pale and thin, there were no more arguments between her and Edward Locke when he was in residence. Anne remained compliant and cast her eyes downward when in her husband’s presence.
Rowena’s brother, Richard, though he loved his mother in earlier years, went off to school at a young age and spent his young adult years with his father in London. He, nor her father, came to Thornwood Place often in the later years. The years that illness ravaged her dear mother.
Her brother married. His wife, Almena, was a spoiled, selfish girl. They lived in London in the years before Edward Locke’s death, never returning to the family seat at Bath until the funeral. Edward Locke died alone in a riding accident while visiting one of his cronies who lived just outside London. His neck was broken. He died instantly. Rowena did not even cry upon hearing the news. Her mother had. Anne fell in love with Edward before they married, and she never stopped loving him.
Rowena hoped her mother might gain some of her strength back after the death of her father. But Richard, the new Earl, and Almena, his Countess, came to take their rightful position at Thornwood Place. Anne Locke tried to please her daughter-in-law and son, but to no avail. They both resented the presence of Anne and Rowena in their new home.
Anne Locke followed her husband in death not even a year later. And Rowena was left with her brother and his scheming wife. Aunt Frances did take her to Italy during the mourning period. Upon Rowena’s return, as soon as the family’s mourning period officially ended, Richard and Almena whisked her to London for the season. Rowena was allowed no say in her choice of suitors. She was paraded about the ballrooms like a prize pony, dressed in garish and flamboyant gowns that were not of her choosing. It did not take her brother long to find her a wealthy husband. Lord Dalworth. A man whose three prior wives all met with mysterious accidents.
Rowena shuddered at the memory of the horrible man. He groped her roughly through her gown, and whispered highly improper words into her ear, telling her all of the lewd things he planned to do to her once they were wed. He threatened to beat her into submission if she didn’t comply with his wishes. Rowena told her brother she refused to wed the man. Then there was the night at her brother’s house in London where Dalworth cornered her. A wash of nausea accompanied the memory. Rowena dismissed the horrible memories entirely. She pushed them far back into the corner of her mind where she kept them locked safely away.
At the moment she left the room where Dalworth harmed her, Rowena realized she could live a sad, tortured life like her mother or be free. She sent a letter at once to her Aunt Frances, secretly, and by the hand of her own trusted maid, Betsey. Rowena chose freedom. She cared not about her selfish brother’s reputation, nor her own at that point. Freedom was her only concern.
Aunt Frances was her savior.
And Rowena never would marry.
Rowena was dreaming. She was conversing with a very old gentleman, right in her bedchamber. He wore a wool night cap on his head over his thin, gray hair. His eyes were light blue, nearly the same shade as hers. She was not afraid of him. He seemed very kind. “You must look at what I’m showing you, gel. I haven’t much time. You must wake up.”
Slowly, Rowena opened her eyes. The room was dark. The clock in the hall chimed the midnight hour. She heard a rustle. Was she still dreaming? The thought came to her that she was awake and might not be alone in her chamber. Or was this still a dream? She laid there, the sound of her own breathing seeming loud enough to wake the entire floor. This time she heard footsteps very near her.
“Do not be frightened, child, I mean you no harm.”
It was the voice of the old man in her dream.
Rowena bolted upright.
Sure enough, there was the figure of the same elderly gentleman from her dream, though not solid. He was transparent. His form was outlined by a white beam of light. He was a ghost. Her heart pounded erratically. Though he was not the first spirit she witnessed, Rowena was always taken aback by such occurrences. It was just one more reason she wouldn’t marry. For a husband might think a wife insane who was visited by spirits.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“I am your ancestor, William Dulac.”
“William!” Her mind raced with the dozens of questions she wished to ask him. First and foremost being, “Where are the treasures, William?”
“Child, you must be careful. There are others who seek the Abbey treasures. I fear I hid the letters too well. There are others who know of the hidden secrets. I cannot tell you how they know, but they seek the sapphire. And the cruets. The Holy secrets.”
“Where are the Abbot’s letters, William? Can you tell me where you hid them?” Rowena felt she must find out where either the letters or the treasures were.
“It is happy I am you have men you can trust to help you and keep you safe. I fear the Abbey of Glaston will never be rebuilt. The sacred treasures deserve to be found. They’ve an important and long forgotten story to tell. The treasures should be placed in the hands of the Lord of the Abbey, for he can protect them. He and his fellows will know what to do with the knowledge of such secrets that will be revealed.”
Rowena watched as he turned away from her and pointed toward the massive wardrobe that took up most of the wall across the room. His long, thin finger still pointing, William opened his mouth to speak, “There-“
A soft knock sounded on her bedchamber door.
“Lady Rowena?”
Rowena watched as the image of William Dulac evaporated before her eyes.
It was Harry! Oh God in Heaven! What would she tell him? Surely he heard her speaking. Had he heard the ghost as well? Panic consumed her momentarily.
“Y-yes?” She rose, snatching up her wrapper on her way to the door. She paused to l
ook back, making certain William Dulac was truly gone.
She heard a soft whisper coming from her right side as she shrugged into her robe. Tell him the truth, child.
Tell him? Harry would think her insane. It could ruin everything! He’d never want anything to do with her again. She would not tell him. He might not let her search the Abbey.
“What is it, Harry? Is something wrong? Has something happened?” She opened the door only part way.
“Sorry to disturb you, Lady Rowena. I thought I heard a sound from downstairs. I rose and went to check it out. I found nothing. When I returned upstairs, I thought I heard voices when I reached the hallway. It seemed to come from this direction. Are you well? Is there trouble?”
“Oh.” Rowena struggled to find words. She felt breath against her ear and another, more forceful whisper. Tell him! He can be trusted, child.
If there was one thing Rowena learned from past experience it was that spirits, angels, ghosts, or spectral beings generally knew what was best. If they said something, it was important. It was the ghost of her own mother who had instructed her to send a letter to Aunt Frances by the hand of her own servant when Rowena was being forced to wed Lord Dalworth.
“I – I was dreaming, Harry. I dreamed of William Dulac. Harry?” Rowena’s eyes misted, for she feared Harry Bellingham would have nothing to do with her once she told him what truly happened. Somehow that bothered her. William whispered again, Tell him, child. He will believe!
Harry noticed then that her fingers trembled as she held the door ajar. Bloody hell, had he interrupted a tryst? He felt his heart sink.
A feeling of foolishness threatened. No, he stopped himself. Rowena Locke was not the type for a trifling dalliance. He knew that much. He forced himself to look at her again. To look into her eyes. No, she was clearly upset. Not guilty. Not flushed from passion, but pale and trembling. She was not trying to hide something, she feared something. Or someone. “Tell me what has happened, Lady Rowena? You were dreaming of William Dulac,” he coaxed her to finish what she began telling him.
“Yes. I dreamed of William Dulac. And when I opened my eyes, I felt someone was in the room.”
“Someone was in your room?” Harry gently plucked her hand from the door and stepped toward her. She backed up out of necessity, for the solid wall that was Harry’s body came forcefully toward her. Harry was then able to push the door wide open and enter her bedchamber. His eyes scanned the entire chamber as he made his way to the window where he checked the lock. He left the drapes pushed open as they had been to allow the moonlight into the room. He turned to face her again.
“Yes. I mean no. Not someone. It was a g-ghost. It was William Dulac. I’m not insane, Harry, I saw him!” Rowena felt herself trembling. She watched Harry warily, waiting for him to look at her in disgust, the way her brother had when she told him she first saw her mother’s ghost one week after her death. Harry’s expression did not change.
Harry quickly scanned the room once more, assuring himself there was no intruder. He did manage to take in that Rowena’s robe was not fastened, that it gaped open and that her bedclothes were quite thin, nearing transparent actually. He did note the large collection in her chamber of rather impressive Jacobean furniture, but didn’t give it much thought, as his first concern was the well-being of his Angel.
“Fasten your robe, Rowena. I’m taking you downstairs.” When he reached for her hand she drew back from him fearfully.
“I am not insane, Harry! You will not send for a doctor or any other such foolish thing.” Rowena raised her chin, her blue eyes flashed, daring him to reach for her again.
“I believe you, Rowena. I have seen ghosts myself. I just want you to come downstairs with me. I’ll pour you a brandy, and we’ll talk about your experience. No doctor shall be sent for. It would not do for us to be discovered up here in your bedchamber. Together. Without chaperone. I do not wish to create a scandal for you. But I do not want you to be alone so soon after such an experience. Let me sit with you until you calm down.” He held out his hand. “You can trust me, Rowena. I promise that I do believe you saw a ghost. A real ghost.”
She did not fasten her robe. Harry did not trust himself to do it for her. He noticed her trepidation. She reminded him at that moment of a nervous doe ready to spring from danger. “Please, Rowena. Come downstairs with me?” Harry persuaded softly, gently. He moved closer to her, still extending his hand.
Slowly, Rowena placed her fingers in his. She might be a fool in trusting him. She so wanted to believe Harry Bellingham.
True to his word, Harry led her downstairs and into the small study, in which he already knew offered a large decanter of brandy. After lighting a lamp, he instructed her to sit down in a large overstuffed chair. He turned and poured her crystal glass three-quarters full of brandy as promised. He handed it to her. He poured another for himself. “Take just a sip, Rowena. It will help. It is always disconcerting when you encounter a spirit. It unnerves even me.” He gave her a sympathetic smile. Harry sat on the edge of the desk, stretching out his long, powerful legs.
Rowena took a sip then coughed. Once recovered, she challenged him, “Have you really seen ghosts, Harry?”
She was still unsure of him, her voice was small, nearly a whisper. She eyed him skeptically. For what reason, he did not know, but it pained Harry that Rowena was that unsure of him. That she might not trust him. There was something behind her mistrust, he was certain.
“Many times, Rowena. I have seen spirits since I was a boy.”
“I’ve seen more ghosts than just William Dulac. Only my mother and Aunt Frances knew. I told my brother I saw my mother’s ghost after she died and he sent for a doctor. While we waited for the doctor, he kept telling me that if I were insane he’d send me to an institution, so the family name would not be shamed. Luckily it was close enough after my mother’s death that the Doctor told him I was grief-stricken and had imagined it. That those things happened sometimes with grieving women. He suggested Robert marry me off. The doctor posed that I would be so busy I would soon forget my grief.”
Harry thought it an impertinent question, but he truly wanted to know. So he inquired, “Why didn’t he marry you off?” His tone was soft, sincere.
“He tried. He arranged a marriage to…” Rowena paused and took another sip of the brandy, grimacing slightly, “to a very unsuitable and horrible man.” She shook her head, and wrinkled her nose in disgust, her loose curls moving about her shoulders as she did. “Aunt Frances helped me escape the engagement and the man. She brought me here, to Stonedown. She bequeathed the Manor to me so I never have to marry. I’ve been here since that time.”
“Who was the man, Rowena? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Rowena took another long sip of the brandy. She did not cough this time. She followed with another, longer sip. “It may be the effects of the brandy, but strangely I do not mind talking about such things with you, Harry. It was Lord Dalworth.”
“Ugghh. Dalworth! Was your brother mad? The man is a lecherous – well – not a man a loving brother would give his sister to.” Harry saw sadness and shame creep into her eyes as she lowered her lashes. It was embarrassment that stained her cheeks. It was plainly fear that set her trembling. He scolded himself for saying such a thing. He was a cad! He was so surprised when she mentioned the name of such a notorious lecher, not to mention, a dangerous man. Dalworth was believed to be a murderer. Of his wives for heaven’s sake!
“I apologize, Lady Rowena, for my reaction. I was surprised. I’m sure your brother loves you very much and had good reason for arranging the match. Forgive me, please, for saying such a callous thing.”
“No, Harry.” Rowena nearly drained the crystal glass this time. “My brother, Richard, did not love me. He knew full well what Dalworth was. After Aunt Frances confronted him, she told me my brother knew how dangerous Dalworth was. And he had no concern for my welfare. He needed money for a venture, and Dalworth would have given i
t to him.” There were no tears. No hysterics. Just Rowena telling the truth as she knew it.
“Then, may I say on your behalf, Rowena, your brother is an irresponsible fool. He does not deserve a sister so fine as you.”
“You may say so, Harry.” Rowena felt warm all over. She took a much needed deep breath. Harry did not look at her now like she was insane. Or tainted. Or damaged. He did not pity her, or find her distasteful. Nor was he itching to leave her company now that he knew part of her secrets. She felt the tightness inside her relax and unwind. Her trembling subsided. She looked at the near empty crystal glass. Maybe she was too relaxed. And possibly a trifle tipsy. She rarely partook of strong spirits. Perhaps a glass of champagne on occasion at a social affair and a small glass of wine with dinner. Rowena finished off the brandy.
She held her glass out to him. “More brandy please, Harry?”
He shouldn’t give her more. He should get her back up to her room and into her bed, and he to his. Yet since the moment he met Rowena Locke, he wanted to be alone with her. To spend time with just her. He wanted to find out who she was. What kind of woman she was. With her Aunt Frances and the over-protective Sir John ever near, he decided to go against his better judgment and take the opportunity which fate and an accommodating spirit presented to him.
Lord of the Abbey Page 8
