Seduction Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Charles put the letters down and stared off into space. Since Daphne and her brother and sister were descended from Jonathan’s line, young Katherine must not have given Sir Wesley a son. Or Sir Wesley’s son died without issue. Some sort of record probably existed in the collection that would be helpful, but this afternoon, he wasn’t about to plod through decades of Beaumont memorabilia hoping that he would uncover more revealing information. Discovering the two letters had been a stroke of luck, and while it was possible that he might find more items relating to Sir Wesley, he decided that he had wasted enough time for now.

  He considered the situation as he left the library, looking for his wife. Sister Margaret’s letters had been enlightening and entertaining, he thought with a grin, but they hadn’t given him any information about the existence of another room connected to Daphne’s bedroom. And since he’d found no reference anywhere to any extra room, there was, he concluded, only one thing to do: tear the bloody wall down, and see what lay beyond.

  He met Daphne coming down the hall in search of him. The ladies had dispersed, Nell retiring to her bedroom to nap, and April staying in the music room with Miss Ketty to practice chords on the piano, leaving Daphne to please herself.

  Together, they retired to their rooms, and Charles quickly related what he had learned from Sister Margaret’s letters.

  At the first mention of Katherine’s name, Daphne stiffened. “Oh, Charles. The little ghost. It must be Katherine.”

  “We don’t know that,” he said quietly. “I tend to think it might be, having read of Sir Wesley’s treatment of her, but it is possible that your little ghost is some other unfortunate woman.”

  Daphne brushed aside his argument. “Believe what you want. I know it is Katherine,” she insisted stubbornly.

  Leaving aside the identity of their nocturnal visitor, they conferred about their next move, and Charles was relieved that Daphne was of the same mind about tearing the wall down. “I just hope that Adrian doesn’t take exception to us demolishing a wall in his house,” Daphne said.

  Charles grinned. “I suspect that if we discussed it with him, your brother would be first in line to see what may be behind that wall.”

  Daphne didn’t disagree, but she was still a bit apprehensive. Not so much about any damage they might cause as with coming up with a logical reason for their actions. Keeping their activities a secret was out of the question. Goodson was startled at their request, but he swiftly fulfilled it, even going so far as to carry the sledgehammer into Daphne’s room himself, a stout footman depositing the pickax and crowbar near the wall where Charles directed. Goodson may not have asked any questions—he was too well-trained for that—but Daphne was quite certain that he and Mrs. Hutton had their heads together in the kitchen speculating about what they were doing in the bedroom. She didn’t blame them. With Goodson and Mrs. Hutton atwitter at their odd request, it wouldn’t take long for word to spread to the rest of the household. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if Adrian, followed by a wide-eyed April, didn’t come bursting into the room at any moment.

  Having dismissed Goodson and James, the footman, Charles stripped out of his fashionable bottle green jacket and tore off his expertly arranged cravat. Sledgehammer in hand, with Daphne at his heels clutching the crowbar, he approached the section of wall.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Daphne. “You’re certain? Once I strike the first blow, there’s no turning back.”

  Daphne grinned at him, and her eyes alight with excitement, she said, “Just do it! There is no telling what we may find on the other side of that wall.”

  It was messy, dusty work, Charles’s sledgehammer smashing through the Chinese wallpaper to the surface to which it had been attached. They soon discovered that a thin coat of plaster had been applied to lath work and that the lath had been put up right over an old oak-paneled wall. They also discovered that there were at least three other patterns of wallpaper that had been hung prior to the current Chinese wallpaper. It was obvious that prior to the coat of lath and plaster and the first hanging of wallpaper, the entire room had once been paneled in a fine English oak.

  They had no intention of tearing down every scrap of wallpaper and plaster and lath, so they concentrated their efforts in the one area where they’d seen the outline of a door. When they had cleared about a six-foot width, the rubble of plaster and lath and scraps of torn wallpaper at his feet, Charles studied the wooden wall before him. Small pieces of plaster and lath clung here and there, and the exposed wall showed the nicks and gouges made by their tools. A fine white powder coated the entire area, including their faces and hair.

  Cautiously, Charles began to explore the section they had uncovered, his fingers searching for a seam, a break in the apparently solid expanse. Several minutes passed, and then his breath caught when he found an almost undetectable unevenness in one section of the wall. “This has to be a secret door,” he said softly. “And the mechanism to open it has to be nearby.”

  “But there’s nothing…” Daphne began, only to gasp and say, “Look there, to your left, that narrow row of carvings.”

  Charles walked over to stare at the line of carvings. From floor to ceiling, there was a row of expertly carved, evenly spaced rosettes attached to the oak paneling. He suspected that if they cleared more of the wall, they’d find more rows of rosettes placed at various intervals about the room.

  “So which one is it?” Daphne asked, coming to stand beside him. “One of them must be a lever that opens the door.”

  “I agree,” he said, reaching out to tweak the rosette directly in front of him. Nothing happened. He looked at Daphne and shrugged. “And on to the next one.”

  The third one, about waist high, that Charles gripped seemed to give just the tiniest bit. “Oho,” he said. “I may have found our lever.”

  After not being used for so many decades, centuries perhaps, the rosette proved stubborn, but no more stubborn than Charles and Daphne. They struggled with it for several minutes, and then putting all his strength into it, Charles gave the rosette a vicious twist, and with a creak and a groan, the oak panel slowly, inch by inch, parted to reveal a gaping black doorway.

  Her heart pumping like a battle drum, Daphne stared at the opening. It was clearly a secret doorway and it was obviously very old, going back to Sir Wesley’s time and beyond. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or dismayed by their discovery.

  She and Charles looked at each other, then back at the doorway.

  Utter darkness met their gaze, and dank unpleasant air flowed into the room. Charles lit a candle, and walking over to the doorway, Daphne crowding behind him, he thrust it into the black opening.

  “By Jove,” he exclaimed, “there’s a staircase back here.”

  “Oh, let me see!”

  Taking the candle from Charles, Daphne stuck her head through the doorway and stared amazed at the winding staircase that met her gaze. “A secret staircase,” she breathed. “That’s what she was trying to show us.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Charles warned. “But let’s explore what we’ve discovered.”

  Daphne gulped. “You mean go down those steps? Now?”

  He grinned. “Didn’t I promise you adventure, my love?”

  “Oh, but Charles…what if something happens to us? No one will know where to look,” she protested, not delighted with the idea of wandering down a secret staircase that had been hidden for who knew how long and led who knew where.

  “When we don’t show up for dinner, someone will come looking for us. They’ll see our handiwork and assume that we followed the steps. They’ll find us soon enough.”

  “Probably lying at the bottom of that wretched staircase with our necks broken,” she declared gloomily.

  “Afraid?” he taunted.

  Daphne’s chin came up, and her eyes flashed. “Of course not,” she said loftily. “I was merely trying to act like an adult and not go haring off like an irresponsible child.”

/>   He shrugged. “Then stay here—I’ll do the exploring.”

  “Over my dead body,” Daphne muttered, following closely behind him as he stepped onto the first stair.

  The staircase was very steep and twisty; cobwebs draped the passage. Like the steps beneath their feet, the walls on either side of them were of thick stone, and in some places, Charles had to duck his head, the height barely reaching six feet. The stairs snaked both up and down, and after a brief argument, it was decided that they would explore the upper reaches first. As they stumbled and fumbled their way upward, they speculated that the staircase had probably been built when the place had been a Norman keep. Certainly, the staircase was very old and had been unused for decades.

  To their astonishment, they had not climbed very far when the staircase divided, one part continued upward, the second angling down and back into the house itself. The stonework was different where it divided, and the section that wormed its way into the house, to their untrained eye, appeared to have been constructed at a later date.

  “By heaven, this is splendid!” Charles exclaimed, his eyes glittering with excitement. “I’ll wager there are all sorts of hidden passages throughout the house. If we look, I’m certain we’ll find that there are other rooms that open onto these staircases.” A note of envy in his voice, he added, “Stonegate and Wyndham Manor have nothing like this. What Julian, Marcus, and I wouldn’t have given to have discovered something like this when we were boys. It’s bloody wonderful.”

  “Oh, wonderful indeed,” Daphne murmured dryly.

  “The original staircase was probably built for the troops to move about the keep undetected during siege or battle,” Charles said, ignoring her less than enthusiastic reply. He waved the candle about, studying the walls. “I would guess that at a later date, when the keep no longer housed troops, this staircase was unused and forgotten…until some enterprising ancestor of yours decided to turn it into a way to move about the house in secret and added the newer section. Why, I imagine that you can access several different rooms from here.”

  In the wavering light of the candle, he grinned at her. “Of course, finding which rooms have doorways onto the staircase might be a challenge.”

  “Adrian is going to be over the moon with delight,” she admitted. “I have no doubt that he will waste little time in exploring the staircase and finding every hidden doorway, popping out of the walls and scaring us all to death in no time. Especially,” she added in hollow tones, “April.”

  Charles laughed, his teeth flashing whitely in the darkness. “No doubt,” he agreed.

  Deciding not to stray from the original staircase, they left behind the offshoots and continued their upward climb.

  Daphne was glad that Charles was in the lead—he got to brush aside the worst of the cobwebs. Once she stopped and stared back in the direction they had come, and a shiver went through her at the oppressive darkness that pressed close behind her.

  As they climbed, the blackness receded gradually, replaced by a gray gloom that brightened with every step they took. Shortly, they stepped out into the spotty sunlight, surprised to find that dirty-skirted clouds were scudding across the sky, sure signs that a storm might be in the offing. The staircase ended near one of the towers, and they found themselves standing on one of the old crumbling battlements, part of the original Norman keep. Signs of the original fortifications were still visible, but it was an unsafe place. Rubble littered the space, and the few remaining stone crenellations looked as if they could topple over at any moment. Warily, they approached one of the crenellations and looked down. Daphne swayed at the sight of the sheer drop of eighty feet or more that met her gaze. Putting out her hand to steady herself against the low stone wall, she gasped when a section gave way, and with a terrifying rumble, several large pieces fell to the ground far below.

  Even before the first stone crumbled beneath her hand, Charles’s arm was about her waist, jerking her back from the ragged gap that suddenly appeared. She had been in no danger of falling, but she was grateful for his quick action.

  Smiling up at him, she said, “Thank you.”

  Staring down into her dirty face, a smudge darkening one cheek, traces of plaster dust and God knew what else scattered across her features, Charles’s heart clenched, an upwelling of love for her so strong flowing through him, he could barely contain it. Her neat chignon with which she had started the day was half undone, and tendrils of cobwebbed hair waved wildly about her cheeks, but even with her grimy face and soiled gown, Charles thought she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen. He adored her. And she thought him, he reminded himself grimly, merely useful in accomplishing her desire to see Adrian and April established amongst the highest reaches of the ton.

  As the moments spun out, Daphne’s smile faltered. “What is it?” she asked softly. “What makes you look so?”

  He forced a crooked smile. “Nothing of importance,” he said. Setting her away from him, he turned back toward the staircase and remarked over his shoulder, “I was only thinking that few brides would be so indulgent and understanding as you have been. I am, indeed, a fortunate man.”

  Puzzled and deeply troubled, Daphne followed him as he began the downward descent. His words should have reassured her, but they did not. How could they when he made the word fortunate sound like a curse?

  Chapter 17

  Charles and Daphne wasted no time in returning to their rooms. Guided by the dancing light of the candle, they carefully made their way down the winding steps. The steep descent made haste impractical, but soon enough, they were stepping off the hidden staircase and through the doorway in the wall of Daphne’s bedroom.

  Looking around at the destruction they had wrought, the pile of broken and splintered laths and the chunks of plaster with bits and pieces of wallpaper still clinging to them, Daphne muttered, “You know that there is no way that we can keep this secret. Even if we could dispose of all signs of our, um, handiwork, there would still be that exposed oak wall. Worse, I’m sure that by now, Goodson will have divulged all to Mrs. Hutton. I wouldn’t be surprised if within five minutes of Goodson’s talking to Mrs. Hutton, the entire staff knew that we were up to something most unusual.” She made a face. “Since Goodson and Mrs. Hutton are such bosom friends with Ketty, it is inevitable that she will learn of today’s doings, and if Ketty knows…”

  Idly moving a piece of plaster with his boot, Charles nodded. “If Ketty knows, then Adrian and April will soon hear of it.” His gaze met hers. “So how much do we tell and when?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, walking over to the secret doorway. Trying to slide the door shut, she said, “It’s all a bit impossible to take in, and as for what the others are going to think…” She shook her head, repeating, “It’s impossible.” Despite her yanking and pulling on it, the door would not move, but with Charles’s help, they were able to finally muscle it back into place. Daphne glared at the scarred and pockmarked oak paneling. “I thought shutting the door would make me feel better,” she complained, “but it doesn’t.”

  “Perhaps after a bath and dinner, it won’t seem so very impossible,” Charles replied with a smile.

  She twisted around to look at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  Charles shrugged. “Well, it is rather an adventure, isn’t it? I’ll wager a fair sum that you’re going to be hard-pressed to keep Adrian from exploring the moment he hears of it.”

  Daphne cocked her head at him. “And your cousins and Nell? What are they going to think?”

  Charles grinned. “Oh, Marcus and Julian will be right on Adrian’s heels…with Nell following close behind.”

  “They won’t think it strange? Especially if we mention the reason why we were prompted to take a sledgehammer and crowbar to a perfectly good wall?”

  “Julian, Marcus, and Nell would probably take a ghost in stride, considering the previous events. Adrian would consider it a great lark.” He looked thoughtful. “Although
I don’t believe that April is as fragile as you think, she and Miss Ketty might present problems.”

  “Miss Ketty will definitely be a problem, and I disagree with you about April. Hearing that a ghost really is floating about the house would not be best for her state of mind.” Daphne frowned. “I suppose we could keep quiet about the ghost—make up some story for our decision to inspect this particular area behind the wallpaper.”

  Charles looked interested. “Perhaps. What do you propose? That one of us noticed the outline of the door, and overcome with curiosity, we set to work?”

  “Something like that. However, it does seem that our actions were a bit extreme for idle curiosity.”

  “I agree. Adrian, April, and Ketty would probably swallow the story, but I doubt my cousins would.”

  “But would they question you? Or would they accept it, even suspecting we weren’t quite telling the truth?”

  Charles stared at the newly exposed oak paneling. “I think,” he said slowly, “if we lay the blame on you, we can skim by.” When Daphne just stared at him, he added quickly, “Stop and think, Daffy. My family doesn’t know you very well yet. How do they know what queer ideas you might get in that pretty little head of yours? They are much more likely to believe that you were the one who discerned the vague outline of a doorway behind the wallpaper. Which is,” he pointed out with a grin, “the truth.” Warming to his theme, he continued, “Once you had seen the outline, nothing would stop you until you saw for yourself whether or not a doorway actually existed. Julian and the others will assume that I, being newly married and indulgent of my bride, merely humored you when you suggested, er, removing the wallpaper. Of course, no one,” he said virtuously, “was more shocked by what we found than I was.” His grin widened. “They might think it odd or peculiar of you to decide to wreck a perfectly good wall in pursuit of something you thought you saw, but they would probably shrug it off. But if I am the one…well, they would immediately know that I was running a rig of some sort.”