by Kate Pearce
“I don’t see anyone.” The last thing he wanted was to terrify Jane with the vision of a matchmaking specter. Devon sent a pointed look toward the ghost, who then disappeared inside one of the bookcases.
“It reminds me of Renaissance music,” Jane said. “A little old fashioned, but lovely.” Her face brightened, and the face of the Tudor ghost emerged from the wood. He appeared quite pleased with himself.
A strange idea occurred to him, but Devon asked, “Would you care to dance?”
“What, here?” Jane laughed and glanced around.
He took a step closer and held out his hand. “Why not? Since you’ve had such a difficult day. It might be fun.”
Jane was still amused by the idea but shrugged. “All right, then.” She took his hand, and he put his other hand at her waist. The ghost played a more lilting song, and Devon led her into a country dance. She curtseyed to him, and they promenaded the length of the library. They walked in circles around one another while the ghost’s music grew more lively. Devon spun her around, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
“Never in my life have I danced in a library,” she admitted, as they strolled in the opposite direction.
“You dance very well for a vicar’s daughter.”
“It’s Marjorie’s fault. She made me come to dancing lessons with her, but sometimes I had to take the gentleman’s part. If I make a mistake, that’s why.”
“You dance very well, Jane.”
She faltered a moment and chided him, “You should call me Miss Hawkins.”
“I should, but I don’t want to. And you may call me Devon.” He spun her again, and this time, she caught his shoulders for balance, laughing again.
“I will not,” she argued. But she was still smiling at him. “I’m getting dizzy with all this spinning.”
The music ended, and another tune began, this one mournful and melodic. He stopped dancing but continued to hold on to her waist. Jane was smiling, but when she looked into his eyes, her smile faded.
“Why are you staring at me?” she murmured.
“You know why.” His hand moved up her spine, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. He wanted to cup her nape, drawing those soft lips to his, and falling beneath her spell. Her blue eyes held uncertainty, but he leaned in and stole a kiss anyway.
“Mr. Lancaster, don’t,” she protested. “I am not the woman you want.”
“Devon,” He corrected. “And you are exactly the woman I want. How can you doubt that?” He kissed her again, tasting the sweetness of her tongue and drawing her body against his. He continued to move with her, leading her into the scandalous waltz while the music played above them.
For a moment, she kissed him back, and that was enough to push him past the edge. His hunger roared within him, to touch this beautiful woman and make her feel the same way he did.
But a second later, she pushed him back. “No. I can’t do this.” Her eyes held fear, and she reached trembling fingertips to her swollen lips.
“Why not? You don’t seem to mind it when I kiss you.”
“Because you’re not going to marry a woman like me,” she said quietly. “We both know it.”
He couldn’t say anything in reply, for she might be right. There was no way of knowing what would happen between them. But he didn’t want to admit that.
“We’ve only known each other two days,” he said. “It’s too soon to worry about marriage or anything of that nature. Is it not enough to get to know one another?”
“Not like this.” She rested her palms upon his beating heart. “I cannot let you kiss me again.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said. “I would never touch you against your will.” Never in his life had he harmed a woman, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Jane whispered. “I’m afraid of myself.” She lowered her gaze, revealing her shyness. “When I let you touch me, I lose sight of everything right and wrong. It’s as if the ground beneath my feet falls away. And I understand how my mother was seduced. I don’t want to be like her. I can’t.” With that, she stepped away from him. “I will not let myself fall into the same temptation she did.”
“I wasn’t seducing you.” He didn’t want her to think that he was going to push her too far. “It was only a kiss.”
She took another step toward the door and then turned back. “To you, it was. But to me, it was much, much more.”
After she had gone, Devon glanced up at the ghost, who appeared sympathetic. “The music was a nice touch. But it seems I’ve made a mess of things.”
“Aye, you have,” the ghost replied. “Desire doth clip the wings of the heart when it is forced too soon.”
“What is your name?” Devon asked. “Were you the one beheaded in the courtyard?”
The ghost glowered at him. “I am Benedict. And thou shouldst not ask questions about a man’s death. It is quite rude.”
“I suppose it is rather personal,” Devon agreed. “Well, what now, Benedict? Should I find another lady instead? This one doesn’t appear to want me.”
The ghost floated down to the first level. “A woman’s words show not what it is her heart. And only a fool would walk away from one so fair.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Chapter 4
The next morning, Jane spied Marjorie’s father, Lord Banfield, walking through the garden. Right now, she needed answers that only he could give. He must have known who her father was if he had arranged to bring her to Castle Keyvnor.
He passed by the hedge maze, and she hurried to catch up to him. “Lord Banfield, might I speak with you for a moment?”
The earl stopped and turned around. “Miss Hawkins,” he greeted her. “Is something the matter?”
Jane caught up to him and asked, “I wanted to ask you about what happened at breakfast yesterday morning. Mr. Hunt seemed to think I was here for the will reading.” She paused a moment. “But that’s not at all why I came. I thought I was meant to be Marjorie’s companion.”
His face turned troubled, and he shrugged. “I can’t really say, Miss Hawkins. Mr. Hunt will handle those matters. It’s likely nothing of concern.” He started to walk toward the maze, but she cut him off.
“But it is.” Jane wasn’t about to let him leave without the answers she wanted. “Someone locked me in the wine cellar yesterday. And later, a servant knocked me down the stairs. It might have been the same man, but I cannot be sure.”
She had his attention now, and Lord Banfield appeared shocked. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”
Jane shook her head. “I thought you might know. But whoever did it is trying to force me to leave Castle Keyvnor.” She explained what had happened in the turret about the woman and the screaming.
He paled. “I think you may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“And what about the wine cellar? Why would anyone care about someone like me, enough to threaten me like this? Or push me down the stairs?” She shook her head. “It has to do with my father. I’m certain of it.”
She took a deep breath and studied Allan Hambly. Although they had never been close, she knew he’d been responsible for giving her to her adopted parents. “Who was he, Lord Banfield? I must know.”
The earl regarded her for a long moment. “I suppose you do have the right. But…it is very complicated.”
She walked alongside him as he led her through the garden. When he was certain that no one was eavesdropping, he said, “Your father came to visit Regina and I, many years ago. He and his wife were estranged.”
A flush came over her cheeks when she caught his meaning. “So his wife did not come with him, did she?”
“No. And from the moment he set eyes upon your mother, he was enchanted by her. Emily Hawkins was a governess for a family who lived in the townhouse next to ours. I don’t even remember why she came to our house that day, but from the moment he saw her, it was as if he were un
der a spell. He wasn’t supposed to stay long with us, but his visit extended for a fortnight.”
“He betrayed his wedding vows,” Jane whispered. “And my mother allowed it.”
“I think she was not accustomed to such attention. He gave her jewels and baubles. Sent her flowers and took her out driving.” The earl’s tone held remorse. “She made him feel young again.”
At that, her stomach twisted, and she feared what he would say then. “You never told me his name. Who was he?”
Lord Banfield met her gaze squarely. “He was Jonathan Hambly, the late Earl of Banfield. And you are his only surviving daughter.”
Devon joined his friends for a game of billiards in the early afternoon, but his mind was not on the game. He knew that he was spending too much time with Jane Hawkins, but he hardly cared. With each moment he spent at her side, he liked her more. She fit into his arms and it felt natural to spend time with her. And most of all, he felt as if he could speak openly with her, without any pretenses.
But he knew how badly his family would react if he told them he wanted to court a vicar’s daughter. They would ridicule him and cast disparaging remarks about Jane. She would be miserable, and he didn’t want others to look down on her.
Regardless of her birth, she had an inner strength that attracted him. Most women would have required smelling salts after yesterday’s events. Instead, Jane had managed to overcome her fears, dancing with him in the library.
Until he’d kissed her again.
He’d been unable to resist her, needing to feel the softness of her mouth beneath his. Every time he touched her, he felt the need to bring her closer. She’d said that she was afraid of herself, afraid of becoming like her mother.
Whereas he was afraid to let her go.
Devon knew Jane was unlike other women. And he had a feeling that from now until the day he married, he would be unable to get her out of his mind. She haunted him, just as surely as the ghosts haunted this castle.
He took a shot with his cue ball, but missed the red ball badly. His friend, Jack, narrowed his gaze. “You’re out of sorts, aren’t you, Lancaster?”
“I’ve a lot on my mind.” He waited for Jack to take his turn at billiards.
After the soft clack of the ivory ball, his friend regarded him. “This is about the woman, isn’t it? The one I thought was a servant.”
“She’s a vicar’s daughter,” he told him.
Jack let out a sigh. “Out of all the women here, why her? She’s not at all the sort of lady you wanted. Quite ordinary, isn’t she?”
Devon’s fists clenched. “I might say the same about Lady Cassandra.”
There was no mistaking the sudden rage on St. Giles’s face. “If you did, I’d skewer you with this cue, Lancaster.”
Devon set his cue down and let out a gruff sigh. “No need for us to fight about it. It seems we’re both having ill luck with women.” He had lost the game to Jack, and when his friend invited him for another, Devon declined.
Jack picked up the ivory balls and set them back into a box. “I don’t think the problem is finding a woman. It’s a matter of convincing her that we are honorable men.”
Devon snorted at the irony of Jack’s statement. More likely Jane was convinced he had no intentions toward her, save seduction. Even if she did turn out to be an heiress, she would believe he wanted her only for her money.
Did it truly matter whether she was an heiress? His property was humble, as was the small house upon it. He’d always imagined himself marrying a woman who would help him restore the house and lands, building them into a grand estate.
But perhaps he was simply trying to prove something to his brothers—that despite being the youngest, he was a man of worth. And yet, he was trying to rely on someone else to build his fortune. It wasn’t right.
His mind was burdened with heavy thoughts, and he poured himself a glass of brandy. Both he and Jane were cut from the same cloth—neither one with a fortune—and neither one daring to reach for what they truly wanted.
He finished his brandy and set the glass aside. In the morning, he would talk to her again and discover whether there was any chance at all for them.
It was difficult to avoid Devon Lancaster, but Jane had managed it by going on an outing to the local village of Bocka Morrow. The idea of escaping the castle, even for a few hours, was a welcome one. There were several young women who joined Marjorie and her, including Lady Samantha, Lady Claire—whom she had not met before—and a maid. One of the older footmen accompanied them into the village, though truthfully Jane doubted if Bronson could do much to defend them. Several times, she glanced behind and saw that he had a sour expression on his face as if he had better things to do than accompany a group of ladies shopping.
The steep walk downhill to the fishing village was slightly perilous, given the rain from the day before. Jane was careful with her footing, for the cobblestone streets were slick. The scent of fish was redolent in the air, and she wrinkled her nose.
“I’m not certain there will be any shops here,” she told Marjorie. “It looks very small.” Even the lanes were narrow, hardly large enough for a cart and horse to pass through. The overhanging roofs did offer shelter, in case the rain returned.
They passed by an inn called The Mermaid’s Kiss, and Jane drew her shawl around her shoulders while the ladies gossiped. Right now, she hadn’t said much to anyone, for her mind was still spinning from Lord Banfield’s revelation.
She was the illegitimate daughter of the late earl. The knowledge staggered her with a blend of emotions. She would never know her father, and part of her was angry with him for seducing her mother. Why had Emily succumbed to the affections of an older man who was still married? Had Jonathan ever known she existed? Had Lord Banfield told him anything at all?
He must have, if she was in the will. Her stomach twisted with nerves, not because of any possible inheritance, but because it would make her into a spectacle. Everyone would know she was born out of an affair, and others would resent any portion she received.
But someone else knew the secret, and that someone wanted her gone. The easy way out was to leave Castle Keyvnor. And yet, that was the coward’s path.
If her father had seduced and abandoned her mother, then he did owe Emily something. He had wronged her, and Jane only wished her mother were alive to receive that portion.
It would be small, no doubt, but that didn’t matter. She would use it to repay her adopted parents for taking care of her all these years. John and Mary had loved her as their own child, and she wanted to ensure that they had enough to live in comfort for the remainder of their days.
“Oh look,” Marjorie breathed, pointing to one of the apothecary shops. “Let’s go inside.”
Jane had no idea why her friend would want to visit the apothecary, but she shrugged. It was one of the few shops in the village, so that was likely why. She followed her inside, and the moment they entered the shop, the scent of herbs enveloped them. Jane saw bunches of rosemary and sage hanging from the ceiling, and along the back wall were rows of jars.
She was expecting to see a man, but instead, an older woman smiled and greeted them. Her long black hair was streaked with gray and it hung across her shoulders. Her skin was pale and wrinkled, but it was her hands that drew Jane’s attention. She caught a glimpse of painted blue symbols upon the woman’s fingers and knuckles. The ancient markings both fascinated and frightened her.
“Are you the apothecary?” Marjorie asked with a smile.
The old woman shook her head. “No, my father was. He taught me the healing arts, and I have been working here since I was a young girl. I am Brighid.”
The shop door swung open, and a young woman with unruly strawberry blond curls entered. “Hello, Elethea.” She nodded toward the woman in greeting. Then Brighid’s kindly smile returned to Jane. “Is there anything I can help you find, ladies?”
“In a little while, perhaps.” Marjorie walked over to a bask
et filled with bars of soap. She picked one up and smelled it. “Oh, this is heavenly. Jane, come and see what you think.”
She took the bar of soap and the moment she inhaled the scent, it reminded her of an exotic moonlit garden. The floral aroma seemed almost sensual, and it took an effort for her to set it down.
“It is made from a rare jasmine plant,” Brighid said. “It also contains sandalwood, orange essence, primrose, rose, and cinnamon oils.” With a glance back at Jane, she added, “It would suit you very well, miss. The soap is very fine in quality, and the women who have used it have told me that their husbands…enjoy the aroma.”
Jane wasn’t quite certain what the woman meant by that, but she did love the perfume of the soap. She couldn’t help but touch it once again. There was a softness to the texture, one that made her wish she could buy it. “It is wonderful,” she agreed, tracing the surface of the soap. It was so very different from the hard lye soap she was accustomed to. But then, she couldn’t afford small luxuries like this.
Brighid handed a different bar of soap to Marjorie. “And for you, I suggest this one. It has stronger notes of rose and similar ingredients.”
Marjorie sniffed the second bar and nodded. “Oh, you’re right. I do like this very much.” She handed it over to Jane, who detected the blend of rose and cinnamon. “Isn’t it delicious?”
Some of the other ladies were looking at packets of herbal tea, and Jane saw Lady Claire speaking with Elethea, though she could not say what they were talking about. She waited for them to finish their purchases, and to her surprise, she saw Marjorie hand both bars of soap to the healer. “We’ll take them both. Jane, you may have the jasmine one.”
“Very good,” the old woman said. She wrapped each bar of soap in brown paper and tied one with a green ribbon and the other with rose.
“Marjorie, truly, it’s not necessary.”
“It will be my gift to you. After all, I dragged you across Cornwall. It’s the least I can do.” She handed over the bar of soap with a broad smile.
