“Would you like me to come with you, dear?” Aunt Eugenia asked with a squeeze of Lusinda’s hand.
“No. I had best face him myself,” Lusinda said, though in truth she lacked real conviction behind her words. As she left the room she heard Portia behind her. “It’s not fair. She’s allowed to entertain without a chaperone!”
Lusinda smiled. The disparity in their ages meant nothing to Portia. She still believed Lusinda required a pristine reputation to be marriagable. However, a marriage proposal for Lusinda was unlikely under the best of circumstances . . .
That drew her up short. If indeed she carried Locke’s babe in her belly right now, that would most likely ruin Portia’s reputation, just as it would hers. It hardly seemed fair, but much in society wasn’t. She thought of the postcard she had received years ago and kept hidden in her bureau drawer. Perhaps it was time to ask Aunt Eugenia about the existence of Nevidimi in America. She could leave and start a new life and thus have no negative impact on Portia or Rhea. Surely America would be far enough away for Locke. She would miss Aunt Eugenia and Portia and . . .
Rhea. How could she leave her baby sister? As quickly as the thought arrived, she answered it to her satisfaction. She could take Rhea with her. Lusinda smiled. There, it was all solved. If it came down to disgracing her family, she would leave.
She paused in the hallway outside of the parlor and drew a deep breath in preparation for facing Locke. It would be difficult seeing him, now that she understood how little respect he carried for her, but she must be strong.
“This one is called a white-petaled nose-fluffer,” he said in authoritative tones. Just hearing his voice made Lusinda’s throat thicken.
“No, silly, that’s a daisy.” Rhea giggled.
“Not a nose-fluffer?” he said, astonished. “How about this one? I’m told it’s a rare pink stinky-soft.”
Lusinda carefully peeked around the corner and saw Rhea clutching her sides with laughter. Locke had a childish grin on his face, the like she could not recall having seen before. Of course, he hadn’t had much of a childhood, yet he had managed to charm her little sister.
“No, no, that’s not a stinky-soft. It’s a rose,” Rhea cried. “Auntie grows them in the garden.”
Rhea dipped her hands into a box and pulled out Shadow dressed in a pink doll’s dress and a straw hat tied with a ribbon. “This is my cat, Shadow.” She held the poor animal aloft for Locke’s inspection. “We call him that because he’s black like a shadow.”
“Yes, I’ve met Shadow before.” Locke’s voice rose in a high falsetto, as he shook the cat’s dangling paw. “Hello, Shadow. How do you do?”
Lusinda put a fist to her mouth to keep from laughing. Her heart melted at the tender sight.
“How did you meet Shadow?” Rhea asked in childlike innocence.
“Your sister introduced me.”
“Portia?”
“No, your other sister.”
“Sinda?”
He nodded. Just then Rhea spied Lusinda in the doorway.
“Sinda! Shadow and I are going to have a tea party. Will you come?”
Locke leapt to his feet. A bouquet of freshly picked flowers, all of which she recognized from the conservatory, in his hand. His gaze captured hers and all the boyish laughter faded to a sad, pleading smile.
“Not now, my sweet,” she said. “I need to speak with this gentleman.”
“He can come to my tea party too.” Rhea tugged on his jacket. “Would you come to my tea party?”
He dropped to one knee, placing him at Rhea’s level. “I don’t think I can stay for the party, but perhaps you’d like these flowers to decorate the table.”
Her eyes grew big. “For me?”
“Yes, but they need to be placed in water rather quickly or they will die. Can you take care of that?” He handed her the paper bundle.
“Thank you very much, sir.” With poor Shadow captured in one arm and the flowers in the other, she curtsied, then ran down the hallway toward the breakfast room. “Aunt Gena, look what I have.”
Locke rose slowly from his bended knee. “The flowers were meant for you.”
“I thought as much,” she said. “Thank you.”
Although it was his turn to respond in polite conversation, he merely shifted uncomfortably. She interceded. “You appear comfortable with children.”
He glanced at her and offered a sad sort of smile. “I’m afraid I’m more comfortable with children than I am with most adults.”
She wasn’t sure whether to believe him. She had never seen him behave in an awkward manner in any situation, except, of course, for last evening, and perhaps now. She extended her hand. “Would you care to sit down?”
He tilted his head, as if a thought had suddenly struck him. “She called you ‘Sinda.’ ”
“It’s her nickname for me. When she was very little, it was easier for her to manage. We can talk here if you like.”
He looked about quickly as if he’d never been in this room before. Yet he had. That black day he insisted she move into his house.
“I’d prefer we talk outside,” he said, still standing. “Would you do me the honor of riding with me? I brought the landau.”
It might have been a different model of carriage than the one they rode home from Farthingtons’, but just the thought of sitting with him again in a carriage, even an open-air one, made her tingle inside. It was a sensation she’d have to learn to ignore. She removed a cap and parasol from the peg near the door.
“Let me tell my aunt what we’re doing.”
“Sinda?” She stopped and turned back to him. He smiled. “I like the sound of that. I just wanted to say how lovely you look today.”
She fumbled with the cap’s fastening ribbons while her cheeks warmed with his compliment. “I shall return in a moment.”
THE STREETS WERE THINLY POPULATED AS THE DAY HAD promised to be a hot one. Still, at this young hour the air was warm but not oppressive. It was a lovely day for a drive through the park, but would be lovelier still if anxiety hadn’t constricted her stomach. They carefully avoided discussion until comfortably settled in the airy carriage. He sat opposite her, his back to the horses and Fenwick. She wished he would have chosen to sit beside her so she could avoid viewing his handsome face.
“About last night,” he began.
“I’d prefer not to discuss it,” Lusinda said. “It was an unfortunate accident that will not happen again.”
“Unfortunate, indeed, in that there are some things in life that can happen only once. I wish yours had been more . . . compassionate. That is why I feel I must apologize.”
She nodded, still not ready to trust her voice. He didn’t understand that she was more hurt by his dismissal of their relationship, and the suggestion that she was loose by society’s standards, than by the actual event itself. She had no hope that such an encounter would be repeated, for if it wasn’t repeated with Locke, it would be repeated with no one.
“I suppose I should apologize as well for taking advantage of the shared intimacy of a private carriage, but I have never witnessed anything so magnificent as your phases.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please, Mr. Locke . . .”
“Oh yes! And I have witnessed many amazing things. Your beauty in its various stages . . . Well, I couldn’t restrain myself.”
Neither could she, if she remembered correctly.
“While I can understand that you may not wish to see me again after . . .”
“The unfortunate accident,” she prodded.
“Yes, that . . . There is still the rather urgent matter of a list of names to recover. Even though we had no success last evening, we must continue the search.”
She looked at him askance. She should have known that his apologies were merely a secondary reason for his visit. “You have a plan, I suppose?”
He called an address to the driver and within a few moments and several turns, the carriage pulled in front of a massive P
alladian villa. Locke changed seats and settled comfortably beside her. Her breath caught. Her whole body tensed at his close proximity, especially as he leaned in front of her so as to point to the magnificent structure. Her nose registered sandalwood and soap. She amended her earlier observation. Sitting beside Locke was as difficult as facing him.
“That is the Russian ambassador’s home,” Locke said. “It is well guarded and protected at all times. I’ve never gotten close enough to try my hand at his safe, but you—”
“Locke! We are coming into a new moon!” she said, exasperated. “You saw what happened last night! I was barely able to phase long enough to escape. It will only grow worse until the moon begins its waxing stage.”
“At which time, the ambassador is hosting a ball.”
“A ball?” Her interest piqued. Because of her circumstances, she had never been able to attend an actual ball— another event on her long list of unfulfilled yearnings.
He nodded. “The ambassador will be so concerned with the preparations and the guests, he won’t notice if we peek into the contents of his safe.”
“Won’t there be a large number of people present?” she asked, a bit nervous.
“Of course, that’s why the timing will be so perfect. Great numbers of people mean great numbers of distractions.”
“What if someone bumps into me?”
“They will assume they bumped into someone else, someone visible. In the meantime you can continue practicing your safecracking skills on my library safe—”
“I have already opened your safe.”
“You have?” He frowned. “When did that occur?”
“The night we first kissed.” She tried not to look at his lips, but failed. “The night you left in the rain.”
“Yes, well . . .” He grimaced, almost as if the memory of that night was as uncomfortable for him as his desertion was to her. She felt a moment of guilt at reminding him, but he recovered quickly.
“Now that you’ve managed to open it once,” he said with the hint of a smile, “you’ll need to practice some more so that you can open it in the dark.”
“I opened it three times in the dark. I found it easier that way, less distracting.” She did rather enjoy surprising him, thrusting a pin into his well-ordered clockwork as it were. “I believe I have a bit of a knack.”
Much to her surprise he appeared disappointed. He sat quiet, not looking at her, with a strange twist to his lips. “I thought you’d be pleased,” she said, feeling some of her earlier delight slip away.
“I am. I’m just surprised, that’s all. Some people take years to perfect those skills.”
Had he thought she would have stayed in his house for years?
He suddenly leaned forward, reducing the space between them. “I suppose we should test your newfound skills in a real setting.”
“What are you suggesting?” she asked, leery of his sudden enthusiasm.
“Lord Pembroke’s library.”
She nodded. “At least I have a bit of familiarity with that safe. In a week or so, once the moon returns—”
“Tonight.”
“But I’ll be visible!” she exclaimed. Surely he hadn’t forgotten that important consideration.
“As will I.” His mouth quirked in a smile.
“I can’t do it tonight,” she pronounced. “That friend of yours has been invited to our house for dinner this evening and I must be there for appearances sake.”
“My friend?” He seemed to mentally cycle through a series of faces. His face twisted. “Ramsden?”
“Yes,” she replied, allowing a bit of smugness to enter her voice. She saw no need to add that the friend was invited at the insistence of her sister. Perhaps Locke did not care for her in a romantic sense, but the suggestion that another might offered a subtle salvation to her pride.
“Then invite me as well,” Locke insisted.
A tremor of delight slipped through her. In truth, she would have missed his company if he wasn’t at her table. Perhaps if they were to forge a more social relationship, and not one so infused with safes and mysteries, he might view her in a more acceptable light. She smiled. “Of course. We’d be honored if you could join us.”
A side of his mouth lifted in a seductive half smile. Lusinda felt the tempo of her heartbeat increase. He leaned forward, and for a brief moment she imagined he might kiss her in spite of the public setting. Then she realized the foolhardiness of that suggestion. She leaned forward, with less enthusiasm, to catch his words.
“After dinner, we shall call upon Lord Pembroke’s study.”
LUSINDA COULD NOT RECALL SO MUCH GAIETY IN THE house for all the time they had lived there. Portia looked fresh and lovely, Aunt Eugenia elegant and matronly, and Rhea adorable for the few minutes she was allowed to greet the guests before going to bed.
Mr. Ramsden appeared handsome, debonair, and entertaining in his easy and quick manner, but Locke—Locke put him to shame. From the moment he entered the house in his black dinner jacket with long tails and crisp white cravat, Lusinda had difficulty containing her inclination to move close to him. She had a strong desire to accidentally brush against him, to laugh and chortle over everything that he said. Dear heavens, what had gotten into her? She couldn’t even blame her sudden bout of silliness on the moon, as what little there was visible was solidly hidden behind a bank of clouds. There’d be little likelihood of her fading away tonight.
Portia, she noted, had no misgivings at all about flaunting her attraction to Mr. Marcus Ramsden, whose responses were polite but indifferent. In fact, beyond common polite-ness, Lusinda hadn’t detected any evidence of infatuation on his part, leading her to believe Portia’s interest was indeed one-sided.
“Miss Havershaw,” Ramsden said, turning away from Portia, “it’s such a pleasure to see you again. I rather enjoyed our long walk the other day.”
Locke, whose back had faced her while he listened to Aunt Eugenia’s long diatribe of plant remedies for common ailments, quickly turned and quirked a brow in her direction. She chose to ignore his sudden interest.
“I have called since,” Ramsden continued, “but Miss Portia advised that you were ill and not well enough to accept visitors.”
“Yes, that is true,” Lusinda said quickly. “I had a bout of”—she glanced past Ramsden’s side and saw Portia with her hand dramatically poised on her forehead, her lace fan fluttering violently in her face—“fainting spells.”
Ramsden’s face creased in alarm. “That sounds far more serious than the heat distress Miss Portia had indicated.”
“I’m sure the two were related,” she said quickly. She glanced to Portia, who had dropped her arms in exasperation. Locke’s eyes crinkled at the corners. She glanced back to Ramsden. “My aunt’s herbal remedies resolved the issue. ”
“Then perhaps we may engage in another walk in the future. ”
Fortunately, before Lusinda could respond the housekeeper interrupted with an announcement that dinner was served. Mr. Ramsden offered his left arm to escort Lusinda into the dining room as Portia had already claimed his right. Locke escorted Aunt Eugenia at the head of the small procession.
After all were seated and the soup à la flamande served, Ramsden took the forefront in the conversation.
“Has anyone been following the ghost sightings at the Farthington residence?”
“You mean the ghost that appeared the night of the music recital?” Portia asked with a pointed glance toward Lusinda. At the reference, Lusinda almost tipped her soup spoon down the front of her dress.
“That is the one,” Ramsden said. “I understand there was a second appearance just last night.”
“Oh?” Lusinda glanced across the table toward Locke. “I have always wondered what a ghost looks like.”
“Actually, there have been two accounts,” Ramsden responded. “One says that the poor girl appears in sodden muddy rags and the other that she appears in nothing at all.”
“Nothing
at all!” Aunt Eugenia exclaimed with a narrowing of eyes toward Lusinda. “You’d expect even a ghost would have more sense than to go about in public on such a night in nothing at all.”
“I was in attendance at the Farthingtons’ recital,” Locke interceded, “and I must admit that I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. I imagine old Farthington is reliving memories of his youth and not visions of his reality.”
Ramsden sipped from his wineglass. “It isn’t Farthington, old man, but rather his stout wife that claims the spector is that of a young woman of perhaps Miss Havershaw’s age.”
Lusinda felt her cheeks warm and her corset tighten. She glanced quickly at her aunt.
“Seriously, Mr. Ramsden,” Aunt Eugenia protested. “You are not suggesting that our Lusinda—”
“No, no, of course not,” Ramsden hastily added. “I was just using her as a point of reference.”
“Be very careful, my friend, about the framing of your point of reference.” Locke’s gaze narrowed and his lips thinned. If Lusinda didn’t know better, she would think Locke was defending her honor, though he clearly had indicated that he felt she had none.
Ramsden seemed to take the challenge in stride. He sat back, allowing the servants specifically hired for the evening to remove the soup and replace it with a plate of braised mutton. “Apparently, while Mrs. Farthington conducted a séance inside, the glowing image of a woman appeared near the same spot as that of the earlier drowned niece. She disappeared before Mr. Farthington could verify her presence.” Ramsden chuckled. “Can you imagine that? She simply vanished. ”
“Isn’t that what ghosts do?” Portia offered. “They disappear? ”
“Did she wail in unearthly cries?” Locke asked with all the innocence of a believing child. Lusinda scowled.
Ramsden continued cutting his meat and enjoying his meal as if four sets of eyes were not glaring at him. “The point of my story is this: I have recently heard some Russian folklore about a group of people called the Nevidimi who do this very thing. They change from human form to ghosts and then completely disappear in moonlight. Do you suppose we have a member of the Nevidimi right in our very midst?” He looked around the table. “Right here in London?”
The Trouble With Moonlight Page 17
