Burke turned to look more directly at her. “How long has it been since you and your brother were in company with one another?”
“Three months. He refused to go to Bath. I was not permitted to refuse.”
She really hadn’t enjoyed her Season, it seemed. “Would you have preferred London?”
“I would have preferred Wales.” She flashed him a smile that would have melted even the most cynical of gentlemen. Perhaps it was fortunate she hadn’t made her bows in Town. Between her wit and vivacity and that smile, the ton would have been brought to its knees.
“What of you, Mr. Grandson of a Marquess? Do you prefer London to Bath?”
How was it she could fashion him such a ridiculous moniker— focused as it was on an aspect of his identity he usually preferred be left unacknowledged— and, rather than ruffle his feathers, make him laugh?
“If you must call me something other than Mr. Kennard, I would far prefer Burke to Mr. Grandson of a Marquess.”
She folded her hands where they hung in front of her, the posture one of theatrical innocence. “But think of the scandal, sir. Using Christian names would be unthinkable. What would my mother say?”
“Besides ‘Fetch the vicar’?” At Enid’s sudden but subtle stiffening, he added, “Does not every mother of an eligible daughter have those three words fresh on the tip of her tongue?”
His companion relaxed by degrees. “Mine certainly does, for all the good it has done her.”
“Perhaps your brother will give her reason to make use of it.”
They both looked over at Trevor, seated across a chessboard from his father. Burke had never before seen anyone laugh whilst playing chess, but Trevor had done so regularly throughout the evening.
“He spends far too much time at Oxford to ever strike up a courtship.”
“He’s a scholar, then?”
Enid nodded. “He hides it well, does he not?”
Burke could not recall the last time he’d so thoroughly enjoyed another person’s company. She was a delight.
“I hope we will have a chance to return to the gardens tomorrow,” he said.
“Father believes it will rain all day, which is generally a good predictor of dry weather.” She stepped away from the window but glanced at him as she did. He hoped she meant the gesture as one of invitation to take a walk about the room with her, as that was how he intended to interpret it. “But even if the heavens cooperate, I cannot guarantee Dafydd Gam will. He is terribly temperamental.”
“And I do not wish to trespass upon your family’s hospitality longer than I must.”
She didn’t immediately answer, though he could see thought after thought flit across her lovely face. “We would none of us mind if you extended your stay.” She spoke more quietly than was usual for her, but her sincerity could not be doubted.
“What if you discover, after knowing me for more than six hours, that you do not particularly care for my company?”
She daintily waved her hand, dismissing his objection. “We will simply toss you out and lock the door.”
Heavens, he couldn’t imagine anything he would enjoy more than spending another day— or several— in her company. “I accept your challenge, Miss Pryce.”
Her dancing brown eyes turned toward him once more. “Did I issue a challenge?”
“Indeed, and I intend to make quite certain that you still particularly care for my company after knowing me better.”
They completed another circuit of the drawing room. The candles were flickering low. Mrs. Pryce had nodded off in an armchair near the low-burning fire. Trevor still grinned over his game of chess, though his father seemed quite serious. Enid smiled at Burke’s side.
This home was peaceful, and its occupants were happy and loving. For his part, Burke hoped the fabled ghost took his merry time making himself known, for then Burke would have a ready excuse to remain.
Chapter Five
Enid had only ever seen such a large percentage of the local population gathered in one place when marking a birth, marriage, or death. Not one of those things had transpired, yet there they all were, leaning against the iron fence surrounding the Pryce family garden, watching Burke intently.
“Are they also hoping to catch a glimpse of your ghost?” Burke asked. She likely shouldn’t think of him by his Christian name, but she’d allowed herself the silent indulgence the night before and found it had already become an unbreakable habit.
“Ghosts are hardly reason for excitement. An Englishman traipsing about in the mud, however…” She let the sentence dangle.
“I am making a spectacle of myself?” Unlike every other gentleman she knew, excepting her father and brother, he did not seem overly concerned about appearing less than perfect. She liked that about him. “Perhaps if I sang a verse or two of ‘Ar Hyd y Nos,’ they would find me less of an oddity.”
“In the original Welsh?” she pressed.
“Of course.”
Her heart flipped about inside. He knew Welsh folk songs in Welsh. He likely even spoke the language a bit. She’d been mocked in Bath for the Welsh turn in her voice, not having been trained to sound more English, as so many of the wealthiest Welsh families insisted their children be. Trev had admitted to much the same treatment at Harrow and Oxford. Enid had simply assumed the English weren’t overly fond of the Welsh. But Burke was. So much so, in fact, that his life’s work involved studying Wales’s history and people and culture.
An idea suddenly entered her mind, and, true to form, she spoke it immediately. “Good heavens. What dunderheads we are being. You have come to Wales to gather folklore and tales, and here you are surrounded by an entire town of Welshmen, and you’ve not spoken to a single one of them.”
She could see the moment her idea became clear to him. “Would they talk to me, do you think? Even with my Englishness on full display?”
The grandson of a nobleman and, yet, he was humble, unsure of his reception amongst a group of people who would likely go entirely unnoticed by most in his position. Was it possible to continue liking him more with each passing moment?
“They might be wary at first,” she acknowledged. “But as soon as they realize how sincerely you wish to learn from them and how deeply you value them as Welshmen, they will spill every story they know into your ears.”
“Would you be willing to make the introductions?” Heavens, but he looked nervous. “Your endorsement would, no doubt, ease any concerns they might have.”
She offered him her hand, a gesture she knew would earn her the censure of all the judgmental matrons in Bath but which, she found, perfectly suited the moment. He slipped his hand in hers and allowed himself to be led toward the crowd.
“Neighbors,” she greeted them. “This is Mr. Burke Kennard, an Englishman.”
The expected ripple of curiosity mingled with disapproval made its way around the fence.
“He is here in Wales because he finds us far better company than his countrymen.”
She heard Burke stifle a laugh. How rare it was to find someone outside of her family who shared her sense of the ridiculous.
“Further, he wishes to learn more of our culture and history. He is here, most particularly, to make the acquaintance of Dafydd Gam.”
Nods of approval bobbed in all directions.
“And, while Dafydd Gam is being his usual difficult self, I am hopeful that we can find tales enough to share with our visitor so his love of this land will grow all the more.”
“Have you told him of Arwel the Uneven?” Leave it to the butcher to think of that tale first.
“I have not,” Enid said. “Perhaps you’d care to share.”
The butcher leaned against the iron fence. “Arwel did not start out uneven, having been born with all his limbs and essential bits. But when one earns one’s keep felling trees, one ought not to be loose-gripped with the ax.”
Burke was mesmerized, just as Enid knew he would be. She’d grown up with a father who lov
ed a good tale and a brother who craved knowledge the way most gentlemen craved brandy. Three months amongst the gentlemen of the ton had left her despairing of ever meeting one who shared her family’s odd taste in diversions. Yet here he was, a fascinating gentleman who had quite literally walked into her life.
As one tale led to another, Burke grew entirely at ease with the gathering, at one point slipping through the garden gate to sit among them, jotting notes on a stack of small-cut squares of paper he pulled from his jacket pocket. He repeatedly encouraged them to share more.
Old Mrs. Gowans was called upon to share a song but shied at the suggestion.
“I know it only in Welsh. The English don’t care for our language.”
Burke’s gentle smile immediately began working its magic, and Mrs. Gowans hemmed and hawed a bit. But when he, as he’d jokingly suggested earlier, began singing to her in Welsh, the dear old woman simply melted. She joined in, and soon the entire gathering took up the familiar tune.
Enid watched in amazement. He was magical. Wonderful. “I want him to stay,” she declared almost silently.
A voice whispered from behind her, “You must not take what is not yours.”
She spun about and came face-to-face with the very apparition they’d been hoping to summon. Only the day before, she’d come to this garden calling for Dafydd Gam, but in that moment, she wished him far, far away.
Burke had only come to meet this ghost, and once he had, he would leave.
“I haven’t stolen anything,” she whispered. “And I promise I won’t, only please go.”
One of his bushy brows arched high while the other dipped low. His ghostly mouth turned in displeased confusion.
Enid glanced over at Burke and the gathering. They were all quite distracted by their song. Now was her opportunity. “I need you to stay out of sight for a day or two.”
Dafydd Gam folded his arms across his chest. His broad shoulders pulled backward in defiance.
“I am not above bribery,” Enid said. “I will bring you sweets from the kitchen.”
He tossed her a look clearly meant to convey what a ridiculous idea that was. He even motioned at his translucent belly.
“Or—” Enid thought quickly. How did one go about bribing a ghost? “I will solemnly vow not to pilfer any daffodils next spring.”
He was beginning to look more than a little put out with her. It had been a half-baked offer, really. No one ever stole daffodils from Dafydd Gam’s garden. Not ever.
“I have nothing to offer just now, but I will think on it. Only, please, go. He will leave once he meets you, and I am not ready for him to desert me yet.”
Dafydd Gam held up a single finger.
“One week? You’ll stay away for one week?” She knew the guess was optimistic.
He shook his head, keeping that one finger extended.
“One day?”
He nodded and disappeared.
One day it was, then. She had one single day in which to either convince Burke Kennard to remain even after his reason for coming had been accomplished, or to think of an offer tempting enough to convince Dafydd Gam to extend his “one day” into a week. Or two.
“And did Mairwen marry the squire, or was she convinced to go forward with the marriage to the aged knight?” Burke’s entire attention was on Mr. Jones, the blacksmith, who most certainly knew how to weave an intriguing tale.
“Sadly, her father’s will carried, and she was forced into the arranged match. The squire, bereft of hope, followed Henry to France and was killed at Agincourt.” Mr. Jones sighed loudly. “Upon hearing of his death, Mairwen died of a broken heart.”
“Why is it the unfortunate squire or the heartsick Mairwen aren’t the ones haunting these gardens rather than Dafydd Gam?” Burke addressed the question to everyone at once. Everyone turned immediately to Enid.
She held her hands up in a show of innocence. “Leeks and daffodils,” she reminded him.
“And how is it you know he is Dafydd Gam?” Burke asked. “Does he introduce himself as such?”
That gave her pause. Generations of her family had known who he was, but who had been the first to discover it? Dafydd Gam never said anything beyond the one sentence.
“We’ve simply always known,” she said.
He readily accepted her answer. “We’ll have to ask him, I suppose.” His gaze slid around the garden. “If he ever makes an appearance.”
Enid covered her blush of guilt by turning to face the gardens as well. “It is very strange. Who would ever have guessed he would stay away so long?” I am going to be struck down by a vengeful deity.
“I think I had best walk Miss Pryce back inside. Her family will be wondering what has delayed her so long.” Burke’s manners were impeccable, as always.
Before beginning their trek to the house, he turned back and waved to the townspeople. They waved back enthusiastically. He’d won them all over so quickly and so easily.
I want him to stay, Dafydd Gam. Somehow I will find a way to keep him here with me.
Chapter Six
A second afternoon passed without a single sighting of anyone no longer living. Burke had expected his stop in Brecknockshire to be a quick one, a few hours at most, and yet he wasn’t the least put out. Mr. Pryce had allowed him to peruse his small library in the hope of finding something expounding upon the history of their ghost. Mrs. Pryce, though clearly awed by Burke’s exalted connections, had, nonetheless, not treated him any differently than she had when he’d first arrived. He and Trevor had passed a late evening sharing tales of academic woes and explaining, with a level of detail only a fellow scholar could appreciate, their individual areas of expertise.
Enid, however, was the very best part of his unexpected sojourn. He couldn’t help smiling every time he saw her approach. Their conversations were, without exception, enjoyable, entertaining, and far superior to any he could recall having with anyone else of his acquaintance. She clearly did not have the deep passion he did for 15th-century Welsh history, but she never belittled his intense interest and even offered insights into who in the surrounding areas might have tales to share with him. And she spent all of the past two afternoons with him in the garden, watching for their ghost.
Trevor had joined them on an impromptu picnic. Enid had, during Burke and Trevor’s admittedly long discussion of least-favorite subjects in school, drifted off to sleep, curled into a C on the picnic blanket. Trevor had eventually wandered to the far side of the gardens to examine a tree he found particularly intriguing, he being a botanist.
Burke leaned back against the trunk of a nearby tree— one apparently too dull to capture Trevor’s attention— and took a moment to let the idyllic nature of his current situation settle over him.
Wales truly was a magical place.
His gaze drifted, as it so often did, to Enid. He’d despaired of ever meeting a lady like her, one who eschewed false pretenses and who exuded such a love of life. His income was insignificant, the Mouldsworth estate and fortunes being very tightly held in entailment. Unlike the rest of his family, he was not willing to crush himself under piles of debt in order to live exorbitantly. Most young ladies of the ton would consider him inarguably ineligible. But Enid lived a quiet and, by the standards of the gentry, simple life. She, having a brother in Burke’s precise circumstances, understood the principles of economy. If any lady might be willing to consider him as a prospective suitor, she might.
Lud, he was getting far ahead of himself. “One would think I was on the verge of dragging her off to Gretna Green at any moment.”
“You must not take what is not yours.”
Burke’s head jerked in the direction of the stern voice. There, translucent, menacing, and plain as day, stood a ghost. An honest-to-goodness ghost.
A ghost.
He’d not entirely dismissed the possibility that the specter was real but was still entirely unprepared for coming face to face with one.
“Good afternoon.
” The rote greeting felt utterly ridiculous in that moment. His thoughts were too jumbled and circling in too many directions for clear thinking.
He’d formed in his mind an image of how he believed Dafydd Gam had looked, and the specter did not resemble that imagining at all, and not simply because this Dafydd Gam was not solid.
The original Gam had received that name in reference to a problem with his eyes, though there was some debate as to whether that something was a squint, eyes that crossed, or an eye that was missing. There appeared nothing out of the ordinary in the ghost’s eyes. Surely the Pryces’ predecessors would have known this about the well-known historical figure. Burke had assumed that aspect of his person had been their means of identifying the ghost as the famous Welshman.
That riddle, however, slipped to the back of his thoughts, another one taking its place. You must not take what is not yours. Had he been accused of plotting to kidnap Enid? He supposed he had hinted at that.
“I meant my comment about Gretna Green in jest,” he told the ghost. Ghost. Good heavens. “I don’t actually intend to run off with her.”
The ghost set his fists on his hips and glared at Burke with unmistakable doubt.
“I swear to it. Indeed, I cannot imagine she would go with me even if I asked. I’m not at all certain she will allow me to return here again.” And once she knew he’d seen her garden ghost, Enid would consider Burke’s business in Brecknockshire as complete. He’d have no choice but to leave without having earned even the smallest bit of her regard.
He could not allow that to happen.
“I don’t suppose you could be persuaded to keep out of sight for another day or two?”
The apparition threw his hands upward, gaze following suit. Apparently he found Burke’s request particularly annoying.
“I am only asking for a few days,” Burke said. “You needn’t even stay away altogether, only whilst Enid and I are together. So long as she doesn’t know I’ve seen you, I won’t have to leave.”
All Hallows' Eve Collection Page 3
