The Reclusive Earl

by Ruth Ann Nordin

  Opal glanced at Miss Kesner’s reflection. Again, Miss Kesner gave her no indication that anything was happening at the door.

  The door opened further, and from where Opal was, she still didn’t see anyone.

  After a long moment, Opal’s gaze went back to Miss Kesner’s reflection.

  Miss Kesner was pinning her hair back as if the door hadn’t opened at all.

  Opal closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then opened her eyes again. The door was still open. And no one was in the doorway. She released a shaky breath.

  If she asked Miss Kesner if the door was open, she was sure the lady would say no. Just as Landon had said he hadn’t moved the inkwells. Just as the maid said she hasn’t moved the inkwells. Just as Landon said he hadn’t moved around his books and then organized them back.

  No one, it seemed, was aware of what was happening but her. And she didn’t know what to do about it.

  “All done, my lady,” Miss Kesner said, stepping away from her. “Is there anything else you need?”

  Opal glanced at the open doorway. Was she really imagining it? Was it possible the door was shut? She rubbed her temples, willing herself to see and hear things that were actually there. “No, I don’t need anything else at the moment.”

  “Very good, my lady,” Miss Kesner said. “I’ll return when you require something else.”

  This time Opal didn’t follow Miss Kesner out in case Miss Kesner thought something was wrong with her. It was bad enough Opal had told her she heard knocking at the door when no one had been on the other side.

  She clasped her hands together and stared at the door separating her and Landon’s bedchambers. Should she go in and investigate? Would anyone even be there? Miss Kesner had checked the room and found no one there. Opal had also checked it, just to make sure Miss Kesner had been telling her the truth.

  In the end, Opal decided to go downstairs without checking Landon’s bedchamber. She went to the drawing room and sat in one of the chairs.

  Putting her face in her hands, she tried to rationalize away the knocking on the door, the way it opened on its own, the books that were organized according to author name and then according to title, the comb that had been on top of her vanity and then in the drawer, the strange sound in the hallway, and the moving inkwells. Surely, there had to be a reasonable explanation for everything. Things didn’t just move themselves around. People had to move them.

  “My lady, do you need something?”

  Opal looked up from her hands and saw the maid entering the room, a concerned expression on her face. “No, no I’m fine,” Opal replied. “Where is my husband?”

  “He went to visit his brother.” The maid took out a neatly folded parchment from her pocket and handed it to her. “He asked me to give you this.”

  She unfolded it and read the message. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Guy said his daughter is sick and needs a doctor right away. I’ll return as soon as I can.

  “Thank you,” Opal replied as she folded it.

  “Are you ready to eat?”

  “No, not right now. Maybe in an hour.”

  “If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

  Opal nodded as the maid left the room. It was still early in the day. Warren and Iris wouldn’t even be ready to eat, and Ava would probably still be asleep. There was no one she could visit at the moment.

  She let out a long sigh and scanned the room. She needed to do something—anything—to occupy her time. She searched the room for a book but didn’t find any. After a few restless moments, she decided to take her chances in the den.

  This time as she walked down the hallway, she didn’t hear anything unusual. She just heard the soft steps her slippers made as she walked along the hardwood floor. When she reached the open doorway of the den, she peeked into the room. The horse inkwell was on the desk. She slowly entered the room and took a good look at the books lining the shelves. They were sorted according to title.

  Relieved, she went to the books and studied the titles for something she might enjoy reading. After picking up a couple of books and skimming them, she decided on one to read. She turned to leave the room when she noticed the paintings on the wall. They weren’t the ones Landon had bought.

  The painting with the horses grazing in the field had been replaced by a painting of a graveyard on a foggy day. The painting of the autumn trees had been replaced by a painting of a forlorn ghost in a hallway, seeming to be searching for something it couldn’t find, and on that particular painting, there was a piece of folded parchment pinned to it. Something was written on parchment, but she was too far to tell what it was.

  Clutching the book to her chest, she debated whether or not to summon the maid. What good had it done to ask Miss Kesner if there was a knock at the door? She hadn’t heard it. She hadn’t even seen the door open. No one had seen the inkwells when they were misplaced or the books when they’d been switched around.

  Ignore it. It’s not real. She wasn’t seeing those particular paintings. She was really seeing the paintings of the horses and the autumn trees. She just had to remind herself of that.

  Releasing her breath, she headed toward the door. On her way there, she was finally able to make out what was on the neatly folded parchment attached to the painting of the ghost. It was a single word. Opal.

  Her steps slowed to a stop. There was something familiar about the handwriting. She debated whether or not to go over to it. It wasn’t real. There wasn’t any reason to pick it up and take a closer look at it.

  She took a step away from the painting when she heard someone whisper, “Opal.”

  She jerked and spun around, scanning the room. No one was in the room. She was by herself.

  “Opal.”

  The whisper came from the other side of the room, but she still didn’t see anyone.

  She rubbed her forehead. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to believe. Was she really hearing and seeing these things, or was she imagining them?

  “Read it,” the voice whispered.

  Whether the voice came from her mind or was real, her curiosity got the best of her. She went to the painting and removed the pin from the parchment. Studying the script, she couldn’t help but think of how familiar it was. Someone she knew had written it. But who? Or, at least, who was she imagining it came from?

  After a moment, she unfolded the parchment.

  Why did you leave me behind at the estate? I’m lonely without you.

  Then she recalled whose handwriting it belonged to. Byron. This was Byron’s handwriting.

  Her gaze went back to the paintings. The graveyard and the ghost… She reread the missive. The message was short, but it was clear the paintings were there to emphasize it.

  She swallowed. Maybe if she closed her eyes and took some deep breaths, the paintings and missive would disappear. But when she opened her eyes, the things were still there. She reached out and touched the paintings. They felt real. The parchment she was holding felt real. Never once in all the time she had acted as if she had lost her mind while her mother and Byron were alive did she imagine things this vivid.

  “What did you say, my lady?”

  She spun toward the doorway where the maid stood, looking at her expectantly. “I didn’t say anything,” Opal replied.

  “Far be it from me to argue with you, but you did,” the maid said. “You pulled the cord along the wall to summon me, and when I arrived, you were talking to someone.” She scanned the room as if she expected another person to be there. “You called him by the name Byron.”

  Opal’s gaze went to the parchment in her hand. “No, I didn’t say anything. I was only reading this.”

  “Reading what, my lady? The book?”

  “No, this.” She held up the parchment.

  The maid’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t see anything but the book, my lady.”

  Opal glanced down at the book she was holding to her chest. With a look at the paint
ings, she asked the question she dreaded to ask but felt like she had to. “What are those paintings of?”

  “There’s three horses and a dog in one and autumn trees in the other.” The maid’s eyebrows furrowed. “Isn’t that what you see?”

  Just so she wouldn’t appear to be losing her wits, she said, “Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat and smiled. “I was wondering what you think of them.”

  “They are nice paintings, my lady.”

  “I thought so, too, when my husband picked them out.” Opal slipped the parchment into the book.

  “Maybe I should bring you some tea, my lady,” the maid said, her voice soothing as she walked over to her. “I think it will help calm you.”

  Maybe that was a good idea. She nodded and let the maid lead her out of the room. The maid put her arm around her shoulders and walked her down the hall.

  “You’ll feel better after you have some tea,” the maid said.

  No, no she wouldn’t. Opal already knew things wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t get better. They would only continue. That, or they would get worse. She blinked back her tears.

  The maid took her to the drawing room and urged her to sit on the settee. “I’ll be right back with the tea.”

  As soon as the maid left, Opal let the tears fall.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Landon stared at Guy and Virginia in disbelief. In Virginia’s arms, their daughter smiled at him, not sick at all. “But the lad told me Thalia needed a doctor.” Landon glanced over at the Marquess of Dodsworth—also known as Doctor Westward prior to inheriting his title—who had come with him. Bewildered, he turned back to Guy. “The lad said you asked me to come right away and to bring a doctor with me.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, but we’re fine,” Virginia said. “There’s nothing wrong with Thalia.”

  “The lad must have made a mistake,” the doctor said, turning to Landon. “It’s all right. I’d rather come here and find out nothing is wrong than find out someone really does need help.” He gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “It’s nice that you care so much about your brother and his family.”

  Landon waited until the doctor left before he turned back to Guy and Virginia. “The lad gave me your name. Why would he do that when Thalia ith all right?”

  “I don’t know,” Guy replied. “I’m as bewildered as you are.”

  “I don’t think the lad made a mithtake.” Landon stopped, realizing his frustration was causing him to lisp without thinking about it.

  Landon wasn’t making any of this up. He had just gone to the drawing room of his townhouse when the lad came up to the door. The lad had said Guy had sent for him and that Thalia was seriously ill. Why would he do that if it wasn’t true?

  “If the lad didn’t make a mistake, then why would he tell you something was wrong with Thalia?” Guy asked.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” Virginia agreed. “If it wasn’t a mistake, then it was done on purpose. And if so, what did he hope to gain by it?”

  “Or by the person who paid him,” Guy added. “How old was the lad?”

  Landon thought for a moment then said. “Ten. Maybe eleven.” Then he realized the lad was too young to come up with something like this all by himself. Someone had to be behind it. “I don’t know why he did it, but if I get a chance to talk to him again, I’ll find out.”

  “If something serious really does come up, I’ll get you myself,” Guy told him. “That way you know it’s true.”

  Good. Landon sighed and ran his hand through his hair. As the doctor said, it was good that everyone was all right. Even with this situation being as strange as it was, it was better than something bad happening to his niece.

  “I’ll go tell Opal what happened,” Landon said. No doubt, she was worrying about them since he’d left in such a hurry.

  Landon turned to leave and Virginia called out, “It’s nice you care about us so much.”

  Guy smiled. “It is.” He gave Landon a hug. “Thanks, brother.”

  Landon returned their smiles, feeling a little better about the whole ordeal. He left their home and scanned the street, but he didn’t see the lad anywhere. Not that he expected to. The lad was probably long gone. But it was possible whoever had put the lad up to the lie could be watching. Landon took a good look at all of the gentlemen who were passing by. No one seemed suspicious. Of course, just because someone didn’t seem suspicious, it didn’t mean he wasn’t.

  With a shake of his head, he went to the carriage and settled into the seat. Something was going on. He was sure of it. If only he could figure out what it was. What would someone have to gain by claiming Thalia was ill? There had to be a reason for it. No one would send a lad to him unless they benefited from it somehow. He rubbed the back of his neck, puzzled to no end over this strange occurrence.

  The carriage moved forward, and he brought his attention back to the street around him, wondering if the person responsible was watching him and wondering what that person was thinking.

  ***

  Opal didn’t feel any better after she had a cup of tea. If anything, she felt worse. Because now the maid and the other staff were looking at her as if they pitied her. It was the same look the staff used to give her while her mother and Byron had been alive. She hated that look. She didn’t mind it when she was pretending to be insane, but she did now that she honestly believed it.

  When she finished the tea, she picked up the book and tucked it under her arm. She took a deep breath. Did she dare look in the den and see if those paintings were still there? It seemed that every time she went there, she saw something that shouldn’t be there. She should probably avoid that room. Common sense told her she was better off staying away from it.

  Except she couldn’t get rid of the small voice in the back of her mind that was prompting her to go and check it out. To know if she would see the paintings of the graveyard and the ghost again. Or, if like before, she’d see things that were supposed to be there. Every other time she had taken another look in the room, things went back to normal. The horse inkwell had been on the desk. The books had been lined in alphabetical order according to title. If she was right, then when she went into the den, the paintings of the three horses and the autumn trees would be back.

  After a moment of lingering in the doorway of the drawing room, she approached the den. Again, she didn’t hear any strange tapping sound in the hallway. This time, she didn’t feel as if the shadows lining the hallway were going to reach out and grab her. Everything felt normal. Everything, that was, except for her. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was the only thing wrong with the place.

  When she reached the den, she took a moment to steady her nerves. She could do this. She could go in there and face her fears. She took a step into the room and glanced at the desk. The horse inkwell was there. Her gaze went to the bookshelves. The books were as they should be: in alphabetical order according to title.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned to the wall with the paintings. They were as they should be, too. The horses were grazing in the grass while a dog lingered nearby. And the trees in the other painting were arrayed in an assortment of autumn colors. She closed her eyes again, willing the other paintings to return. But when she opened her eyes, she didn’t see the graveyard or ghost paintings. She only saw the paintings Landon had purchased. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  Clutching the book to her chest, she left the den and went up the stairs, heading for her bedchamber. She probably shouldn’t go there, but she needed to be alone for a while. The last thing she wanted was to see another pitying expression from one of the servants.

  As soon as she reached her bedchamber, she peeked into the room. It looked normal. She hadn’t ventured up here by herself during the day since she’d first heard the knocking from Landon’s bedchamber. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she ventured in here now.

  Well, there was only one way to find out. She went half
way into the room and studied her surroundings. Everything was normal. Nothing was out of place. She debated whether to close the door to the hallway but decided to keep it open. Suddenly feeling tired, she set the book on the vanity then went to the bed. Rest. She’d get some rest. Then when she got up, she might feel better.

  Maybe she should ask Landon to take her to the country. Then she’d live out the rest of her life in isolation, safe from anyone who might tell people in the Ton that she was losing her mind. Warren and Iris shouldn’t have to deal with the shame of such gossip. Some people would probably refuse to let them invest in their businesses if they found out something was wrong with her.

  She didn’t think Landon would mind going to the country. He felt self-conscious with his lisp and avoided as many social activities as possible. The only reason he was in London was because of her.

  But if she was losing her mind, then what? Would things get worse? Would she start to act in ways that made her unsafe to be around? Would she eventually pose a threat to others? If that happened, would she be able to spend time with her child? Would she and Landon even be able to have a normal marriage? Or would he end up feeling more like her guardian than her husband?

  She wiped away her tears and went to the bed. After she climbed in, she pulled the blanket up to her nose. She could smell Landon. If she closed her eyes, she could even imagine he was wrapping her in a protective embrace.

  Would he even want to stay with her if he knew she was descending into madness? Her mother had often commented how difficult it was to tend to someone who acted like she was still three or four. At the time, Opal hadn’t minded because it meant her mother stayed away from her as much as possible, and considering the years of abuse she’d suffered at her mother’s hand, it’d been a relief.

  Unwittingly, her mind went back to that day when she was thirteen. It’d been the day that had changed everything. She had gone out on her horse with the intention of breaking her neck by jumping off her horse. But though she had jumped, she had survived.