Emily Greenwood (7 page)

Once outside Blossom Cottage, she dunked her filthy hair in the rain barrel and made use of a bar of soap she had put there earlier, along with a cloth for drying herself. She scrubbed her face and neck, dried off, and then slipped quietly back in the house. In a matter of minutes she was lying damply in bed, mightily pleased with her cleverness and stealth.

That hadn’t been bad at all. Actually, doing the haunting—and getting away with it!—had been a thrill. When had she last felt thrilled? Well, if she had to answer truthfully, it had been when she’d been in James Collington’s arms. But she wasn’t going to think about that.

A few more nights of haunting should reduce him to a quivering heap. She drifted off to sleep more hopeful than she had been in weeks.

From his front bedroom window James stood in just his breeches and watched the strange dark figure pause outside the dower house for several minutes. Probably trying to do something about whatever she’d put in her hair.

So, “Lovely Annabelle” had decided to pay him a visit. If he hadn’t stopped to put on his pants, he would have gotten into the hallway in time to apprehend her. But what would he have done with her? Certainly not what he would have liked to do, though perhaps her luscious appeal would have been somewhat muted by the coating of soot or whatever it was she had applied.

Apparently Felicity Wilcox was now going to scare him away from Tethering Hall, he thought with a wry twist of his lips. Well, good enough. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d played a game that wasn’t cards, and this one looked to be unusual at the very least. He wondered how she’d gotten in and out of the house so easily. Very possibly the house had a secret passageway or two.

He returned to bed. But, aroused as he had been since the kiss in the balcony, sleep did not come. His mind kept supplying images of her in her ridiculous old-fashioned clothes. Not the ghost costume, but her black satin dinner gown, and even the muddy, faded gown from the first day they met. How did she manage to look so alluring in such odd clothing? She had a glow, like a fresh peach whose ripeness and lush color beckon you to sink your teeth into it. Though it wasn’t his teeth he wanted to sink into her.

She affected him, as though she were some sort of sneaky enchantress insinuating her way into his thoughts. Or an imp, more likely. Something about her was doing things to his control.

He flopped and turned on his lumpy mattress for an hour, edgy and yearning. Hades, but it had been a long time since he had been with a woman. But the bucolic, ramshackle Tethering estate was not the place to indulge himself. Felicity Wilcox was a penniless, overworked gentlewoman who wished him all the worst. And he had a goal to accomplish from which he must not be distracted. Getting involved with her in any way would send him wildly off course, and that was something he could not allow.

The next morning he awoke early as usual and was grateful for a clear head and a vigorous desire to attack the tasks of the day. He was still keeping farmer’s hours, but then, he had been a farmer for the last three years.

The Bodega Alborada had been in declining condition when James purchased it, but it had good land and a large store of maturing sherry casks. With the design of increasing its value so that he could sell it before the time given to pay the ten-thousand-pound debt his brother had saddled him with, he had fixed up the caverns where the sherry matured and purchased new equipment, all under the advice of Old Pedro, his foreman. James had been more than happy to lose himself in the exhausting work. Anything was better than reflecting on the shambles of his life in England, where his beloved estate, Granton, was threatened by debt and scandal clung to the Collington name.

In Spain he’d taken up hoe and scythe to work alongside the dark-haired peasant men. He’d gained a deep knowledge of the grapes, and found that work as satisfying as the time he spent among the casks planning for the maturing and bottling of the different sherries. The last three years had been fulfilling in their way, but he fully expected that the future would hold so much more. Starting with the return of Granton.

When Fulton brought his breakfast into the morning room, James asked after the progress being made on renovations at Tethering Hall.

“The workmen have arrived, sir,” Fulton replied, setting down James’s coffee cup and pot. “They are ready to begin with the roof. They estimate it will take them a few days to repair it.”

James poured himself some coffee, wishing it were the thick, darkly roasted brew he drank at the bodega. He had used up precious time in London settling the importation details for the sherry, though of course that time had also netted him the Tethering estate. Now he had only two months left to get Tethering fixed up and sold to Dover so he could meet the terms of the debt. Still, the time remaining was adequate. He would invite the man down in perhaps a month, by which time the house and orchard should be in good shape, with a staff installed and running things smoothly so that Dover would be eager to assume ownership.

“The workers will be done before the guests begin arriving, correct?” James asked.

“Indeed, sir,” Fulton replied. “The men are eager to receive the promised bonus on finishing.”

“Very good, Fulton. And the staff?”

“Several footmen and housemaids have been engaged, sir. And the women recommended by Miss Wilcox—Mrs. Withers and Mrs. Bailey—arrived early this morning. They both seemed eager for the employment.”

“Good, good.” James nodded his head, pleased that his plans were all proceeding briskly. “You know my philosophy on staff, Fulton.”

“Indeed I do, sir. A happy staff is a happy enterprise.”

“Exactly,” James said with a smile of satisfaction. He glanced sidelong at the manservant, who was busying himself removing crumbs from the table with a cloth.

“Fulton, did you hear anything last night, any unusual noises? Around midnight, perhaps a little later?”

Fulton paused in his wiping. “Noises. Yes,” he cleared his throat. “I heard the floors creaking and assumed you had gotten up. Also, there was a moaning sound.” Fulton looked uncomfortable. “If I may add, sir, apparently the stable boy saw a ‘ghostly figure’ near the trees late last night. He says he heard from the locals that there’s some sort of”—he cleared his throat, a man who disliked repeating silly gossip—“lady ghost who is supposed to appear and haunt the property.”

Damn, James thought, she’d been seen. That was just what he didn’t need—unwanted attention. He didn’t need rumors of strange doings at Tethering reaching Dover. And after the last time his family was in the news, he couldn’t afford for more gossip about the Collington family to start up. He’d have to force Felicity Wilcox to stop this silly business before she did it again. He’d have to put a little fear in her.

Fulton was looking at him. “Sir, you don’t think this might be distressing to Miss Claremont, when she comes to stay?”

“No. Not in the least. The other time… she’d had a very distressing dream about her dead sister. It was simply a very difficult time in her life.”

His aunt Miranda would be fine, of that James was certain. She’d recovered now from the death of her beloved sister. But Miss Wilcox was indeed stirring up a delicate situation at Tethering. Doubtless her purpose was to accomplish his discomfort and departure. He couldn’t afford for her to know she was having some success, if only because he couldn’t allow any hint of scandal to surround the estate. Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult to spur her into a little sense.

“Who did the locking up last night?” James asked.

“I did, sir. Though the locks on one or two of the windows are not in good condition.”

“Well, perhaps you will let it about that a cow got onto the property last night, and that must have been what the stable boy saw.”

“A
cow
, sir?”

James pressed his lips together. “Yes, I damn well know a cow doesn’t look like a ghostly woman, but it was dark and how can anyone be sure of what was seen? We need to create a logical explanation. I can’t afford to have the least hint of anything unseemly going on here.”

Fulton looked sober. He was fully aware of what was at stake. “Of course, sir. I understand.”

“Good.” James wiped his mouth and stood up from the table. “I’m going to call on the Wilcoxes now. Miss Wilcox is to accompany me on a tour of the orchard.” He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it. “I imagine Mr. Wilcox will be along shortly to use the library.”

“I shall see that he is brought lunch.”

“Thank you, Fulton. You are essential.”

“Yes, sir,” Fulton said as he focused his attention on removing a bit of wax from the tabletop, his normally impassive features momentarily altered by a pleased look. Like his master, the indispensable Fulton liked nothing so much as a job well done.

On his way down to Blossom Cottage, James passed Wilcox on his way up to Tethering. They did not speak beyond a greeting—he could see that the man was eager to get to the library.

A sharp rap on the front door of Blossom Cottage called forth a stout, graying servant somewhat long in the tooth. She led James to the sitting room and went to fetch her mistress.

Felicity was sitting at the breakfast table distractedly pondering a note from Crispin. He was writing to invite her, in a rather insistent tone, to attend an assembly in town in a few days, but her thoughts were not on dancing. She was instead savoring the gossip Martha, their daily servant, had just repeated to her: one of the stable boys had seen Lovely Annabelle! Felicity was indulging in optimistic scenarios of James Collington’s distress. Had he lain awake all night, worrying about what was going on at this country house? Would the gossip of the servants help create a desperate atmosphere? And had his new cook and housekeeper arrived to wreak havoc yet? With any luck, he was already having grave doubts about the Tethering estate.

She was just dashing off a reply to Crispin, to thank him but decline, when Martha came in to announce the arrival of Mr. Collington. Felicity blanched. She’d momentarily forgotten their appointment to inspect the orchard. Or maybe he was here to say good-bye! Quickly she drank the remainder of her tea, gave Martha the note for Crispin, then stood and neatened her appearance before striding into the sitting room.

Mr. Collington, standing by the window in his smart breeches, gleaming black boots, and the vivid garnet tailcoat, seemed too much for the small room, with its homey tatting on the tabletop and its simple furnishings. Too smart, too manly, too exotically handsome to be standing in the faded cream and mauve sitting room at Blossom Cottage. He turned at her entrance, those chocolate eyes steady under their dark, neat brows, though she thought the corners of his mouth twitched momentarily. And there was something else about his regard, something that wasn’t funny at all.

Strange. She would have expected some signs of trepidation. But then she reminded herself of the acting skills he had displayed at dinner.

She lifted her chin.

“Good morning, Miss Wilcox. I hope you are well today,” he greeted her, his deep, now-familiar voice sounding perfectly normal.

“Good morning, Mr. Collington,” she said, ignoring the flip-flopping sensation starting up inside her at the sound of his voice. “I trust that your ill-gotten home is proving comfortable.” If only he would reveal some discomfort or inconvenience resulting from Lovely Annabelle’s visit. He looked, however, well rested.

“I thank you for your kind consideration.” His eyes glinted at her. “Although, astonishing as it is to report, I had a visitor near my bedroom late last night.”

Oh, good, he
had
been disturbed by Lovely Annabelle. Time to pretend utter ignorance. “Mr. Collington! Surely that is not an appropriate subject for us to discuss.”

He chuckled and moved closer to her. Suddenly the sitting room seemed not just small but tiny. How had she and her father spent so many nights reading quietly together in this place? The room was practically a closet.

“Of course you would be right, Miss Wilcox, if I were talking about anything but a visit from the very same Lovely Annabelle that you described to me not a few hours earlier.”

“No!” she said in what she hoped was a shocked tone. With James Collington standing so near, looking down at her with those lights in his eyes, she was not at all sure what she was doing or how she sounded. He was doing it again, working his charm on her as he had in the balcony.

Inching backward away from him, she came up against the sitting room wall. He followed her and rested his bent arm against a built-in shelf near her head, managing to look relaxed and menacing at the same time as he stood at the outside edge of a polite distance from her. Though she needed more space between them, she would not give him the satisfaction of watching her slink back.

She tipped her chin up and found his dark brown eyes focused intently on her. Was she blushing? Her face, and especially her lips, felt hot.
Stop
this
, she wanted to yell at her body.

“Yes!” he said. “Astonishing, isn’t it? Why, you had just mentioned her at dinner, and then she appeared.”

“Well, um,” she said. Her voice came out irritatingly breathy, and she cleared her throat. “She perhaps heard us talking about her at dinner. Or maybe she’s been lonely. No one has slept in Tethering Hall since your nasty letter arrived.”

One of his eyebrows arched. Really, the man looked astonishingly devilish at times, with his dark hair and eyebrows and those shrewd eyes. Was he suspicious? Nothing about him at the moment looked like someone who fooled easily.

“Must be a lonely life, being a ghost in a house when no one is living there,” he said.

“Yes, that’s the point, isn’t it?” She was glad to get back to the subject. They were talking about Lovely Annabelle, but there was a separate current flowing under their conversation that she needed to squash. “Ghosts are lonely and unhappy. Things haven’t worked out well for them. They want other people to suffer too.”

He chuckled, a rich, canny sound. “So that was why she was moaning outside my bedroom door and rattling the doorknob.”

“Well, it must be, mustn’t it?” She forced herself to focus, to forget about the exciting feelings his nearness was causing. This was a chance to push home her reason for the haunting. “You know, Mr. Collington, Lovely Annabelle never moaned and rattled my doorknob.”

“She didn’t?”

“No. I only ever saw her sitting in the chair in my room. Sometimes she sang me a little song, then she would sort of disappear.”

“A little song? How sweet.”

Sweet?
Heavens, but the man was hiding his fear well. For a panicked moment she wondered if she could have made a mistake in what she overheard. But no, James’s servant had clearly been talking about his master.