Eliza hesitated, her instinct to decline immediate. She had dressed herself all her life and was quite capable of doing so still. But the offer, she realized suddenly, might be an opportunity. Servants always knew more than their employers imagined — they saw things, heard things, and gossiped in the quiet corners of grand houses.
“Yes,” she said after a pause, softening her tone. “Yes, I would appreciate that, thank you.”
The maid brightened. “Very good, miss.”
As the girl moved about the room, setting out brushes and ribbons, Eliza seated herself before the dressing table. She mether own reflection with a faint grimace. The faint flush that rose to her cheeks had nothing to do with the warmth of the fire.
“Forgive me,” she began, her tone carefully casual. “I am afraid I am not accustomed to such… grandeur. Everything here feels so very?—”
“Large?” the maid supplied with a smile. “Aye, it does, miss. The Hall’s a fine place, but it has a way of making folk feel small.”
Eliza returned the smile faintly. “And His Lordship? Does he often bring guests here?”
“Oh, no, miss.” The girl’s hands stilled briefly in Eliza’s hair. “The old Earl, well, he was not the sociable sort. Hadn’t had a guest in ages. Not for years, they say. And the new Earl, he’s not had a single soul to visit outside of solicitors. Though, I suppose that’s to be expected…He’s been away so long. With the army, you know? Quiet sort, though kind enough. Not what I’d call cheerful, but polite. Still, there’s something a bit… heavy about him.”
“Heavy?”
“Aye. Like he’s burdened by things…. And this house won’t help, not with all the dark history that surrounds it. All the tragedies that have befallen the Hawthorne men over the years. ’Woud be quite the wonder if this house wasn’t rife with spirits!”
“Do you really believe in such things?”
“Oh, aye, miss!” The maid said. “Truth is, I’ve seen them…. Not here, but when I go to visit my family what lives on a farm nearby, I travel through the western woods. I’ve seen them there. Felt them. Don’t you feel the darkness of this place? The presence of ghosts?”
Eliza’s throat tightened, her pulse quickening at the strange echo of her own unease. “Ghosts,” she repeated softly. “I feel something… the heaviness you spoke of, but I’ve never seen a ghost to believe in them. That’s not to say I discount it entirely. I’ve learned that anything is possible in this world.”
The maid’s smile took on an enigmatic quality. “Indeed, it is, miss. Why, just since you and your grandmother have arrived, this place seems to have a bit more life in it. A bit more joy.”
“This is more?” Eliza asked, glancing around at the cold luxury that surrounded them.
The maid laughed lightly, mistaking her meaning. “Well, you’ll get used to it, miss. Everyone does. Or near enough.”
Eliza managed a polite smile, though her thoughts were miles away. When the girl finished, she dismissed her with thanks and turned back to the mirror once more.
Her hair gleamed softly in the light, pinned and smoothed to a degree of elegance she rarely bothered with. But no amount of order could disguise the turmoil so evident in her hollowed eyes and unnatural pallor.
She rose slowly, bracing herself for the ordeal of breakfast.
Downstairs, she would have to meet the Earl’s eyes and pretend that nothing had changed — that she hadn’t dreamt of him, that she hadn’t kissed him in the shadowed corridor, that her heart wasn’t still beating far too fast at the thought of either.
It would be a performance worthy of the stage. And she feared she might not be equal to it.
Chapter
Fourteen
The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the breakfast room, glinting off silver and gold rimmed porcelain, filling the space with a deceptive warmth. Ravenswood was never so bright as it was cruel — it showed every speck of dust, every shadow that lingered beneath the surface. It showed the slight fading of the drapes, the chipped marble of the floor where something heavy had been dropped at one point. It showed the every flaw. And try as he might to muster indifference, he knew that he was waiting, prolonging the meal in the hopes of seeingher. Eliza.
Gabriel sat at the far end of the long table, a cup of coffee cooling untouched before him. He had been there for some time, though he could not have said how long. The news sheets from London had arrived that morning. They lay neatly pressed on the table next to him, unread.
Across the table, the elder Miss. Ashcombe — Helena, he corrected silently — was speaking amiably enough about the house and its history, her voice as smooth and unhurried as ever. She seemed perfectly at ease in this setting, perfectly at ease inhishouse, which was curious in itself.
“I had forgotten how well the light strikes this room in the mornings,” she said, rising with slow grace. “It will be most pleasant for reading.”
“You’ve been here often?” He asked, somewhat surprised by the notion.
Her expression became slightly shuttered. “In my youth… I was quite close with the 5th Earl of Blackburn. We were… friends.”
They had been infinitely more than friends, Gabriel deduced. “What happened to him?”
