“Maybe he was wrong. Like about so many other things. I have served three generations of dukes. The last one was the worst. And this one—” He paused and shook his head sorrowfully.
“What about this one?” Birdie prompted.
“He is a good man. But he is broken.”
“Why?”
Higgins lifted a gnarly hand and patted it against his chest. “Too many ghosts here.”
“Can you tell me about his ghosts?”
But Higgins’s moment of clarity was over. He shook his head and muttered, “I must polish his shoes.” Then he looked about. “It is warmer here. And the wind is not so loud. She wants me to sleep here. Aye, I will. Even if it is haunted.”
Birdie looked after him thoughtfully as he shuffled away. Higgins certainly wasn’t the one who’d pulled the prank with the ghost. Neither, she was certain, had it been Gabriel. She was certain he’d spoken the truth when he said he never set foot outside the castle.
She returned to her room and her eyes fell on the velvet purse on her dresser. It was bulging. Birdie opened it and gasped. It was filled to the brim with coins. She was certain she’d spent most of it on the servants.
Someone had refilled it. She searched for a note, but there was none.
Gabriel? It must be.
Her mind was in a whirl. She closed it and packed it away safely in a drawer.
The man was full of mysteries.
What ghosts were haunting him?
Later,Birdie took a walk by the cliffs.
The water slapped onto the black, jagged rocks, foaming and gurgling. Mist rose from the ocean and wrapped the castle in a white, lacy veil.
She’d always loved the sea, but other than an excursion to Brighton one summer with Miss Hilversham and her friends, she’d had little opportunity to see the ocean.
She loved the sound of the waves on the beach and the redolent smell of salt, even the wild shrieking of the seagulls. The wind teased the hair out of her bun and whipped it across her face.
She wrapped her shawl around herself more tightly and wandered along the path.
From here, the view of the castle was magnificent. Proud. Indomitable.
She sat down in the grass and pulled some flowers. They were the same purple flowers that her husband had picked for her.
She heard the crunching of boots on the gravel and looked up.
There he was.
He was walking, deep in thought, his face averted. It had become natural for him to hold his head crooked as if he wanted to shield people from the damaged side of his face.
Birdie scrambled up, and he came to a startled halt.
He turned in her direction and looked flustered, almost bashful, when he spotted her. “I didn’t know anyone was here.” A flush of dull red spread over his cheeks.
“You took my advice and went out in the fresh air. I am impressed.” Birdie smiled at him.
“I wanted to see the castle from this perspective,” he explained.
“It is magnificent.”
He turned to share her view. “Yes, I suppose it is.” His black hair tumbled over his brow. Birdie gazed at his profile, the expressive brow with an aquiline nose, a firm chin with a sensitive mouth. The scar almost touched the curve of his mouth. She longed to trace it with her finger. Maybe even press a kiss on it.
