“Well, we do not mean to take it up now, of course. The Season is still in full flow, and there is Ascot to consider.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Sir, the work needed to make this house habitable will likely continue through to next Season, if not the one after that!”
“What a fine thing that I require only the simplest lodgings. I am a very undemanding creature.”
Looking at his well-tended fingernails and intricately tied and starched cravat, Elizabeth was highly doubtful of that. And this was not a matter of which wallpaper to choose; the house was falling apart. The last thing she needed was a lord holding her responsible because another substantial piece of furniture hadfallen through the floor and crushed one of his possessions—or him!
“Perhaps you ought to look around before you make further plans, my lord. There is currently a pianoforte in the basement that arrived there through the floorboards of the drawing room.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Pianofortes are always in the way, wherever one puts them. Unwieldy great things.”
His dog interrupted them, snuffling and yelping at something of interest amid the rubble. After a few moments of frantic digging, he pulled an object out that bore a terrifying resemblance to a bone. Elizabeth gasped, but Lord Saye appeared interested.
“Faith! Did someone die here? I would absolutely love to see a ghost.”
“I have no idea whether anyone died or if there is a ghost because I have only just inherited it,” she explained patiently. “And while I do understand the difficulty in securing lodgings in Brighton?—”
“What a delight a ghost would be! Only think of the fun we might have with Georgie! But pray do not distress yourself—even the idea of a ghost would do.”
To Elizabeth’s surprise, the dog brought his treasure to her. She bent to take it, realising it was merely another of the fallen plaster spirals. “Not a bone at all, I am afraid. Just a bit of moulding.”
“You must not tell anyone,” he said severely. “For I mean to tell absolutely everyone that I have let a haunted mansion in Brighton.”
His enthusiasm for a ghostly sighting was not sufficient to compete with a glimpse of his own apparition however, and he was abruptly distracted by a mirror,obscured by a stack of boxes, which he moved to one side so that he could admire his reflection. “We are agreed, then. I shall take it come the summer, and I mean to send my man to assist you in getting it ready for me.”
Elizabeth ran a hand over her forehead. “We have not even discussed terms.”
“Double the going rate. There. That was easy, hm?”
“But—”
He spun around so quickly that the dog gave a little yip. “The house is not yet leased, correct?”
“Of course not, but?—”
“And will you promise not to enter into any arrangement of the sort with anyone other than me before it is ready for occupation?”
There seemed little harm in that. He was not claiming the tenancy in law—only calling dibs if and when she decided to let it. “Very well.”
“Good enough for me,” he said with a broad grin. “It has been the greatest pleasure to meet you.” He donned his hat and made to leave, but paused in the door to say, “Oh, and no stripes, I beg you. They add pounds, even when one is not wearing them. And that wall—” He pointed to the far end of the hall. “—really ought not to be yellow. Good day.”
For the second time, Elizabeth was left reeling by a most extraordinary encounter.Is everybody in Brighton this eccentric?Lady Preston, she would have to manage, but she was doubtful that she would ever see Lord Saye again; once his lordship had considered it, he would realise it could never be ready by summer. Still, she could not help but think, as she pulled the front door closed, that he was right about the yellow wall. Thatwouldhave to change.
6
Once again, Darcy and Georgiana were with their male cousins in Darcy’s drawing room, on this occasion with Saye regaling them as to the wonders of the house he had found in Brighton. It was, according to him, the finest house in the positively best location, complete with ten bedrooms and sea views.
“And the ghost,” he intoned dramatically, “of the Irish pirate, Edward England—who died there over a hundred years ago—inhabits the place.”
Georgiana was wide-eyed as she poured them all some tea, her enthusiasm for the scheme of Brighton nowise diminished by the notion that the house Saye had let was haunted.
“Do you mean,” Darcy said drily, “the same Edward England who died in Madagascar?”
“So they said,” Saye retorted. “No one really knew.”
“I think they would have known if he was in Brighton.”
“Perhaps it was an assumed identity, then,” Sayecried impatiently. “You were not there to see Florizel extracting the man’s skeleton from the rubble.”
