“Why did they believe she was a witch?”
She was like Eve. She saw and spoke with spirits. They said she communed with the devil.I knew all to be lies. She was too gentle. Had I married her as I wished, they would have killed us both.
“You sent her away.”
She begged me to come with her but I had family responsibilities. I was to be earl upon the death of my father. Too many would be dependent upon me. At least, that’s what I told myself. I sent her north, to Scotland. I’ll never forget the last look she gave me. I’d devastated her. Broken her heart. Betrayed her. After she left, I realized the mistake I’d made but I never saw her again. Even in death, she’s hidden from me.
“I’ve never heard this story. Your name is only spoken in regard to the curse. Your portrait is missing in the gallery.”
I loved a witch.My family forced an alliance upon me shortly after. If I had not been lost in my suffering, perhaps I’d have seen my wife’s treachery before it was too late. Even so, I’m not certain it would have mattered. She used me to conceive a male heir to the earldom, and then poisoned me.
“Bloody hell.”
You are the first Grey to hear me. Do not make the same mistake that I did. If you love Eve, keep her at all costs.
“Hmm?” Eve murmured, eyes fluttering as if she’d heard her name.
Ambrose ran his hand down her back, savoring the satin of her skin. “I shall. Will you ever be with your love?”
Lucien was quiet for a moment.Only if I find peace.
Eve stirred and stretched.
The heavy sadness in the room lifted and he knew Lucien had gone.
“We need to hang his portrait,” she murmured. “It’s in the attic.”
After they dressed, they found Alfred sitting by the attic door. Ambrose opened it, and Alfred slipped through, leading the way as they ascended the stairs.
“There’s so much up here, how will we ever find it?” Ambrose muttered.
“It’s large, like the paintings that hang beside it in the gallery. It can’t be too difficult,” Eve replied.
Alfred bumped against his leg, purring. When he bent down to pet the cat, the animal dodged and ran a few steps. He turned and looked at Ambrose.
“If you don’t wish to be pet, then I won’t,” he grumbled.
“Is he trying to lead you somewhere?” Eve asked when Alfred walked a few more steps and looked back.
“Likely to his food dish.”
She laughed and followed the orange tabby. “In the attic?”
Alfred wove a path through the furnishings, often looking back to make sure they followed, then stopped near the far wall. A large, rectangular object leaned against it, covered with a cloth.
Ambrose tugged the fabric away. Beneath it, Lucien Grey looked back from his portrait, eyes haunted with loss.
Alfred licked his paw, looking quite pleased with himself.
“How did you know what we were looking for?” Ambrose asked the cat.
“Animals seem to be sensitive to the spirits,” Eve said. “I think they understand more than we know. I used to have a kitty that could see and hear Rose, my ghostly chambermaid. It was Alfred who led me to the attic that first time. He must see Lucien.”
Ambrose was more enthralled by his ancestor, the man he’d believed had cursed their family. The sadness in his portrait was palpable. “It must have been painted after he’d lost her,” he said.
“We should return it to the gallery.”
“I’ll have Thomas and Virgil assist me.”
