“But Marguerite ...” I glance at my aunt, who seems docile and occupied at the moment, yet I’m all too aware of how quickly things can change.
“Just to the porch.”
I follow him, my curiosity piqued. Outside, the air is thick with the scent of rain. A chill wind picks up, flipping the sugar maple’s leaves from green to silver. Beckett leans against the porch rail, crossing one leg over the other at the ankle. “I’ve been thinking about Marguerite’s delusions. The violent spell you told me about.”
“Yes?”
“I spoke to Harriet when she called this morning. We both think it would be best if I started sleeping in the house every night. In case you need my help. It’s something I should have done a long time ago. Marguerite was always worried about what people might say, but we’re beyond that now. She’s getting more frail.”
While I’m sure his intentions are noble, the proudest part of me, the part of me that still has something to prove, rises in protest. “I hardly think that’s necessary.”
“Don’t you think it’ll be better if I’m near at hand? For your sake as well as hers?”
“Because you’re worried about Marguerite, or about me embarking on a love affair with a ghost and tumbling from a cliff?” I choke back a laugh. “Can’t you see how ridiculous that sounds?”
“It wasn’t ridiculous when my cousin died. Or when Marguerite accosted you with that knife.” He grows somber. Serious. “I have reasons for being worried, Sadie. About both of you.”
I rankle at his use of my Christian name. At his presumptuousness. At his insinuation that I can’t protect myself.
I pull myself tall, squaring my shoulders. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Hill, but I can manage Marguerite on my own just fine. And I can assure you I have my wits about me when it comes to men—ghostly or otherwise.”
Rain begins to beat the veranda roof in a sharp staccato as we regard one another in stiff silence, the prior warmth in his eyes gone. “I’d better see to the car.” Beckett pushes off the porch rail and stalks down the steps, a hand pressed to the small of his back. The change in the weather must pain him, as Marguerite mentioned. I watch as he cranks the roof over the Duesenberg’s carriage and drives away, tires spitting gravel as I stand there, feeling foolish as a schoolgirl.
Chapter 13
Inside, Marguerite is gazing out the window, a faraway look in her eyes as she watches the rain. The radio plays muted jazz. “I like this sort of weather, don’t you?” she asks absently.
“Yes,” I answer, “although too many days in a row make me sad.”
Marguerite turns to look at me. “You should let him in, Sadie.”
“Pardon?”
“Beckett. I see him, watching you.” She smiles. “And I see you tripping all over your words whenever he’s near.”
I laugh. “Don’t be silly.”
“Why is it silly? Because you consider him the help?” She frowns. “If that’s the case, you’re no better than Georgia Merritt. Too high and mighty for your own good.”
I don’t know what to say, because she’s right. I’ve been rude. Snobbish. I’ve been so intent on asserting myself, on proving my independence and self-worth, that I haven’t stopped to consider how callous I’ve been to the man my aunt regards as a son, not a servant.
Marguerite takes a small, tissue-wrapped package from her dress pocket and places it in my hand. “I saw you looking at this.”
I unwrap the package to find the pearl-and-garnet lavalier from the mercantile. I gasp, lifting it. “Golly. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll invite Beckett to dinner again, sometime. It would make me happy to see the two of you learn to get along. Even happier to see the two of you give things a go.” She grins. “We were talking about youlast night. The two of you have a lot in common. You can’t see it now, but you’d be a good match.”
So, that explains why she told Beckett more about me. About Ted. She has designs. While I’m none too keen on Marguerite’s attempts at matchmaking, I’m honored that she thinks well enough of me to consider me worthy of her precious Beckett. And I can’t deny that he’s attractive, in a thorny sort of way. We both have our walls. Still, I can’t imagine us ever becoming more than what we are now. He doesn’t trust me, and I feel much the same about him. But it’s vital for me to stay in my aunt’s good graces, and if that involves inviting Beckett to dinner occasionally to appease her, I’ll happily concede.
I wrap the lavalier around my neck and go to the mirror above the mantel, admiring myself. “Thank you, Aunt Marg. I love it.”
“You should wear it with that pink silk frock you wore the other night. The one that shows off your legs.”
Just then, the telephone rings, startling me. I realize it’s the first call Marguerite has received since I arrived. Melva scurries to the dining room to answer it. “Thorne residence.” There’s a pause as she listens to the response. “Certainly, Mrs. Shepherd. She’s here. I’ll fetch her for you.”
My good mood sours. I know only one Mrs. Shepherd. Louise. She must have found out about my coming here. When Melva fetches me, I reluctantly follow her to the telephone, bracing myself for the scolding Louise is sure to give me. I pull in a steadying breath and lift the receiver to my ear. “Hello, Louise.”
“Sadie! Goodness. We’ve all been worriedsickabout you. Mama has been in a state. She nearly called the police.”
