“How did you get in here, madam?” Cecilia wasn’t certain how she knew the cat was a madam rather than a sir, but she did, perhaps because the cat’s regal air reminded her ofLady Clifford.
Cecilia perched on the edge of the bed and stared at the furry creature, at a loss as to how to proceed. “Well? What am I meant to do with you?”
The cat seemed to consider this for a moment, its green eyes gleaming, and then, to Cecilia’s surprise, she padded daintily over the carpet, leapt up onto the bed, and settled herself on Cecilia’s lap without so much as aby your leave.
“What, you mean to say I’m to pet you?” Cecilia reached out to stroke the cat’s silky head, and within seconds it began a loud, contented purring. “Yes, it’s all very well for you, isn’t it? Lord Darlington isn’t going to dismissyouforbeing in here.”
But she sighed and gave in, scratching behind the cat’s ears, soothed by the rumbling purr vibrating against her legs. She couldn’t leave the cat in the marchioness’s bedchamber. What if it got trapped in the clothes press and took up that infernal scratching again? It wouldn’t do any harm to bring the troublesome little creature into her room tonight, then take her outside tomorrow morning.
Her mind made up, Cecilia tried to gather the cat against her chest, but before she could get her arms around it, it leapt from her lap and prowled to the dressing room door, which was stillcracked open.
Cecilia let out a weary sigh. Of course, Darlington Castle would have a haunted cat. “Very well, then. Let’s get it over with, shall we? What do you want? You want me to go in there again?”
At this point Cecilia wouldn’t have been surprised if the cat answered her, but thankfully it didn’t. That is, not in words. It indulged in a lazy stretch, but didn’t move from its place by the door. It stared at her expectantly, until at last Cecilia gave in. “Well, if we’re meant to be partners in this, I suppose I’d better nameyou, hadn’t I?”
She considered calling the cat Amanda, which was Lady Clifford’s given name, but in Cecilia’s fond opinion there could only ever be one Amanda, and so she discarded it in favor of an extravagant name worthy of any swooninggothic heroine.
“I’ll call you Seraphina. Come along then, Seraphina, and be quick about it, will you? If Lord Darlington catches us in here, he’ll have both our heads.”
* * * *
“Cold out tonight.” Haslemere crossed the study to the fireplace and thrust his hands out toward the blaze. “It would have been much pleasanter if your ghost had appeared in the spring or summer, Darlington.”
“Or hadn’t appeared at all.” Gideon poured a generous measure of port into a tumbler and handed it to Haslemere. “Here, this will warm you more quicklythan the fire.”
Haslemere took the tumbler and dropped into a chair, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t deny Darlington Castle is the first place a ghost would choose to haunt, but I believe we can conclude the White Lady is a figment of Edenbridge’s imagination.”
“I never suspected otherwise.” Gideon’s lips twisted into something meant to resemble a smile. “It seems my neighbors aren’t pleased with the idea of my marrying again. What better way to chase off my betrothed than with a haunting?”
Haslemere grunted. “Bloody nonsense. Why can’t they just leaveyou in peace?”
“Because they think I’m a murderer.” Gideon sipped at his port. “A murderer must be punished, one way or another.”
“More bloody nonsense. This is why I detest small villages, Darlington—willful ignorance and malicious gossip. I can’t think why you’d stay here at all. Once you’re married, you should bring your bride to London.”
Gideon stared down into his glass. “Most of London thinks I’m a murderer too, Haslemere. You may be the only person in England who doesn’t.”
“Miss Honeywell doesn’t think so,” Haslemere reminded him. “No one with any sense does.”
The thought of his betrothed should have cheered Gideon, but the faint spark of hope he’d felt while he remained in London seemed to have been swallowed by the shadows lurking in every corner of Darlington Castle. A marriage wouldn’t undo what had happened between these walls. It wouldn’t make him forget.
But the alternative was even grimmer. He couldn’t remain in this desolate castle alone forever. He owed Isabella better than that, and even putting his niece aside, he had an obligation to his title. He couldn’t remainhere, in this dismal place. “Perhaps you’re right, Haslemere. Perhaps we’d be better off in the London townhouse.”
“You can’t be worse off than you are here. It’s something to think about, anyway.” Haslemere rose to his feet. “I’m off to bed. We can have another look in the woods tomorrow night, if you like. There’s no ghost, but someone else maybe out there.”
Gideon nodded. “Good night, Haslemere,and thank you.”
Gideon remained in his study for a while after Haslemere left, sipping his port and staring out the window at the thickening shadows falling over the grounds. It had become his habit to avoid his bed. Being there only reminded him how elusive sleep had become.
But it was late, and the day had only grown more wearisome after his abrupt awakening this morning. He finished off the last of his port and set the tumbler on the windowsill. He was just turning away from the window when he caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye and jerked back around, his heart quickening. “What the devil?”
It was a light near the tree line, faint but unmistakable. He tracked it as it moved steadily closer, toward the rose walk and the castle courtyard.
Mrs. Brigg’s mysteriouslantern light.
He watched, breath held, as the light wound around the edge of the wood, flickering as it passed through the trees. Someone was out there, and whoever they were, they were cunning enough to have eluded himand Haslemere.
Gideon followed the movement of the light as far as the rose walk, but as it neared the wall surrounding the kitchen garden, it vanished. He squinted into the darkness, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, swallowed by the gloom.
