“Well, of course you must, dear. Since Amy is taking up your duties, and you’re to take charge of Isabella, the two of you will switch places. It makes sense, really. Amy’s a good girl, but she doesn’t know much about children, does she?” Mrs. Briggs flapped her tea towel at Cecilia to shoo her away. “Go on, then. Isabella likely has poor Amy in fits by now.”
“Yes, Mrs. Briggs.” Cecilia left the kitchen in a daze. Somehow, she’d overlooked the fact that becoming Isabella’s nursemaid meant she was obliged to sleep close to—and within easy reach of—the Marquessof Darlington.
It wasn’t a comforting thought. Between the ghosts, secret bedchambers, a haunted cat, and a mysterious, brooding marquess, it would be a miracle if she ever got another winkof sleep again.
The tea she’d had sloshed sickeningly in her stomach as she made her way up the staircase. She hadn’t eaten enough today. After beating carpets, dusting up cobwebs, and scrubbing floors, food had been the last thing on her mind, but now her head was bobbling uncertainly on her neck, as if deciding whether to stay attached or topple off and tumble down the stairs into theentrance hall.
She dragged her aching body up one step to the next, then paused at the second-floor landing and glanced around, searching for the portraits Mrs. Briggs had mentioned. The long, narrow hallway to the left didn’t lead anywhere, but ended at a large window at the far end.
It might have been another dreary space in a dreary castle but for the intricately carved white plaster ceilings. They were high enough to lend an airiness to the space, and barrel-shaped, with chandeliers set at regular intervals. The candles weren’t lit, but Cecilia could see they’d been carefully arranged to emphasize the ceiling’spleasing curve.
It was a lovely place. Rather surprising, really, given the atmosphere in the rest of the castle. She wandered down the hallway toward the first painting, but stopped in her tracks when her gaze landed on a stunningly beautiful face set off to perfection by an extravagant gilded frame.
Thiswasn’t one of Lord Darlington’sgrim ancestors.
“My goodness,” Cecilia breathed. She moved a step closer, drawn by the ravishing vision before her. The lady was dressed in a blue silk gown that had been the height of fashion eight or so years earlier. It flattered the deep blue of her eyes and her thick, rich brown curls. Her eyelashes were as dark as her hair, her lips as red as the deepest red rose petals, and her skin so fine, white, and flawless it didn’t look real.
Cecilia had never seen a more magnificent lady in her life, not even Emma, who was an exquisite beauty. Emma’s beauty, though, was that of a mere mortal, not a goddess like the lady in the painting. She cocked her head to the side, studying the bewitching features. For all the lady’s spectacular beauty, Cecilia found herself unmoved by that face. There was something unnatural about such flawless perfection. She looked as if she’d stepped out of a storybook, a fairy tale.
Yes, that was the trouble, wasn’t it? She didn’t lookreal.
There could be no doubt who this lady was, but Cecilia ventured another step closer and squinted at the tiny gold plaque underneath the painting to read the inscription.
“Lady Leanora. My late brother’s widow, the sixth Marchionessof Darlington.”
Cecilia whirled around, her heart rushing into her throat. “Lord Darlington, I didn’t—”
“Didn’t see me? No, I thought not.” He strolled down the hallway and joined her in front of the painting, the thud of his boots on the carpeted floors echoing in the lofty space.
How had she not heard him approach? His heavy steps sounded like gunshots in the narrow hallway. “I beg your pardon, my lord. Mrs. Briggs mentioned there were paintings here. She said I might come see them, but I didn’t intend to sneak about.” He had, after all, accused her of that very thing last night, and Cecilia didn’t fancy a repeat ofthatargument.
Lord Darlington took her meaning at once, and a trace of a smile drifted across his full lips. “Of course, you did. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Never mind,” he added. “I never said you couldn’t come here. There isn’t a locked door between you and the picture gallery.”
It was on the tip of Cecilia’s tongue to protest there hadn’t been alockeddoor between hers and Lady Darlington’s bedchamber, either, but she held her tongue, choosing instead to stroll farther along the hallway, pausing to study the portraitsas she passed.
A few Darlington aunts and uncles, all of them handsome, and then…
“Oh, my.” She stopped at a painting close to the end of the row, her breath leaving her lungs in a rush.
“That’s the usual reaction people have when they see my brother for the first time.” Lord Darlington joined her in front of the portrait. “Even if only the painted version of him.”
Cecilia felt her cheeks heat, and a soft laugh rumbled from Lord Darlington’s chest. His laugh was the same as his voice, deep and dark and rough at the edges, and like his voice, it made an unwelcome shiver dart down Cecilia’s spine.
“My brother was a striking man, but he and Leanora together were…well, you can see for yourself. Together, theywere…haunting.”
Haunting. Cecilia thought it an odd choice of word.
“My elder brother favored our father,as you’ll see.”
Lord Darlington gestured toward the painting on the other side of his brother’s, but Cecilia stayed where she was, studying the handsome face before her, the painted blue eyes holding her gaze. “Isabella doesn’t look much like her father, does she? I do see a resemblance to Lady Leanora—all but the hazel eyes.”
“She favors her mother.” Lord Darlington’stone was curt.
When he didn’t offer anything more, Cecilia moved to the next painting, and found another handsome, dark-haired Darlington gentleman gazing down at her from his perch on the wall. It was Lord Darlington’s father, the fifth Marquess of Darlington. “You and your elder brother both resemble your father, my lord.”
“In some particulars, yes.” Lord Darlington’s broad shoulders moved in a shrug. “Not as much as we once did.”
Cecilia studied the man’s features before taking in the portrait of his wife, Lord Darlington’s mother, who was fairer than her sons, but with the same bright blue eyes that had caught Cecilia’s attention when she got her first close look at Lord Darlington.
