Seduced by a Stranger by Silver Eve

certain that he and the other servants of Cairncroft Abbey saw things… knew things.
    She thought again that she had not done well to alienate the little maid, Susan Parker, that first night, that she would have been better served to cultivate her association to some small degree.
    Stepping inside the breakfast room, Catherine was greeted by the tantalizing aromas of breakfast fare that wafted from the covered silver servers on the sideboard. Eggs. Meats. And…coffee. Odd. This was the first morning that coffee was offered.
    She crossed to the large windows at the far end of the room. The gold brocade draperies were tied back to let the sunlight stream through the clear panes, and the warmth of it on her face was lovely. Mrs. Bell had been right. The day was fine and clear.
    Idly, she studied the expanse of lawn and the portion of the drive that was visible from this angle, noting that Mrs. Bell was correct in this, as well. The gardens did look rather overgrown and scruffy, though she had seen the occasional worker digging and trimming since her arrival. Perhaps they simply lacked a firm, guiding hand, with Madeline so ill and unable to see to even the most rudimentary duties of the lady of the house. Even the daily menus proved too much for her. She left everything to Mrs. Bell.
    Catherine’s gaze traveled to the dark and tangled forest that grew at the northern edge of the manicured lawn, threatening to creep forward and swallow whole the abbey and its civilized surroundings. There were woods to the south, as well, though half the trees there were gray and ghostly, burned at some point in the past. She had learned from Madeline that to the southwest of them was Huntingdon and to the east, Thetford, though she was not exactly certain how far either of them lay. Probably too far to walk, though the prospect of an outing was beginning to appeal.
    She was about to turn and fetch her breakfast when something at the edge of the woods caught her eye. Did she see a flash of movement there? A glimpse of something pale? A shadow shifting?
    Surely not. It was only the housekeeper’s talk of ghosts and curses that had conjured an imaginary specter. But as she watched, the shadow moved between the trees and finally, disengaged altogether. In the spill of sunlight, the shadow became a man, dressed in black, tall and broad, fair of hair.
    Was it Gabriel St. Aubyn, returned from his journey?
    He turned his face to her and she thought he saw her here at the window, that he watched her with intense concentration.
    Distance and the angle of the sun made definitive identification impossible. It could be St. Aubyn, or any other blond man. But something in the way he watched the house, watched the window where she stood, made the fine hairs on her forearms prickle and rise.
    Wrapping her arms about her waist, she backed away from the glass. Her heel caught the edge of the rug, and she glanced down, then up once more.
    He was gone.
    Her gaze darted all along the dark line of the woods, but there truly was no one there. So what had she seen? A fantastical conjuring? An illusion summoned from the depths of her mind by Mrs. Bell’s sinister intimations?
    Silly, to let her imagination run wild. She was not prone to such behavior. Not since she had outgrown her pinafores.
    Gathering herself, she refused to allow unfounded suppositions to surface, certain that it was a restless night’s sleep combined with boredom and isolation that sent her mind wandering in the direction of ghostly threat. She turned from the window, crossed to the sideboard, and helped herself to a plate. Eggs. Buttered toast. That was a luxury. Mrs. Corkle warmed the bread in the fire until it was golden, then slathered it with butter. The aroma was delicious, and Catherine was thrilled that this invention was included daily with the morning fare.
    She chose a seat in the band of sunshine that splashed through the window and set her plate on the table. After fetching a cup of