grateful to her ever
since. But it had been no noble gesture on her part. Disillusioned
with her marriage to Ewan, she had little cared whether she lived
or died.
She slipped her hand from Jonathan's grasp,
his gratitude making her uncomfortable. "Pray, don't look so
solemn," she said with forced gaiety. "This supper party promises
to be grim enough entertainment. Grandfather has ordered up so many
courses, the poor marquis may be obliged to-"
She broke off, her attention caught by Lucy's
timid face peeking inside the salon door. When Phaedra glanced her
way, the young girl beckoned frantically and closed the door.
Phaedra excused herself to Jonathan. She
inched her way toward the door as quickly as she could without
attracting attention, but the company seemed too absorbed by the
marquis to even notice when she slipped from the room.
She found Lucy in the hall, wringing her
hands.
"Lucy," she asked. "Whatever is the
matter?"
"Oh, milady, I thought you'd want to know.
Your cousin is here, trying to see you, and Mrs. Searle won't let
him in."
"Damn that woman." Phaedra bit her lip in
vexation. She could not be gone long, or her absence would be
noted, Armande's fascination notwithstanding. But Gilly would not
have ridden all the way out here at night unless he had something
important to tell her. Something he had learned about Varnais.
Her heart thudding with excitement, she
instructed Lucy, "If my grandfather comes looking for me, tell him
I have torn the flounce on my petticoat and will return as soon as
I've mended it."
She did not wait for Lucy's solemn nod of
agreement before raising her skirts and running toward the front
hall. She brushed past the suits of armor, which stood like a row
of silent, sentries. The padding of her slippered feet seemed to
raise a fearsome echo off the rafters towering overhead. But
Phaedra doubted if the two who struggled near the mansion's open
front door would have noticed her approach if she'd been wearing
iron-heeled boots.
The pale circle of lantern light spilled
across Gilly's cheerful features as he pressed his shoulder up
against the door in an effort to keep Mrs. Searle from closing
it.
"Come now, Madam Pester, there's a sweet
colleen. Just whisk to the dining room and be telling my cousin I'm
here."
"Out with ye, ye Irish wastrel," Searle
screeched as she was inched backward, losing in her struggle to bar
the door. "Get out afore I scream for John and Peter to toss ye on
yer ear."
"Mrs. Searle!" At the sound of Phaedra's
shout, the woman paused to look back.
"Admit my cousin at once." But the command
was unnecessary, for Gilly had already managed to force the door
and slip past her.
"But yer ladyship, being as ye are now naught
but a poor widow, ye ought to have more of a care for yer
reputation than to be receiving the likes of him. What would the
elegant company in the salon be thinking-"
"I care no more for their opinion than I do
for yours," Phaedra said. "Be about your business."
The housekeeper dipped into a sullen curtsy,
but she made no effort to conceal her resentful glare before
disappearing into the shadows beyond the stairway.
"Whew." Gilly straightened the black
solitaire knotted around his neck. "That creature pounced at me
like a daft cat. With all his wealth, I should think your
grandfather might hire a butler."
He rolled his eyes toward the collection of
halberds and swords mounted upon the walls, their sharp edges
glinting in the candlelight. "It is bad enough stepping into this
dungeon, without being greeted by a witch at the door."
"Pay her no heed." Phaedra eagerly embraced
him. "Where have you been? I have been expecting you for days "
Gilly ignored her question, gazing about him
with morbid fascination. "What a place this is at night!" He
lowered his voice to a sinister pitch. "Can't you half fancy that
old Lethe’s ghost yet hovers in the shadows, ready to bash his next
victim?”
Phaedra felt the hairs prickle at the back of
her neck.
since. But it had been no noble gesture on her part. Disillusioned
with her marriage to Ewan, she had little cared whether she lived
or died.
She slipped her hand from Jonathan's grasp,
his gratitude making her uncomfortable. "Pray, don't look so
solemn," she said with forced gaiety. "This supper party promises
to be grim enough entertainment. Grandfather has ordered up so many
courses, the poor marquis may be obliged to-"
She broke off, her attention caught by Lucy's
timid face peeking inside the salon door. When Phaedra glanced her
way, the young girl beckoned frantically and closed the door.
Phaedra excused herself to Jonathan. She
inched her way toward the door as quickly as she could without
attracting attention, but the company seemed too absorbed by the
marquis to even notice when she slipped from the room.
She found Lucy in the hall, wringing her
hands.
"Lucy," she asked. "Whatever is the
matter?"
"Oh, milady, I thought you'd want to know.
Your cousin is here, trying to see you, and Mrs. Searle won't let
him in."
"Damn that woman." Phaedra bit her lip in
vexation. She could not be gone long, or her absence would be
noted, Armande's fascination notwithstanding. But Gilly would not
have ridden all the way out here at night unless he had something
important to tell her. Something he had learned about Varnais.
Her heart thudding with excitement, she
instructed Lucy, "If my grandfather comes looking for me, tell him
I have torn the flounce on my petticoat and will return as soon as
I've mended it."
She did not wait for Lucy's solemn nod of
agreement before raising her skirts and running toward the front
hall. She brushed past the suits of armor, which stood like a row
of silent, sentries. The padding of her slippered feet seemed to
raise a fearsome echo off the rafters towering overhead. But
Phaedra doubted if the two who struggled near the mansion's open
front door would have noticed her approach if she'd been wearing
iron-heeled boots.
The pale circle of lantern light spilled
across Gilly's cheerful features as he pressed his shoulder up
against the door in an effort to keep Mrs. Searle from closing
it.
"Come now, Madam Pester, there's a sweet
colleen. Just whisk to the dining room and be telling my cousin I'm
here."
"Out with ye, ye Irish wastrel," Searle
screeched as she was inched backward, losing in her struggle to bar
the door. "Get out afore I scream for John and Peter to toss ye on
yer ear."
"Mrs. Searle!" At the sound of Phaedra's
shout, the woman paused to look back.
"Admit my cousin at once." But the command
was unnecessary, for Gilly had already managed to force the door
and slip past her.
"But yer ladyship, being as ye are now naught
but a poor widow, ye ought to have more of a care for yer
reputation than to be receiving the likes of him. What would the
elegant company in the salon be thinking-"
"I care no more for their opinion than I do
for yours," Phaedra said. "Be about your business."
The housekeeper dipped into a sullen curtsy,
but she made no effort to conceal her resentful glare before
disappearing into the shadows beyond the stairway.
"Whew." Gilly straightened the black
solitaire knotted around his neck. "That creature pounced at me
like a daft cat. With all his wealth, I should think your
grandfather might hire a butler."
He rolled his eyes toward the collection of
halberds and swords mounted upon the walls, their sharp edges
glinting in the candlelight. "It is bad enough stepping into this
dungeon, without being greeted by a witch at the door."
"Pay her no heed." Phaedra eagerly embraced
him. "Where have you been? I have been expecting you for days "
Gilly ignored her question, gazing about him
with morbid fascination. "What a place this is at night!" He
lowered his voice to a sinister pitch. "Can't you half fancy that
old Lethe’s ghost yet hovers in the shadows, ready to bash his next
victim?”
Phaedra felt the hairs prickle at the back of
her neck.
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