trees to the small meadow where the house rested, she imagined the wood was enchanted and the trip through it had taken her to an earlier time.
There was nothing Greek or modern or light about this house—it was all dark and old and cruel angles. Something that would have been quite content in the 1500s, and possibly had been built that long ago, with few renovations in between.
It was a sprawling structure made of a dark stone, or a light stone that had darkened with age, and a jumble of steeply pitched roofs and variously sized windows that didn’t look like they’d been arranged in any particular way. Smoke curled from chimneys, rising up, searching, like the tendrils of some lonely phantom.
“How lovely,” her mother said crisply.
“I would call it old ,” her father stated.
Until then, most of the trip had been spent in silence and gloomy stares—or excited stares, on her mother’s part.
“Perhaps haunted?” Olivia asked hopefully.
A vein, a deep blue one that ran from her mother’s hairline to her eyebrow, gave a twitch. “There is no such thing as ghosts. If Lord Ashworth hears you speak like that, he’ll be gravely insulted.”
“Why should he take it as an insult? Ghosts give a house character.”
Twitch. Twitch.
Olivia clamped her lips together. Her father gave her hand a dry pat—the most affection he ever showed his daughters.
Then the carriage halted, the footman laid out the steps, and they were ushered into Eastwold Abbey with all the proper pomp and circumstance.
Olivia’s first impression on meeting Lord Ashworth was of hair. The man had hair so crimped and pomaded it could have rivaled Lord Byron’s tousled locks for sheer sullen beauty. She wondered what kind of man was under all that carefully disheveled glory, but his lips eased into a relaxed smile as they were introduced. He seemed good-natured enough.
While Lord Ashworth’s middle-aged sister, the hostess of the party, drew Olivia’s father into conversation, Lord Ashworth spoke to Olivia.
“Do you like the country, Miss Middleton?”
“Yes,” she said. At her mother’s sharp look, she tried to continue the conversation, though she was horrible at making small talk. Moments like these made her want to draw back into herself and disappear. “I like to… uh …ride.”
She bit her lip nervously. She didn’t like horses that much—Anne was the best rider of the three sisters. But she hadn’t known what to say, and, sometimes when she didn’t know what to say, she said anything she could think of just so people would stop staring at her in expectation of an answer. Even if what she said was untruthful.
She didn’t like people staring at her. She would much rather fade into the background.
“Indeed?” said Lord Ashworth. “There must be wonderful land for riding at Middleton Hall.”
“Yes, but I prefer to walk.” She winced.
He blinked, but he kept his face smooth, ignoring her sudden change of topic. “Walking is invigorating, as well.”
Her mother chose that moment to grab the reins of the conversation before they were lost completely. “You’ll have to show my husband the stables, my lord. We’ve heard many good things about your thoroughbreds.”
“Of course. Whenever is agreeable to you. But I’d like to give a tour of the abbey once all the guests have arrived.” And then he politely turned back to Olivia. “Miss Middleton, do you enjoy reading? Our library is one of the best in the county.”
“Yes, very much.” Which at least was the truth, but she still couldn’t think of anything to add to it. She was saved by the rattle of another carriage pulling up the drive.
While Lord Ashworth waited to greet the other guests, a maid led Olivia and her mother upstairs to their rooms, while her father was led in a different direction.
“You’re hopeless, my dear,” her mother said as she oversaw the unpacking of their things. “Oversaw” meant she cast a disapproving eye at the maid
There was nothing Greek or modern or light about this house—it was all dark and old and cruel angles. Something that would have been quite content in the 1500s, and possibly had been built that long ago, with few renovations in between.
It was a sprawling structure made of a dark stone, or a light stone that had darkened with age, and a jumble of steeply pitched roofs and variously sized windows that didn’t look like they’d been arranged in any particular way. Smoke curled from chimneys, rising up, searching, like the tendrils of some lonely phantom.
“How lovely,” her mother said crisply.
“I would call it old ,” her father stated.
Until then, most of the trip had been spent in silence and gloomy stares—or excited stares, on her mother’s part.
“Perhaps haunted?” Olivia asked hopefully.
A vein, a deep blue one that ran from her mother’s hairline to her eyebrow, gave a twitch. “There is no such thing as ghosts. If Lord Ashworth hears you speak like that, he’ll be gravely insulted.”
“Why should he take it as an insult? Ghosts give a house character.”
Twitch. Twitch.
Olivia clamped her lips together. Her father gave her hand a dry pat—the most affection he ever showed his daughters.
Then the carriage halted, the footman laid out the steps, and they were ushered into Eastwold Abbey with all the proper pomp and circumstance.
Olivia’s first impression on meeting Lord Ashworth was of hair. The man had hair so crimped and pomaded it could have rivaled Lord Byron’s tousled locks for sheer sullen beauty. She wondered what kind of man was under all that carefully disheveled glory, but his lips eased into a relaxed smile as they were introduced. He seemed good-natured enough.
While Lord Ashworth’s middle-aged sister, the hostess of the party, drew Olivia’s father into conversation, Lord Ashworth spoke to Olivia.
“Do you like the country, Miss Middleton?”
“Yes,” she said. At her mother’s sharp look, she tried to continue the conversation, though she was horrible at making small talk. Moments like these made her want to draw back into herself and disappear. “I like to… uh …ride.”
She bit her lip nervously. She didn’t like horses that much—Anne was the best rider of the three sisters. But she hadn’t known what to say, and, sometimes when she didn’t know what to say, she said anything she could think of just so people would stop staring at her in expectation of an answer. Even if what she said was untruthful.
She didn’t like people staring at her. She would much rather fade into the background.
“Indeed?” said Lord Ashworth. “There must be wonderful land for riding at Middleton Hall.”
“Yes, but I prefer to walk.” She winced.
He blinked, but he kept his face smooth, ignoring her sudden change of topic. “Walking is invigorating, as well.”
Her mother chose that moment to grab the reins of the conversation before they were lost completely. “You’ll have to show my husband the stables, my lord. We’ve heard many good things about your thoroughbreds.”
“Of course. Whenever is agreeable to you. But I’d like to give a tour of the abbey once all the guests have arrived.” And then he politely turned back to Olivia. “Miss Middleton, do you enjoy reading? Our library is one of the best in the county.”
“Yes, very much.” Which at least was the truth, but she still couldn’t think of anything to add to it. She was saved by the rattle of another carriage pulling up the drive.
While Lord Ashworth waited to greet the other guests, a maid led Olivia and her mother upstairs to their rooms, while her father was led in a different direction.
“You’re hopeless, my dear,” her mother said as she oversaw the unpacking of their things. “Oversaw” meant she cast a disapproving eye at the maid
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