A Phantom Affair (8 page)

“Reverend,” she said as the portly man dipped his head in her direction.

“Miss Dunbar was hurt in the same accident that took Corey from us,” Lord Wulfric said with a sigh. “It is our good fortune that she is healing well.”

“You were a friend of Lord Wulfric's?”

“We had only met.”

“But,” Corey interjected, “we are getting to know each other better all the time.”

Ellen bit back the words that would not be fit for a clergyman's ears. When she saw Corey's mischievousness grin, she was tempted to utter the truth.

She was saved from her own flummery by the door to the chapel crashing open. Marian rushed down the aisle to grasp the minister's hands.

“Late as usual,” Corey said with a grin. “I doubt if she was on time to her own birth.”

“Forgive me, Lorenzo,” Marian gasped, sitting in the pew across the aisle. “I am so glad I could get here in time. So much to do. So much to do. Your servants need more guidance, Lorenzo. I know Corey never cared for such mundane matters. This household needs a competent hand to oversee it so the cook need not ask about every dish to be served after this ceremony is over. I told her what should be done, so I believe all will be well. As for the footman at the front door …” She shook her head in dismay.

“I appreciate your help,” Lord Wulfric said and patted her hand. Looking at the minister, he added, “We all are here, Reverend. May we begin?”

“Of course.”

Ellen was pleased when Corey was respectfully silent during the prayers Reverend Stapleton spoke. Hearing Marian's sobs, she wished she could be honest with her friend. Corey might be dead, but he was not gone from Wolfe Abbey. Yet, to speak the truth would leave Marian thinking Ellen was out of her mind.

The minister began his service, his voice resounding off the sounding board as if he were exhorting the angels themselves to come into the small chapel. By the end of a half hour, however, Ellen was wondering if he ever grew tired of listening to that echo.

“He always has had more tongue than teeth.” Corey chuckled as she shifted on the uncomfortable stone pew.

“
Shh
!” she cautioned.

“Why? No one can hear me save you.”

Ellen wished she could argue with that logic. “Then please be silent,” she whispered, “so I may hear Mr. Stapleton.”

“He never says much worth heeding.”

Ignoring his laugh, she stared at the fubsy man at the simple pulpit. Again she had to concur. This eulogy could have been spoken for almost anyone. There was nothing uniquely Corey Wolfe in anything he said. She resisted the temptation to yawn as her eyes grew weighted.

“But Corey Wolfe, the Marquess of Wulfric,” said the minister, drawing her attention back to him, “shares one thing with his ancestors who founded this prestigious house.”

“He died,” Corey said grimly.

A laugh burst from Ellen. She quickly disguised it as a sob as she held her hand over her face. Lord Wulfric stroked her uninjured shoulder gently, and she hoped he guessed its quivering came from sobs, not her efforts to keep from giggling.

“No Lord Wulfric ever shirked his duty to country and king,” continued Reverend Stapleton, although he glanced in Ellen's direction. “Corey Wolfe followed their grand tradition.”

She calmed herself and nodded her thanks to Lord Wulfric, who turned to comfort Marian. This was absurd!

“Corey Wolfe, like those before him, risked his life to safeguard his nation …”

At a low groan, she glanced over her shoulder at Corey. She had never thought a ghost could blush, but an unmistakable flush darkened his cheeks.

“… and lost nearly a year of his short life while he was a captive of Napoleon's accursed empire.”

“There is no reason to eulogize my stupidity,” Corey growled.

“Being a hero is not stupid,” she whispered.

He leaned his chin on his fist. “Not only is it jobbernowl to be a hero, but 'tis a damned burden. Once you do something others consider courageous, you have to spend the rest of your life with them watching to see if you will repeat your grand deed.”

“You are free of that now.”

“True.” He flashed her a grin. “Maybe dying was not so bad.”

Ellen looked away. No matter how he pretended, she could sense his frustration. He was caught somewhere between life and eternity, and he had no idea what he should do next. That must be horrible for a man like Corey Wolfe who, if the minster was not just being complimentary, had always known what new gamble he would take next.

Why was Corey still here? The minister's words left no doubt that Corey had been a man of honor, albeit a man of honor with a peculiar sense of humor. Nothing anyone had said suggested he had done anything during his life to deserve being shackled to earth as a ghost. She believed the praise she had heard lauding his bravery and kindness was honest, not just adding a stone to his cairn. Mayhap everyone who died lingered for a time close to the place they loved. That would explain the many tales she had heard, as a child, of haunted places among the rolling hills of the Scottish borders. None of those stories had explained how one became a ghost or for how long. Mayhap the only way she and Corey would learn the truth was to wait and see what happened to him.

The service drew to a quick close. When Lord Wulfric offered his arm to Ellen, she gratefully accepted his help in rising and walking toward the door at the back of the church. She looked back, but saw no sign of Corey as the coffin was lifted to be carried out to the wagon in front of the chapel.

The small cemetery overlooked the sea. Salt stained the stones which had been tilted beneath the onslaught of the sea winds. As the iron gate opened on hinges that had been recently oiled, for Ellen noted drips on the rust, she was sure there could be no better resting place for this family. If all of them loved the sea as Corey did, they were close to it forever.

A heaviness filled her eyes, but she refused to let the tears fall. He was not dead to her, so how could she mourn him? Every day, every conversation, he became more and more alive to her.

When the minister spoke the last words over the casket which had been lowered into the ground, Ellen was glad to turn her back on it. The gravediggers began to fill in the grave even as the mourners went through the gate.

Marian sat next to Ellen in the carriage that would take them back to Wolfe Abbey. Her hope they would return to Herrold Hall today had come to naught. Marian insisted she must help Lord Wulfric greet his callers while Ellen had another day of rest.

As Ellen gazed out at the rolling hills lifting themselves from the sea, Marian asked, “Who were you talking to in the chapel?”

She fought not to tense. “Lord Wulfric and—”

“No, during the service.”

Ellen put her hand to her chest in mock dismay. “I would not think to intrude on a funeral service by talking.”

“I heard you whispering.”

“Mayhap it was someone's prayers you heard.” She loathed being false, but how could she be honest?

“I thought 'twas you I heard. The voice was a woman's, I am sure.”

She smiled. “Marian, it may have been me. I am so unsettled by all this that I might have been whispering what I thought was only in my head.”

“Dear Ellen, I did not mean to accuse you.” Her eyes were wide. “I only wish to be certain you are well.”

“As well as can be expected.”

“Mayhap we should go back to the house in Town. Putting some distance between us and this tragedy would be for the best.” Marian tapped her chin. “Of course, we cannot leave before the village fair or the gathering which the Pratts are hosting or …”

Ellen let her bosom-bow prattle on about all the plans ahead of them during the next month. Marian did not pause until they had reached the house. Helping Ellen into the grand foyer with its huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling two stories above, Marian led Ellen up the stairs and into a small room beneath the next curve of stairs.

It was a simple room. The single window was covered with dark green drapes, but a lamp was lit on the table near the hearth. Marian motioned for Ellen to sit on the chair beside it. Pulling up a stool, she drew off Ellen's slippers and set her feet on it.

“You need to rest,” Marian said. “I shall close the door, and you can rest. You look as peaked as if this had been your own funeral.”

Ellen shivered as her friend hurried out of the room, shutting the door. Surely Marian would speak differently if she thought before opening her mouth. But her words were unsettling.

The wing chair by the hearth welcomed her. As she relaxed into the thick cushions, quiet wrapped about her like a favorite shawl. This room was nothing like the grand chamber where she had been sleeping. It had a coziness that would not have been out of place in her parents' house, although the wood on their walls was not grand mahogany like this. The dozens of books lining the glass-fronted shelves were a luxury she had never known until she came to England.

Closing her eyes, she sighed. This was wondrous. She had not been able to relax since … Slowly she opened her eyes as she felt a gaze upon her. Corey stood by the hearth, his elbow upon the mantel as he smiled at her.

“I was not sure if you would return,” she said.

“You thought I was buried along with the casket.” He chuckled. “Or mayhap you hoped?”

“The thought of how simple things would be if you were not about did cross my mind.”

“Honesty again. Much better. Then I shall be as honest with you and say I had no yearning to witness my own casket being put under the daisies.” He paused by a pipe rack on the table. A wry grin tipped his lips. “I think I miss my pipe most of all.”

“So what happens now?”

He picked up a pipe. “I have no idea. I have not had your good fortune to meet a ghost.”

“Good?” She watched him turn the pipe over in his hands. “I swear Marian considers me half-mad after intruding on so many conversations since the accident.”

“Mayhap you are.”

Ellen frowned. “You think this is nothing but my imagination?”

“I no longer know what to think.” His grin returned as he crossed the room to sit on the marble hearth. “I would as lief enjoy this extraordinary adventure and see where it leads. After all, I have made a vow to help you find the perfect husband, Edie.”

“Edie? My name is—”

“Ellen Dunbar. E-D.” His chuckle was as warm as the fire. “Pet names were a game we played in our family save for Lorenzo, who always has been as somber as an undertaker.”

“Not you, too!” She leaped to her feet. “Must you speak of funerals and undertakers incessantly?”

“But 'tis true. Lorenzo is a most somber chap.”

“Then say it that way! Don't speak of death and undertakers and all that!”

“Edie—”

“My name is Ellen.” She clenched her fingers as she blinked to keep the tears in her eyes. “Blast you! Will you leave me alone?”

“I wished only to tease you.”

“Please don't.”

“You need to laugh.”

“No!” She ran to the window and pointed out. “Begone.”

“Edie—”

“
My name is Ellen
!” She gripped the thick drapes. How she wished she could cocoon herself in this smothering velvet! To shut out everything and everyone and to protect herself from the insanity around her. “Why don't you leave me alone?”

“Is that what you wish?”

She dropped onto the window seat. “I don't know. I am so confused.”

“You need to smile, Edie.”

“My—Blast it! Call me what you wish!”

He frowned. “I did not intend to send you flying up to the boughs. Only to tease you.”

“Don't you understand? I do not want to laugh. Then I might feel something. I do not want to feel anything.” She bent her head. “I wish I never had to feel anything ever again.”

Corey knelt beside her. “Do not wish that. That is as good as being dead.”

She raised her tearstained face to meet his gaze. “Is that how you are able to deal with this? You feel nothing?”

“No, I feel too much.” He sat back on his heels. “Why do you think I wish to see you laugh? I can sense the pain you are hiding within you.”

His gentle words undid her completely. She pressed her hand to her face and sobbed. All the fear, all the disbelief, all the battered dreams burst forth in a torrent of anguish.

“Do not grieve,” he whispered. He brushed his fingers tentatively on her shoulder.

With a gasp, she jerked away. She put her hand onto her shoulder and cried, “What did you do?”

“I touched you. Did I hurt you?” He asked the words as if he could not believe them himself.

Slowly she drew her hand back. Beneath it, her skin was scored as if with fire.

“I burned you?” he gasped.

“With cold,” she whispered. “As cold as the grave.”

Five

The low sky threatened rain as Ellen walked down the front steps of Wolfe Abbey toward Marian's carriage. Lord Wulfric was speaking quietly with Marian, so Ellen had the excuse to rush past them to get into the carriage. She looked back at the grand house.

She gently cradled her aching arm, then winced as she moved her shoulder. Each time she closed her eyes, she could see the horror on Corey's face when he realized how his touch had hurt her. She had not stayed to soothe him last night. Racing out of the room, she had not returned. Marian had graciously let her share her room, and Ellen had allowed her bosom-bow to think she was distressed solely because of the funeral.

And Corey had vanished as completely as if he had never existed.

Lord Wulfric handed Marian into the carriage. “I hope you will call in a few days, Marian,” he said. “I recall how empty this house seemed when I was alone before. When mine is the only voice save the servants', it becomes dreary.”