Sandra Heath (2 page)

At that moment a lady and gentleman descended the steps, and as they passed, the lady playfully popped a sugared almond into the gentleman’s mouth. Sugared almonds were Rowley’s favorite tidbit, and he whined, even though he could no longer eat anything.

The lady heard, and looked around in puzzlement. “Did you hear that?” she asked her companion.

“Hear what?”

“A dog.”

The gentleman eyed her. “At a ball? I hardly think so, sweeting. More likely it was the ancient catgut of that second violin!”

“But—”

Rowley whined again and was abruptly silenced by a stern tap on the nose.

The lady had heard, however. “Surely you heard
that?”
she protested.

“I heard nothing at all,” the gentleman insisted, raising his voice as the master of ceremonies announced a polonaise, and couples flocked onto the floor. “Come, let’s dance!”

As the two guests hurried down to join one of the sets, Jane’s disapproving gaze raked the lady from head to toe. “I vow it must be the thing to appear a doxy. She looks fit only for the boards at the Haymarket, or possibly even a Covent Garden bagnio! I am more modest even in my stays!” she declared.

“And very fetching stays they are too,” Kit replied.

“Fie on you, sir,” Jane chided smilingly.

He smiled too. “Forget the excesses of today’s fashions, my dear. We must turn our thoughts to finding two star-crossed lovers from our respective families.”

“I’m not exactly optimistic,” she replied. “Each time we return, they all seem more entrenched than ever in this wretched feud. Just look at that fellow over there; he’s the image of my Uncle Jasper Courtenay, and he’s scowling most disagreeably at that lady in green, who just
has
to be a Fitzpaine!” She pointed to a portly red-faced gentleman of about fifty, who was helping himself from a punch bowl. The lady concerned was about forty-five years old, and thin as a stick, with an expression suggestive of the presence of a bad smell.

Kit raised an eyebrow. “A descendant of Cousin Wilhelmina, if ever I saw one,” he murmured.

“I wish we weren’t the cause of this disagreeable quarrel.”

“Come now, my love, we can’t take the blame entirely. Maybe we were the start of it, but by now I’ll warrant neither side can recall the original reason for their falling out! Queen Anne never knew the truth, and as for the first King George, well, I doubt if he ever knew we existed. The business with the false tombs was very effective, you know. We really did disappear.”

“Once out of sight, one is usually out of mind too, which, I suppose, is what we wanted. Come on, let us circulate and see if any of our reprobate descendants offer us some hope of redemption.”

The wraiths descended the staircase.
A
little knot of guests was gathered at the bottom, and Jane was careful to step around them because of Rowley, but Kit passed right through. One or two people shivered, but no one saw anything at all, nor did the phantoms imagine for a single moment that anyone would. However, on that score they were soon to receive a considerable shock.

Chapter Two

As the specters began to inspect everyone at the ball, Miss Henrietta Courtenay was with Charlotte, Lady Mulborough, who had been her close friend since their school days in Bath. The two young women had decided to sit for a while, because twenty-three-year-old Charlotte was expecting her first child at the beginning of February, and the rigors of the ball were proving quite wearying. She was also seeking the refuge of the red velvet sofa, which stood in a quiet corner and was flanked with ferns, in order to escape her adoring husband, who at sixty was considerably her senior. Russell, Lord Mulborough, had once been a senior secretary at the Treasury, and until he met Charlotte had been renowned for being stuffy, but she had changed all that. He had been her willing slave from the moment they met, and she returned the affection, but, oh, how he did fuss!

Charlotte was dressed in a loose pink silk robe, her shining chestnut hair was worn in a Grecian knot, and her hazel eyes were warm as she smiled at her much loved friend. “Oh, it’s good to sit down for a while. The combination of being huge, dancing all night,
and
avoiding the fussing of one’s spouse, is really quite tiring. Besides which, we don’t seem to have had much opportunity to talk this evening, and I do enjoy a little gossip with you.”

Henrietta laughed. She was the same age as Charlotte, and the fact that she was a Courtenay was immediately apparent, for she was Jane all over again, albeit in the flimsy fashions so deplored by that ghostly lady. In Henrietta’s case, the offending garment was a white silk gown embroidered with silver rosebuds. There was a diamond-studded comb fixed to her shining dark hair, which had been expertly tended by Charlotte’s maid, her own having suddenly left to be married on the eve of the journey to Yorkshire. Her right wrist was securely bandaged after a nasty fall while out walking, and as she employed her fan with her left hand, a rather cumbersome emerald betrothal ring caught the light.

Charlotte winced suddenly, and Henrietta’s lavender eyes expressed concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, it was only your godchild kicking a little forcefully.”

Henrietta’s lips parted with delight.
“My
godchild?”

“I warn you, I will not take no for an answer.”

“Of course
I accept!”

“Good, for you are my dearest friend. You know, it’s a most curious thing, Henrietta, but I don’t feel as if there are five or more weeks to go; indeed it feels much more imminent than that.”

Henrietta was alarmed. “You don’t mean you’ve started your pains?”

“Oh, good Lord, no, it’s just an odd feeling I have. I know Dr. Hartley was very precise about my dates, and I’m about eight months, but all the same…” Charlotte laughed. “Oh, well, he should know, I suppose. After all, this is my first baby.
He’s
delivered them by the score.”

“I’m surprised you’re being attended by Dr. Hartley. You always swore you’d secure Nurse’s services.” Henrietta thought of the frail gray-haired woman who lived in the small hamlet of Mulbridge, over the moors about half a mile inland from Mulborough. No one knew quite how old she was, but she had been Russell’s nurse and was universally regarded as the local midwife. Her real name was Miss Rose Hinchcliffe, but she was always simply called Nurse, even by those for whom she had never performed such a role.

Charlotte sighed. “Well, that
was
my original intention, but she has at long last decided she is too old to continue, and anyway Russell insists upon Dr. Hartley, who aspires to be something of an
accoucheur.”
Charlotte winced once more as the baby moved. “Oh Lord, he or she is very active tonight.”

“Would you like me to bring you a glass of water?”

“Water?
At a New Year’s Eve ball? Heaven forfend.” Charlotte smiled, and signaled a footman to bring glasses of champagne.

“Russell’s finger will wag if he catches you with champagne.”

“My dear husband is a great trial to me at the moment. Do you know, he even attempted to make me stay in this morning instead of joining everyone for the walk on the cliffs?”

“Well, it
was
rather cold,” Henrietta said, putting her fan in her lap in order to take the glass with her left hand.

Charlotte looked anxiously at her bandage. “How is your poor wrist? I do hope it isn’t too uncomfortable. It was a very unpleasant fall.”

“I’ll survive, even if I
did
nearly go over the cliff. I vow your skill with dressings is nothing short of miraculous, and as to the finishing touch of my diamond pin ...” Henrietta smiled, and raised her wrist so the light caught the little diamond brooch securing the bandage.

Charlotte chuckled. “Miraculous? Oh, I wouldn’t go
that
far, but I have to say I’m usually quite good.” Her smile faded. “I still can’t really understand how you slipped like that. One moment we were all walking along the top of cliffs, the next you were sprawling on the ground and had almost gone over the edge!”

Henrietta shivered as she recalled those dreadful moments. “There must have been a little patch of ice,” she said, although privately she was only too aware that someone in the party had stumbled awkwardly against her. She didn’t know who it was, and because she was sure it had been entirely accidental, she didn’t intend to cause any distress by mentioning it.

“Ice? Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, you survived the incident. Now I come to think of it, you’ve been disaster prone ever since you arrived here.”

“I wasn’t exactly safe and sound in London,” Henrietta replied. “My horse bolted in Hyde Park and I almost fell through a trapdoor at a fabric warehouse.”

Charlotte was horrified. “Oh, Henrietta, how dreadful! Bad luck certainly seems to dog you at the moment, doesn’t it? There was that runaway carriage that almost ran you down while you were traveling here, then the piece of falling masonry on Christmas Eve, to say nothing of the shellfish supper that so disagreed with you and you alone.”

“Don’t forget the lace snapping on my walking shoe,” Henrietta teased.

“Oh, you may think it amusing, but yes, given everything else, the broken lace
should
be included.”

Henrietta was patient. “Charlotte, it was only a broken lace. They do break, you know. I even recall it happening to you on occasion.”

“I suppose so,” Charlotte admitted, then glanced at her again. “Why you and dear Amabel
walked
all the way to St. Tydfa’s churchyard when you could easily have ridden, I really don’t know.”

Henrietta ignored the acid reference to Amabel. “After all the rich Christmas food, we felt in need of the exercise, although, to be truthful, we did misjudge the distance.” Henrietta recalled how, after climbing the long flight of steep stone steps from the lych-gate, she and Amabel Renchester had rested in the church porch before commencing the long walk home. The steep churchyard steps were slippery because yew trees shaded the overnight frost from the winter sun. Her lace had suddenly snapped, and she’d fallen very heavily, tumbling down at least ten steps before she managed to halt the fall by grabbing a low-hanging branch. She’d only suffered bruises and the indignity of having to hire a farmer’s cob to carry her back to the abbey, but she knew it might have been much more serious.

Charlotte sipped the champagne and decided to say nothing more about Henrietta’s mishaps. She looked at the crowded floor. “Well, all the local guests will disperse to their homes at dawn, and everyone who’s been staying here since Christmas will depart at various times tomorrow, then there will just be you right up until February, and I’m
so
looking forward to that! Oh, how I wish you weren’t to be your cousin’s chief bridesmaid; otherwise you could stay even longer!” Her smile of anticipation faded then. “Oh, sweet Amabel will be here as well, of course, but with luck she will not join us
all
the time.”

Henrietta could no longer let it pass.
“Dear
Amabel,
sweet
Amabel. Oh, how I regret bringing her. It was clearly very foolish to imagine you two could make friends at last.”

 “Where Amabel Lyons—I mean Renchester—is concerned, old school enemies remain old school enemies. But your motives were laudable, Henrietta, and I do not blame you.” Charlotte gave her a sideways grin. “On reflection, yes I do.”

“Don’t be beastly.”

“I’m sorry, but you do rise to the bait.”

Henrietta suddenly noticed Russell’s distinguished gray-haired figure only ten yards away at the edge of the dance floor. He was standing on tiptoe to scan the sea of dancers, and it was clear he was searching for his wife. Henrietta put a finger to her lips and as one, she and Charlotte leaned back on the sofa, so the flanking ferns hid their faces from view should he glance their way.

By now, the two spectral interlopers had noticed Henrietta, and knew from her startling likeness to Jane that she had to be a Courtenay. Having already determined the uninspiring selection of unattached Fitzpaines, and the apparent absence of any unattached Courtenays at all, they hastened over to examine her more closely. Unobserved and undetected by either young woman, they took up positions behind the sofa. The discovery that she wore a betrothal ring did not deter them, for of
all
people, they knew that such things could be set aside!

Henrietta and Charlotte continued to watch poor Russell through the fronds of green, and as he at last moved away toward the supper room, they sat forward again. Charlotte took a relieved sip of champagne. “Take my advice, Henrietta, don’t marry an overprotective man.”

“I doubt if my future husband will ever be accused of
that,”
Henrietta replied, looking down at her ring.

Charlotte was immediately remorseful. “Forgive me, I spoke without thinking.”

“What is there to forgive? I don’t pretend that my match is anything other than a marriage of convenience.”

“Convenience? For the sole heiress to the Courtenay fortune? I doubt it. For strutting, financially straitened Lord Sutherton? Yes, definitely!” Charlotte was scathing.

The eavesdropping shades exchanged startled glances, for the gentleman Jane had forsaken for Kit in 1714 had been none other than the then Lord Sutherton! Jane leaned forward to inspect the emerald betrothal ring again. What a deplorably showy bauble it was, she thought disparagingly. It had to be Lord Sutherton’s choice, for the phantom instinctively knew that Henrietta would have selected sapphires, or possibly amethysts, to go with her eyes. Jane decided there and then that Henrietta was ideal for guiding toward another. But who? The ghost sighed as she mulled over the woeful selection of Fitzpaines present tonight. What Henrietta needed was another Kit! Oh, yes, that would be perfect, for how could such a combination
fail
to end in marriage?

“We have found our prospective bride, don’t you think?” Kit whispered suddenly.

“I agree. However, given the collection of Fitzpaines we’ve observed thus far, I doubt if there
is
a prospective groom,” she whispered back, even though she was as certain as he that no one could hear them. It was only Rowley who could be heard.