The Phantom Lover (15 page)

She flicked a quick glance at him, feeling suddenly shy. “Everything—what you are doing here, why you want to be rid of us, how you managed your ghost impressions, how I was hurt—everything. But first, of course, I want to know who you are.”

“Do you want a
name
? What difference can
that
make? Won't the name Harry D'Espry do?”

“No, it won't. D'Espry, indeed! Did you think I wouldn't guess that you chose
esprit
, the French word for
spirit
?”

“That was clever of you,” he said drily. “Such a clever young lady must have fabricated some theory concerning my identity. Who do you think I am?”

“I truly don't know. I
did
think, at first, that you were a relative of the Penloes …”

“But you don't think so any more? Why not?”

“It's obvious, isn't it? You're a man of education and breeding—anyone can see that. So I haven't a clue as to who you are and why you are hiding away here.”

“What makes you believe I'm hiding away?”

“Well—” she began, then paused and glanced at him guiltily.

“Don't pull your punches, girl,” he urged. “I won't take offense, I promise.”

“Very well, then,” she said bravely, going on to reveal the problem that most worried her. “Clearly, you did not want us to know of your existence. In fact, you went to great lengths to drive us away. What else can it be but that you are hiding from … from …”

“From …?” he prodded.

She took a deep breath. “From the authorities.”

His mocking smile became more pronounced. “From the authorities, eh? You're convinced that I'm the perpetrator of some dastardly crime, is that it? What sort of crime had you in mind? Poaching? Smuggling?”

Nell was inexplicably overwhelmed with shame. She shook her head and lowered her eyes to her hands.

“Not smuggling?” he asked sardonically. “Did you think I was a highwayman? No?
What
, then?”

“Oh, nothing so paltry as a highwayman,” she admitted, trying to shrug off her guilt-feeling with a jest. “Nothing less than murder would do for you.”

He stared at her for a shocked moment and then a laugh burst out of him. “You thought me a
murderer
? Oh, poor Nell. What a dreadful time I've given you!”

His reaction made it clear that he was not a criminal. She sighed in relief. “Then … if you're not hiding from the authorities, why
are
you hiding here?”

“But I'm not hiding at all,” he said simply. “I
live
here.”

“You
trespass
here, you mean,” she said bluntly. “This is
my
house.”

“No, you're quite out there, my girl. It is not your house, it is
mine.
”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yours? Don't be ridiculous—it belongs to the Thornes.”

“Does it?” he asked quizzically.

“Of course it does! Well, that is, it belongs to the Earl, but …”

“Exactly. The
Earl
. Well, it was he who gave it to me.”

“Did he
really
?” Nell asked amazed. “How can that be? He's in the army in Spain—or at least he was …”

“I'm well aware of that, my dear. I was in the army with him.”

Her eyes widened. “But of
course!
You're a
soldier!
That's where …” she faltered.

“Yes, that's where I lost my leg.”

She nodded solemnly. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly. But after a moment of thought, her brow wrinkled in suspicion. “But, Harry, I don't understand. If this house
is
yours, why were you hiding?”

“I've told you I
wasn't
hiding,” he said impatiently.

“Not hiding?” she challenged. “Do you mean to deny that you didn't want anyone to know of your existence?”

“I merely like my privacy,” he said defensively. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

“
Privacy
? Is
that
what you call it?” she asked incredulously. “You've hidden yourself away in a secret part of the house, you've made the Penloes lie for you, you've tried to frighten me out of my wits and almost killed me … and all for
privacy
?”

His eyes met hers defiantly, then wavered and dropped. “Well, you see,” he muttered, “it all got a bit out of hand …”

“So it seems,” she said curtly. She propped her chin on her hand and regarded him closely. “Why do you
need
all this privacy? What is it you do here? These maps and charts and books … are you doing something secret?”

He looked up again, amusement in his eyes. “You, my dear Nell, are an incorrigible romantic. You could not make me into a murderer, so now you are trying to make me a
spy
, is that it?”

She had to laugh. “Am I wrong again? Are you
not
a spy?”

Smiling at her indulgently, he reached across the table and took her hand. “Please believe me, Nell. There's no great, dark secret here. I like my peace … my privacy. Perhaps I'm excessive, but not wicked. All I do here is pass my days studying military history. That's what the maps and books are all about. Some day, when I've learned enough, I may write a book myself. Do you believe me now?”

She stared at the hand clasping hers. She wanted to believe him. But somehow, his story didn't make sense. One didn't need to hide from the world just to study or write a book. “I believe that what you've told me
is part
of the truth,” she said thoughtfully.

He withdrew his hand abruptly and his smile faded. “It's as much of the truth as you're going to get from me tonight,” he said brusquely. “If you will hand me that crutch leaning on the wall behind you, I shall escort you back to your room.”

But Nell didn't budge. “I think you
are
hiding,” she said gravely, “and I think I know why.”

“And
I
think I've heard enough of your theories for one night. Come, I'm taking you back to your room.” And he pulled himself up from his chair.

She stood up and faced him. “It's your leg, isn't it? You're
ashamed
to be seen with a wooden leg!”

“Have you quite finished?” he asked her coldly. “If so, I suggest that we conclude this interview for tonight.”

“I've hit on it, haven't I?” she insisted, driven on by an unaccustomed sense of righteousness. “Your reactions prove I've hit right on the mark. But Harry, how foolish of you! No one who knows you will think less of you for that! How can they? It is
ennobling
to have sacrificed a leg for your country!”

He glared at her with icy disdain. “I don't believe my behavior or my personal life need be a concern of yours, ma'am. It seems to me that your remarks show a great deal of presumption.”

She gasped and flushed shamefacedly. “Yes, you're quite right. I … I'm sorry.”

“Then shall we go?”

She looked up at him and lifted her chin in the defiant way he'd seen so often before. “There is no need for you to escort me, sir,” she said with the same icy formality he had used. “I can find my own way. If you will be so kind as to light my candle, I shall take my leave.”

He bowed stiffly, pulled a match from a pocket of his breeches and lit her candle. “Goodnight, then, ma'am. Please accept my good wishes for the continued improvement of your health,” he said, putting the candle in her hand.

They stared at each other coldly for a moment. Then Nell went quickly to the door. There she paused and looked back at him. “There's something else I've had the presumption to discover about you,” she said in cold triumph. “I've guessed your true identity at last. Goodnight,
Captain Thorne
!”

Chapter Ten

A
TROUBLED AND
confused Nell approached the breakfast table the next morning, her mind a mass of indecision. If Captain Thorne—or, rather, the Earl—did not want her here at Thorndene, it was
she
who was the trespasser. Should she pack immediately and take her leave? Should she bide her time and wait until Harry ordered her to return to London? In the meantime, should she tell Amelia of Harry's true identity? Hours of sleeplessness had not brought answers to these and several other troublesome questions.

Unaware that the solution to these problems waited right outside the morning-room door, she accepted a cup of tea from Amelia with a wan smile. At that moment, Mrs. Penloe bustled in. The housekeeper's face was transformed. Her eyes shone behind the little spectacles, her cheeks glowed, and her buxom breast heaved in joyous gasps. “Lady Amelia, Miss Belden …” she said breathlessly, “I have a request from his lordship! He asked permission
to … to join 'ee at breakfast
!”

Nell gaped. “
Join us
?”

Lady Amelia merely raised her brows questioningly. “What are you talking about, Mrs. Penloe,” she asked, mystified.

“Never mind, love. I'll explain in a moment,” Nell said quickly. “Tell him we'd be delighted, Mrs. Penloe.”

Mrs. Penlow beamed at Nell adoringly. “Oh, Miss,
thanks to 'ee
” she breathed.

“Don't be silly, Mrs. Penloe. There's no need to thank me. This
is
his home, after all.”

Now it was Amelia who gaped. “
Whose
home? What are you
talking
about?”

But Mrs. Penloe had eyes only for Nell. “You don't
know …
you cain't
conceit
…” she muttered, tears welling up in her eyes. “'Tis the first time since the war …! Oh, Miss Nell, I don't know what you've done … or how 'ee managed it, but 'tis truly
arear
!” And dabbing her eyes with her apron, she ran from the room.

“Arear?” Nell asked no one in particular.

Amelia shrugged. “It's the Cornish way of saying ‘wonderful.' I've heard Gwinnys use it from time to time. It's truly
arear
how Mrs. Penloe lapses into Cornish when she becomes emotional. But tell me, Nell, what
is
all this?”

Nell reached across the table and grasped Amelia's hand. “I've news for you, dear, that may come as quite a shock. The man who's been living right here in the house—the ghost, you know—”

“Nell! Have you
discovered
him? We must call the magistrates at—”

“Wait, love, you must hear the whole, and we haven't much time. The man has more right to be here than we have. Amelia, it's your
nephew
, Captain Thorne!”

Amelia could only gape while the import of Nell's words sank in. “
Henry
?” she breathed incredulously. “My dearest Henry,
alive
?” Clasping her hands to her breasts, she rose from her chair and tottered to the door. “Alive! Oh, the dear boy! Where
is
he? I must see—!”

“Wait, Amelia,” Nell cautioned. “Please, there's something else you must know.”

“Yes, of course, dear. But later. You must tell me everything, of course, but first I want to
see
him with my own—”

The door opened and Harry stood on the threshold. He was clean shaven, combed and dressed in modest elegance in a russet wool coat, tan breeches and gleaming riding boots. The only sign of his impairment was the crutch under his right arm. “
Henry
!” Amelia screeched joyously.

Harry held out his left arm and Amelia fell into his embrace. Only after she finally let him go did she notice the crutch. “Henry, you're
wounded
!” she cried in her fluttery voice.

Harry led her to the table, all the while giving a calculatedly casual account of his “wound,” and although Amelia shed some bitter tears when she realized the full extent of his injury, his determined cheerfulness made her cut short her grief. Telling herself that she was grateful he was alive, she forced herself into control, and a semblance of a normal breakfast ensued. Harry permitted his doting aunt to load his plate with heaping servings of coddled eggs, herby pie, smoked pilchards and thick slices of country ham. As if these were not enough, Amelia called for Mrs. Penloe to bring out some hot biscuits from the kitchen. These were served by a goggle-eyed Gwinnys, who was so overwhelmed by the sight of a real Earl (a fact she'd learned from the overwrought Mrs. Penloe) that she was, for once, struck dumb.

When at last Mrs. Penloe had dragged the stupified Gwinnys from the room, and Amelia had calmed herself with her ubiquitous cup of tea, Harry was able to turn his attention to Nell. She had sat back quietly, observing the proceedings with a great deal of amusement, noting with a surprisingly possessive feeling of pride Harry's tact and grace in handling the excessive blandishments of three adoring females. “You have been unwontedly quiet this morning, Miss Belden,” he said to her blandly.

“I do not crow when I have won a point,” she retorted.

“Won a point? Which one is that, ma'am? You've won so many victories over me that I cannot guess which one you mean.”

Nell cast a glance at Amelia who was attending their conversation with much interest. “You shall have Amelia believing that we've been engaging in some sort of war. I only meant to say that I'm delighted you've decided to heed my advice not to hide from us any more.”

“Nell is quite right, Henry dear,” Amelia said, putting down her cup to emphasize her words. “I cannot
imagine
why you didn't make yourself known to us when we arrived.”

“Because, my dear aunt, I didn't—I don't!—want the family to know of my existence. I want nothing to do with their problems, their finances, their lawyers, their bailiffs, their schemes, their antics—in short, their lives. Forgive me, Aunt. I hope you will take no offense, and I trust that when you return to London you will not give me away.”