A Phantom Affair (16 page)

“Thank you.” She took a deep drink to wash the dust of the lane from her lips. “I think you may be worrying needlessly. I cannot believe he will be willing to pause at the Abbey when he shall be eager to get his pack home.”

“He has left them with Fenton before.”

“Fenton?” She gasped and stared at him. “Lord Herrold trusts Fenton to watch over his precious collection of dogs?”

“'Tis a surprise, isn't it? Fenton took a knock in the cradle many years ago. I asked Corey many times to retire him to a cottage near the shore, but he never heeded me. When Vanessa returns from the continent, she may decide to give the old man a reward for his long service to this family. I cannot decide that.” His eyes narrowed when she did not answer. “You look distressed. Has Fenton said something to bother you?”

Ellen smiled. “If you say he is harmless, Lorenzo, I am sure you are right.”

“I hope I am. He certainly shares Reggie's love of beasts. Both men have an uncanny way with them.” Again he looked down at his buckskin pantaloons. “Much better than I do, I suspect. I should ask you to excuse me, Ellen, so I can go back to the Abbey and change.”

“Will you be joining us for our
al fresco
nuncheon?”

“Marian would be highly displeased if I did not, and I have found it is wise to keep Marian happy,” he said with a smile.

He was more insightful than Corey had led her to believe. “Marian does not like to have her plans countermanded.”

“And she wanted us to spend this day together.” He tugged at his ripped pantaloons. “I can tell you, Ellen, I would have much preferred talking with you than chasing Reggie's pack across the fields.”

She laughed. “Did you gather all of them together?”

“He seems to think one is still missing, but cannot decide which one.” He pointed to where Lord Herrold was trying in vain to get his dogs to stand still. “He is uncommonly concerned that the beast will return home with an unwelcome addition to his breeding line.”

“You are a good friend to your neighbors.”

“I like a quiet life, Ellen. Sometimes it requires a great deal of effort to find it here.” He tilted her book so he could read the title on the binding. “I should have guessed you would be enjoying poetry.”

“Shakespeare's sappy sonnets, I believe you called them.”

Resting back against a tree, he said, “Not all of them are sappy. The man has a good grasp of the use of language and twists words like a master. Mayhap I spoke out of jealousy more than anything else.”

“Jealousy?”

“Shakespeare was a master, and I am a mere dabbler.”

“You should let someone else judge that.” She put her hand on his arm. “If you would like, I offer my eyes.”

“You want to read my poetry?”

“If you wish me to.”

“I am overwhelmed.”

Hastily she said, “If you do not wish to share it, I can understand.”

“No, no!” He jumped to his feet and grinned like the lanky scarecrow he resembled. “The whole idea is as fine as a five pence. I shall gather some poems for you to read upon my return.” Grasping her hand, he pressed his lips to its back.

Ellen gasped at his unexpected fervor.

Hastily he released her hand. “Ellen, if I have done anything to offend you, I—”

“You have done nothing.” She did not look at him. As lief, she stared down at the hand she cradled in her other. How could she explain that his action brought his cousin to her mind? Lorenzo would think her completely insane if she spoke of her heart-deep longing for Corey to kiss her hand and touch her with such yearning. “I look forward to reading your poems, Lorenzo.”

The delight returned to his voice as he told her he would return after a flying trip to the Abbey. She heard him rush to his horse, then ride away at top speed. The dust from the road washed over her, but could not conceal the truth.

She was falling in love with a ghost. As absurd as it sounded, that was the truth. Would Corey laugh if she told him that she had found the husband she wanted and that that husband was him? Closing her eyes, she imagined how wondrous it would be if he could draw her into his arms then and whisper of his love for her.

“Don't be silly.” Ellen closed her book sharply. “This is nothing but a joke to him. If …”

Hoofbeats sounded along the road. She looked past the tree. A blond man slowed his gray mount and tipped his hat to her. “Good day, miss. Can you tell me which road to take to Herrold Hall?”

She smiled. “You are upon it, sir. It is no more than a fifteen minute ride in that direction.”

Swinging down from the horse, he said, “You have chosen a lovely spot to enjoy your book, miss, and I apologize for interrupting your tranquillity.”

“It is a lovely spot, but hardly tranquil.” She glanced out to where Lord Herrold was still trying to gather his dogs about him.

“Do you, perchance, know if Lord Herrold is in residence at the Hall?”

“Yes, but if you wish to speak to him, you need look no farther than this field.”

The man, who was not much taller than Fenton, grinned. “This is a piece of good luck. Thank you, miss.” He hesitated as he was about to turn. “Do I have the honor of being in the company of Lady Herrold?”

With another smile, she shook her head. “Lady Herrold is my hostess. I am Ellen Dunbar.”

“Thomas Hudson, Miss Dunbar.” He tipped his hat to her. “Thank you.”

Ellen bent back over her book as he rode to meet Lord Herrold. She chuckled softly when the sound of barking warned that Mr. Hudson's arrival had sent the dogs into a new flurry of excitement. She ignored the sound as she listened only to the melody of the poetry's words swirling like a symphony through her mind.

“Ellen, what were you doing talking to
him
?”

In amazement, she looked up to discover Marian's face was as gray as the sky at dawn. She had been so immersed in her book, she had not heard Marian's steps. “Him?”

“Thomas Hudson.”

“He stopped to ask directions. He seems a pleasant gentleman.”

She sniffed her disagreement as she sat beside Ellen. “Gentleman? Not likely, Ellen. He has been disowned by both family and friends, save for Reginald. The two share a revolting obsession for their dogs.”

“I had no idea.”

“How can it be that you have spent three Seasons in London, and you are still as
naïve
as when you first arrived from Scotland?” Marian fanned her face with her hand and glowered at the two men in the field. “You cannot judge a man to be a gentleman simply because his manners seem polished.” Her terse laugh struck Ellen like a switch. “If that were true, then you could not have called Corey Wolfe a gentleman. He spoke his mind far too often and often chose companions who were not fit for a marquess.”

“Companions?”

Marian patted Ellen's hand. “I do not mean to disparage a dead man's name unjustly. His companions were not light-skirts, or not that I am privy to. As lief, he often entertained men who had served with him in France, men who were entering the Polite World for the first time. Soldiers learn few manners, I fear.”

Ellen clenched her hands on her book. This was no time to give free rein to her temper, which could flash as red hot as her hair. Marian spoke out of ignorance. If she ever had had the opportunity to meet Ellen's stepfather, Marian would have learned that a military man was accustomed to a life of the highest decorum. Her voice was taut as she answered, “My stepfather spent many years in the military before his recent retirement, if you will recall.”

“I did not mean to insult your family.” She waved her hands about as if she were batting at gnats. “You know the type I mean, Ellen. Uncouth and without the refinement of decent manners.”

“I think it would be best, Marian,” she said, “if we discontinue this conversation. You have been a good friend to me, and I do not wish to end that friendship over this matter which hurts me deeply.”

“Over what matter?”

“You are speaking thoughtlessly about two men I love with all my heart.”

“Love? Who?”

“My stepfather and …” Ellen bit back her answer. What kind of widgeon was she to let her vexation loosen her tongue like this?

“And?”

She set herself on her feet. “And I find I do not wish to speak of this any longer.”

Marian called to her, but Ellen did not slow as she strode away. If she paused, she might have to explain to Marian that her frustration was not totally with Marian's parochial thinking.

But how could she speak the truth of her grief at what could never be? She loved two men who had defended their country through rough years with the army. She loved her dear stepfather, who was the only father she had ever known, and she loved Corey Wolfe … hopelessly.

Ten

“Corey?”

At the soft call of his name, Corey sat straighter in the chair near the hearth in Reggie's book room. He swore vividly when his feet floated up off the floor. Grasping the arms of the chair, he set himself on his feet. How long would it take him to accustom himself to the peculiar events in his life as a phantom?

“Corey?”

He frowned. He recognized that voice. Edie! Was she in the house?

Odd, but he thought she had gone with the Herrolds and his cousin for a ride across the hills. She had told him of her plans last night while he had sat by the hearth and watched while she checked the simple coat of her riding habit.

His smile returned to tilt his lips. He had to be thankful that Edie remained, at heart, a Scot, who had been raised to believe that ghosts shared the world with the living. Even now, the thought of presenting himself to Lorenzo sent him into whoops. His cousin, for all his imagination when it came to writing his poetry, would have considered himself bereft of his senses and sent for the doctor.

The wisest thing Corey had ever done was to appear to Edie. Her trust in him warmed him when the cold light threatened to swallow him in despair. As easily as if they had known each other for years instead of days, they would talk. The subject was never important, only that they were together and could share an ease they never would have known otherwise.

He had learned so much about her from her comments and unique insight into what he considered commonplace. She did not consider her beginnings, far from the Polite World, something to hide, for she appreciated the simple ways of the country as much as the spectacular entertainments of Town. With ease, she had bridged two worlds. Mayhap, he thought with a widening grin, that was why she alone could reach past her living world to see him. An interesting supposition, one he would have to discuss with her that evening when the rest of the house had retired and she could speak to him without the fear of being overheard.

But why was she calling to him now?

Corey followed the sound of her voice. He was shocked to find himself in the gardens of Wolfe Abbey. Even though he had not quite determined how or why he could manage this feat, he gave it no thought. As lief, he scanned the perfectly arranged trees and beds of flowers. The shadows could hide nothing from him now, and he saw a slender form striding with unladylike fervor through a copse near the pond.

“Edie?”

She flinched when he stood in front of her. He stared at her in astonishment as he noted how her fingers trembled. Tears glittered in her eyes, and her lips were tight with the effort to keep them from falling.

“Go away!” she said in lieu of a greeting.

“How charming.”

Ellen took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She did not wish to suffer Corey's teasing now. Not when she was so furious! How could Marian be so intolerant? Ellen's family might not have been part of the elegant society for generations, but that did not mean they were no better than the scum clinging to the cattails at the edge of the pond.

“What do you want?” Corey continued when she did not answer.

“Nothing.” She edged around him. “Just leave me to myself now.”

“If that is what you wanted, why did you call me?”

“I did not call you.”

He smiled coolly and shook his head. “You called to me several times, Edie. I may be out of print with my name on a stone in the churchyard, but my ears still work quite well. You called me.”

Ellen stared at him in amazement. The only place she had uttered his name was in her mind. If he could sense her thoughts … She did not want to consider what that might mean. Regaining her poise, she said, “You are mistaken.”

“Am I?”

“Go away!”

“Edie—”

She started to walk away, then whirled to face him. “Thunder, Corey Wolfe! Begone from my life. You have interfered too often.”

“Something is wrong!” He scowled. “You never use such cant.”

“Everything is wrong.” She hated the sharp sound of her voice, but she had endured too much today to suffer through his not-so-gentle interrogation. “What is most wrong is that you will not leave me alone.”

His brows lowered to brush his eye patch. “Edie, the last thing you need when you are this distraught is to be by yourself. What is wrong? Mayhap I can help.”

“I do not want your help.”

For a moment, she thought he would continue the argie-bargie, but he said only, “All right. If that is what you want. If you change your mind—”

“I shan't!”

“If you do …” His voice grew hard, and she knew she had hurt him. “Just call my name and say, ‘I have changed my mind. I need your help, after all.' Even a stubborn Scot can change her mind when she finally sees common sense.”

“Seeing common sense would mean I should not be seeing you.”

She blinked back the tears that seared her eyes. If she let him woo her out of her outrage, she feared what might happen. This anger could be a barricade between him and the love her heart longed to offer him.
That
was the truth she must never speak; she must not even think it … or she could hurt him more than she had ever been hurt.